"It would be rash to say that there is any prayer which God never grants. But the strongest candidate is the prayer we might express in a single word 'encore.' And how should the Infinite repeat Himself? All space and time are too little for Him to utter Himself in them once.
And the joke, or tragedy, of it all is that these golden moments in the past, which are so tormenting if we erect them into a norm, are entirely nourishing, wholesome, and enchanting if we are content to accept them for what they are, for memories. Properly bedded down in a past which we do not miserably try to conjure back, they will send up exquisite growths. Leave the bulbs alone, and the new flowers will come up. Grub them up and hope, by fondling and sniffling, to get last year's blooms, and you will get nothing. 'Unless a seed die...' " -C.S. Lewis
Oh C.S. Lewis, thankyou.
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God speaks to each of us as he makes us, then walks with us silently out of the night. These are the words we dimly hear: You sent out beyond your recall, go the limits of your longing. Embody me. Flare up like flame and make big shadows I can move in. Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror, Just keep going. No feeling is final. Don't let yourself lose me. Nearby is the country they call life. You will know it by its seriousness. Give me your hand. Rilke
1 comment:
word, baby, word!
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