Writing>Netflix

I've been killing my spirit with Hollywood induced films during the last week or so. My apologies. I retaliate with one of my favorite passages from one of my beloved books, The Four Loves by Clive Staples Lewis.

Those like myself whose imagination far exceeds their obedience are subject to a just penalty; we easily imagine conditions far higher than any we have really reached. If we describe what we have imagined we may make others, and make ourselves, believe that we have really been there. And if I have only imagined it, is it a further delusion that even the imaging has at some moments made all other objects of desire—yes, even peace to have no more fears—look like broken toys and faded flowers? Perhaps. Perhaps for many of us, all experience merely defines, so to speak, the shape of that gap where our love of God ought to be. It is not enough. It is something. If we cannot “practice the presence of God it is something to practice the absence of god….”

My mind wanders and I spend most of my days intrigued by scrapped notes I've jotted down before and after other thoughts that infiltrate my steady concentration. My mind is often distracted by what my mind would rather be distracted with and I can't help but feel guilty at the end of the day. During the process I'm simply in a bliss of dreams, made up of all my favorite colors and people with my favorite conversational topics being conversed about set in scenes only people from Pottery Barn and Anthropologie dream about. I think a lot and Mr. Lewis doesn't help much in that department, but he makes a point or seven nonetheless.

I don't think I'm retaining the experiences that have made me a real life and refined person. Maybe not entirely, but not even to an honest degree. I'd hate to think I'm digging this abyss worthy gap for my life. I'm not sure how to go about reshaping and I have a feeling this will take time. But without the gap, no transition, change and realization can occur--that I can be presently mindful of anyways. So we wait (my thoughts & I/God!).

But here's to toys that work.

High as a kite,

Tracy