You have stood before some landscape, which seems to embody what you have been looking for all your life; and then turned to the friend at your side who appears to be seeing what you saw—but at the first words a gulf yawns between you, and you realise that this landscape means something totally different to him, that he is pursuing an alien vision and cares nothing for the ineffable suggestion by which you are transported . . . All the things that have deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it—tantalising glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest—if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself—you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say 'Here at last is the thing I was made for.' We cannot tell each other about it. It is the secret signature of each soul, the incommunicable and unappeasable want . . . which we shall still desire on our deathbeds . . . Your place in heaven will seem to be made for you and you alone, because you were made for it—made for it stitch by stitch as a glove is made for a hand.
-C.S. Lewis from The Problem of Pain
Sometimes when I'm with Alex and laugh with him and watch him come alive and cheer with him, I get a glimpse of this and that's what is painful about walking home after everyone else; across the screaming street, through the muddy alley, up the breaking stairs, past the pleasant pastry stand, and up the busy sidewalk toward the mall and up the stairs to my 4th floor apartment, where I turn the key 3 times. Some of them see him succeed and do impressive new things. I see a glimpse of my place in heaven.
This is what I tried to write last Christmas about the "standing before some landscape" aspect of this. I hadn't read the quote before.
Content with Humble Admiration
(Dec 22 2007)
Plaster milky porcelain dream
It cracks in wind swept swells
From a privileged balcony, I take in an inch, a foot, a mile, a city
Two majestic pines rise to smell the clouds
And my hands take the sweet perfume
Hiding it in my lint scattered pockets
Like a secret music box, it sings to me when I'm away
To romanticize this place. It is though.
To me it's an oasis.
Though I try, it never becomes less breathtaking.
I can scan its promises for days.
Spoils of the sacrifices of a life of grinding focus.
A life I never earned
I play naively upon this floor.
Like the man who knows not God.
But I take the chorus with me.
I may never collect again.
The sigh I took when I walked back inside from that view from my
father's balcony is the same sigh I let out on that walk home.
Something just happened. I don't know what it is, but it was important,
and now a dull pain introduces itself as I must return to what is less
clear, but louder and anxiously repetitive.
And I wrote this in early November.
If I could forget me for that brief moment it could make a difference in them.
I wanted that desperately. I had to see it in them. I had to feel it in Him.
Not emotion. Confirmation. Assurance. Like a bulb which lights when the clean circuit is complete. It is fragile, but understood it is systematic. Not in a cold and lifeless way. On the contrary, this system brings life and warmth.
...They are systems that can only be truly integrated with each other. We reach up in hopes that we may fit, but fail to recognize that this is the only true fit and the only one that really matters. At times we shave parts of ourselves off or plaster and weld excess on so that we may more easily work in the places which accept us temporarily. Eventually we are left alone when these machines break down or become unsatisfied with us. At that point, we may regret what compromises we have made to our design. Though it is with relief and awe that we find our true integrative shape. And with great joy do we become one again.
2 Peter 2:3 John 14:6
I have since changed my mind about some of those statements. I believe there are connections we find temporarily, which bring us familiarity with that final glove. Sprinkling hints of what we really are. And while they touch us they can help us see clearer that part of us we love.
Eph. 1:13 D&C 88:3
-C.S. Lewis from The Problem of Pain
Sometimes when I'm with Alex and laugh with him and watch him come alive and cheer with him, I get a glimpse of this and that's what is painful about walking home after everyone else; across the screaming street, through the muddy alley, up the breaking stairs, past the pleasant pastry stand, and up the busy sidewalk toward the mall and up the stairs to my 4th floor apartment, where I turn the key 3 times. Some of them see him succeed and do impressive new things. I see a glimpse of my place in heaven.
This is what I tried to write last Christmas about the "standing before some landscape" aspect of this. I hadn't read the quote before.
Content with Humble Admiration
(Dec 22 2007)
Plaster milky porcelain dream
It cracks in wind swept swells
From a privileged balcony, I take in an inch, a foot, a mile, a city
Two majestic pines rise to smell the clouds
And my hands take the sweet perfume
Hiding it in my lint scattered pockets
Like a secret music box, it sings to me when I'm away
To romanticize this place. It is though.
To me it's an oasis.
Though I try, it never becomes less breathtaking.
I can scan its promises for days.
Spoils of the sacrifices of a life of grinding focus.
A life I never earned
I play naively upon this floor.
Like the man who knows not God.
But I take the chorus with me.
I may never collect again.
The sigh I took when I walked back inside from that view from my
father's balcony is the same sigh I let out on that walk home.
Something just happened. I don't know what it is, but it was important,
and now a dull pain introduces itself as I must return to what is less
clear, but louder and anxiously repetitive.
And I wrote this in early November.
If I could forget me for that brief moment it could make a difference in them.
I wanted that desperately. I had to see it in them. I had to feel it in Him.
Not emotion. Confirmation. Assurance. Like a bulb which lights when the clean circuit is complete. It is fragile, but understood it is systematic. Not in a cold and lifeless way. On the contrary, this system brings life and warmth.
...They are systems that can only be truly integrated with each other. We reach up in hopes that we may fit, but fail to recognize that this is the only true fit and the only one that really matters. At times we shave parts of ourselves off or plaster and weld excess on so that we may more easily work in the places which accept us temporarily. Eventually we are left alone when these machines break down or become unsatisfied with us. At that point, we may regret what compromises we have made to our design. Though it is with relief and awe that we find our true integrative shape. And with great joy do we become one again.
2 Peter 2:3 John 14:6
I have since changed my mind about some of those statements. I believe there are connections we find temporarily, which bring us familiarity with that final glove. Sprinkling hints of what we really are. And while they touch us they can help us see clearer that part of us we love.
Eph. 1:13 D&C 88:3
2 comments:
There is so much to take in here, I think I could read it over six or seven times and not get everything, I can't explain exactly why but it resonates with me. I love your thoughts about connection and familiarity and romanticizing something after it flies from you. I've felt that gulf between me and someone by my side that C.S Lewis writes about, but I've also had people almost understand the secret signature of my soul, and it really is breathtaking how close you can get sometimes. But you're right about the glove. And Alex will be part of yours. You know it!
Hey Robbie..My most favorite person ever..Iwent home to Seattl for a visit. I thought of you. I remember making cheesecakes with you. That was AWESOME!! I really hope i get to see you someday soon. You have an amazing spirit and I am so very proud to call you my friend. kisses and hugs...
Amber aka holy diver
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