There are a few movies where my eyes well up. Philadelphia and Schindler’s List to name some. Of course, The Passion of the Christ, made me feel like this very tiny bratty creature, shameful and thankful all together. And this was the time my beliefs were transitioning and got screwed up even more!
And one movie to date that I have bawled, with heaving sobs, and have been sooo afraid to watch it again, or even start reading the novel. The Notebook. The book stares at me each night. Taunting.
I lost it.
Just the scene with Anne Hathaway, I Dreamed a Dream, sent me cascading and my soul nearly crumbled at her pain.
Then came Samantha Barks’, On My Own… and I failed to finish eating my trail mix.
I’ve seen older versions before. We read the novel in school. But I’ve never seen a musical version, except some scenes in youtube.
I’m asking myself now where my yogic rooting is. Watching this film has been delayed and delayed for different reasons. And I ask myself, too – – wHy??
And is this a better moment for me to watch it?
I haven’t had tears trickle down my cheeks for quite some time.
Perhaps it serves a different meaning now than before.
Perhaps a new perspective is lingering in my mind.
Perhaps it is closer to the truth we all hold but… … …
Perhaps it is mere friggin’ hormones. Perhaps.
Les Miserables Yogini.
It was simply too sad.
And friggin pinching. That ‘ack’ you feel in your chest.
I Dreamed a Dream
On My Own