Posts tagged #david wilcox

Getting Tired...

Keeping your running shoes ready...

Keeping your running shoes ready...

I wanted to write you today. Yesterday, too. But I don't know what to say. In fact, I don't feel like I have much to say about anything right now, like my voice is too tired to speak.

Maybe you're despondent, too. Maybe words never seem like they're enough. Maybe they aren't. Whether this time or last time or the next time, maybe words just can't make it work right.

So if you're getting tired, or if you already are, well, I am, too. And I think it's okay to be tired, and to get tired, from time to time.

Maybe the point of that tiredness is what we continue to do in that moment, and the moment after that. We take our break, and then we get busy with the next thing, and so on... But the time we take away from the busyness, well, it's not always a moment of despondency or tiredness, sometimes it's a moment of enrichment, or enjoyment, of beauty. Don't forget that even though you may be tired now, you don't always feel that way. After all, if you did feel that way, well, that'd be normal and not be "being tired".

The valleys, the peaks, the plateaus, the loneliness, the laughter, the tears, the dancing, all those moments are on the way. So, I guess, just keep riding it out in stride. We'll see what tomorrow brings, won't we?

  1. Can I recommend David Wilcox's "Two Roads Diverge" story followed by the song "Hold it Up to the Light" on his Live Songs and Stories album?
Posted on April 9, 2012 and filed under Moments, Letter.

Beautifully Ugly

Transient

It won't - it won't be like you thought it was. Innocent dreams give way to winds of time that weather it all to ruin. But it will go on. That is Life. The Hollywood illusion of Goodness will falter. We'll get fat, sick and ugly, all in time to see we've always been ugly. Mystically, I suppose that's why Adam and Eve "covered their shame".

But there is, I believe, a turn in the play. As I've heard I repeat to you:

If someone wrote a play just to glorify
What's stronger than hate, would they not arrange the stage
To look as if the hero came too late, [as if] he's almost in defeat
It's looking like the Evil side will win, so on the edge
Of every seat, from the moment that the whole thing begins
It is...  
Love who makes the mortar
And it's Love who stacked these stones
And it's Love who made the stage here
Although it looks like we're alone
In this scene set in shadows
Like the night is here to stay
There is Evil cast around us
But it's Love that wrote the play...
For in this darkness Love can show the way... (1)

(My words of wisdom for you tonight, that can't fit in a text message.)

Mystically, perhaps wispy wishes of Goodness or its very shadows bearing through giving glimpse to its size, what Adam and Eve didn't see was that we are not just ugly - but beautifully ugly. We are pieces that fit into a puzzle, and once in proper alignment, we actually show what is Beautiful, even with our shameful contortions.

You are beautifully ugly, and so much more lovely for it.

  1. David Wilcox, Live Songs and Stories; track 3, "Show the Way" --- start with the story in item #2 before you listen to the song at #3 
Posted on April 1, 2012 and filed under Religion, Moments, Letter.

Silly Fancies...

Silly fancies and tales...

Silly fancies and tales...

I get to see her tomorrow, I think. It makes me think about a trip I took once to Central Asia. I was on a bus, and there were these younger teenage girls, who, giggling, rushed off at a stop after grabbing my butt. I was flattered; that even I would draw such attention. But the more I thought about it the more I realized that I could have been Bob, Marco, Anton, Jack, or anyone. 'Twas not I that bore the attraction, but the idea of something I might have been. They knew me not; no hopes, fears, dreams, toils, nothing; nothing to them but an idea.

Things can never work out sometimes, 'tis dreams, dreams, and nothing more. Wilcox would say, "I could no more stop dreaming than I could make them all come true." (1)

I'm beginning to think that these silly dreams are okay. Read Lewis today:

As to the business about being 'rooted' or 'at home everywhere', I wonder are they really the opposite, or are they the same thing. I mean, don't you enjoy the Alps more precisely because you began by first learning to love in an intimate and homely way our own hills and woods? While the mere globe-trotter, starting not from a home feeling but from guide books and aesthetic chatter, feels equally at home everywhere only in the sense that he is really at home nowhere?... In other words doesn't one get to the universal (either in people or in inanimate nature) thro' the individual - not by going off into a mere generalised mash. (2)

And I think it was one of Tolkien's characters who said we should love the things we are fitted to love. Without the common, could we even love the beyond?

I'll see her tomorrow, and I'll enjoy it for whatever it's worth; and I'll walk on.

  1. David Wilcox, How Did You Find Me Here; track 11, The Kid
  2. C.S. Lewis, Yours, Jack: Spiritual Direction from C.S. Lewis; Letter to Arthur Greeves, 1 July 1930, p. 17 

Posted on November 4, 2011 and filed under Letter.

Where it all starts

Where it all starts...

Where it all starts...

This is where it starts. I haven't written in a long time. I suppose I stopped knowing what to say. Does one just talk to the void? If there is never a response, or at least, you perceive no response, do you keep talking? Do you keep writing? Does it even matter?

Is it a mere existential crisis?

Is anything every really just a "mere something"? 

CS Lewis once told his friend, Baker, about letters he'd written to his brother being returned with address incorrect:

What was the use of going on dispatching fervent messages - say to Edinburgh - if they all came back through the dead letter office: nay more, if you couldn't even find Edinburgh on the map. His cryptic reply was that it would be almost worth going to Edinburgh to find out.

I think part of the answer isn't so much that you feel no answer, no reply; rather, you simply do what you were made to do.

Or perhaps, as Wilcox might put it, in regards to a message in a bottle, you put all your hopes and all your dreams into it, but where it goes and when it gets there, well, that has more to do with the ocean than with you (2).

  1. C.S. Lewis, Yours, Jack: Spiritual Direction from C.S. Lewis; Letter to his brother, Warren Lewis, 1 July 1921, p. 7
  2. David Wilcox, Live Songs and Stories; track 2, Terminal Tavern
Posted on November 1, 2011 and filed under Letter.