Moonlight. The full, unhindered brightness of clear, star-pierced night over sere, shadow-long plains. A nighttime journey. Three souls whizzing down snaky black roads. And music. The swift lilt of hammered dulcimer, the dance of violin, and the voice of Rich Mullins crying out glory.
This gypsy life with its car treks back and forth through the plains sometimes threaten to undo me. And yet, sometimes the long miles create a hedged circle of quiet in which I am unexpectedly remade. Night drives especially seem to bear an inherent magic. Dad, Joel and I drove far into the night, through the mountain passes to make it back home. I was so dreading it, but the peace of those dark hours was like sleep to a very exhausted soul. And the moonlight, well it was like food. (The fudge sundae we snagged in Raton also helped.)
And Rich Mullins. Every time I hear him I thank God he lived. He’s one of my saints, one of the people whose music of love to God bridges the chasms of my struggle and allows me to come close to the Father again. I first heard his songs on a family roadtrip up into the southern Rockies. There is just nothing quite like driving pencil thin roads through gigantic, snow-capped mountains while singing Sing Your Praise at the top of your thirteen-year-old lungs. Since then, Rich has companioned and illuminated many hours of my gypsy wandering, hours that somehow stand out as moments of luminescent beauty when I look back on them. If you have never heard Rich Mullins, go listen. Now. Start with my favorite of his: A Liturgy, A Legacy and a Ragamuffin Band. And listen to it by mountains or moonlight if you possibly can.
So, all that to say. We are home now. Once again, I am writing away. At some point, I’m sure I’ll crash in sheer exhaustion, but for now, the words are flowing, albeit in a ramble. A snowstorm is brooding in the west. I am sipping my last thermos cup of tea before braving the cold and making it home. And now, I am bidding you a fond farewell. For the moment anyway…
Love is enough: though the World be a-waning,
And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,
Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover
The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder,
Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wonder,
And this day draw a veil over all deeds pass’d over,
Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter;
The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter
These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover.
Once in a while it feels awfully good to be a starry-eyed romantic.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Filed under Musings, Poetry
One of the things I love best about my little black Apple laptop is the fact that with it, and a few books, I can create a writing studio just about anywhere. Something about the cold (and probably the whirling tornado of details) at home has driven me out to various nooks and crannies of coffee shops to accomplish my writing for the week.
I meandered downtown today, dappled sky overhead, Josh Groban as soundtrack. I made my way to a little coffee shop in old Colorado city called Agia Sophia. It’s run in part (I think) by the local Orthodox church, and is a delightful spot for study and contemplation. I am in the second story bit of the shop, the unofficial study center. A studious hush pervades this big old room with the cool grey light slanting in through its narrow windows from the mountainsides. But there is warmth; in the red of the walls, in the weathered brown of the leather couches and old tables. Dimmed light glints off old brass and the gold of frames cradling rich, eastern paintings. Delicately carved bookshelves line the walls, crammed with theology and philosophy, and a tantalizing assortment of fiction. There is music; a rare combination of classical, George Winston, and when I first came in, the rich, harmonic chant of Scripture.
I am trying desperately to finish a solid draft of my book on books by March 1st, so I am typing away. But I thought I’d say hello to you all from this adopted studio o’ mine. I wish you dappled day light, vanilla tea (like me), and a space in which to think long, winter day thoughts.
Fine lace woven by the rising day and coming night. Pearl in morning, blue at even, dappled by the racing storms. Gold at noon and cream at dusk, diamond at the clearest dawns.
Fragile garment of the cold, swiftly spun of elfin thread. Pure for but an instant, strong for just a starlit night. Then rent by sun and foot and coming day.
Jewels dropped from a treasure chest of sky, glittering on branch and field and long-tipped pine. Glory for an instant, diamonds swiftly stolen by the sun.
Fierce for a snap, mad for an hour and then… gone. Rebel clouds netted by guardian winds; sifted by sunlight to a fine strewn dust that scatters through the blue of clearing day.
Filed under Musings, Poetry
Tis a cloudy day in sunny CA. Last night, in fact, it was downright cold. We finished the conference with a jaunt over to In-N-Out for cheeseburgers “animal style”. Went for a long ramble through the Disneyland Hotel area which is surprisingly European at night. Live music pulsing at every corner, coffee in the shops, a swift lane of night sky above the rapid current of people-crammed streets below. A brisk, chill stroll to refresh after the busy warmth of two conference days.
We’ll ramble a bit at Laguna Beach tomorrow and then catch our plane home. I’m sorta sleepy-eyed tired, but in a happy sort a’ way. Life is so busy right now that I’ve given up trying to grab at normalcy and am now just flowing along with the swift rush of days. For now, I just thought I ‘d say hello to all you lovely folks. Thanks for your comments and prayers for my uncle. I hope your week has been a gracious one. I’ll write more soon!