A hundred or so miles away there lies a memory, so vivid and wonderful, of such a short night on such a short weekend, that was beautifully encountered. Right here, right now, I miss you, and because of you I’m making the most of the days inbetween now and the next beautiful encounter.   

      “‘I do not call you unfortunate,’  said the Large Voice 
      ‘Don’t you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions?’ said Shasta
      ‘There was only one lion,” said the Voice.
      ‘What on earth do you mean? I’ve just told you there were at least two the first night and -‘
      ‘There was only one: but he was swift of foot.’
      ‘How do you know?’
      ‘I was the lion.’ And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing the Voice continued. ‘I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackels from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to recieve you.’
     ‘Then it was you who wounded Aravis?’
      ‘It was I.’
      ‘But what for?’
      ‘Child,’ said the Voice, ‘I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own.’
      ‘Who are you?’ asked Shasta.
      ‘Myself,’ said the Voice, very deep and low so that the earth shook: and again ‘Myself,’ loud and clear and gay: and then the thrid time ‘Myself,’ whispered so softly you could hardly hear it, and yet it seemed to come from all round you as if the leaves rustled with it.
      Shasta was no longer afraid that the Voice belonged to something that would eat him, nor that it was the voice of a ghost. But a new and different sort of trembling came over him. Yet he felt glad too.
      The mist was turning from black to gray and from gray to white. This must have begun to happen some time ago, but while he had been talking to the Thing he had not been noticing anything else. Now, the whiteness around him became a shining whiteness; his eyes began to blink. Somewhere ahead he could hear birds singing. He knew the night was over at last. He could see the mane and ears and head of his horse quite easily now. A golden light fell on them from the left. He thought it was the sun.
       He turned and saw, pacing beside him, taller than the horse, a Lion. The horse did not seem to be afraid of it or else it could not see it. It was from the Lion that the light came. No one ever saw anything more terrible or beautiful…. after one glance at the Lion’s face he slipped out of the saddle and fell at its feet. He couldn’t say anything but then he didn’t want to say anything, and he knew he needn’t say anything.
       The High King above all kings stooped toward him. Its mane, and some strange and solemn perfume that hung about the mane, was all round him. It touched his forehead with its tongue. He lifted his face and their eyes met. Then instantly the pale brightness of the mist and the fiery brightness of the Lion rolled themselves together into a swirling glory and gathered themselves up and dissappeared. He was alone with the horse on a grassy hillside under a blue sky. And there were birds singing.”

The Horse and his Boy by C.S Lewis

 

The Battle Continued

“For hope does not dissappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.”

It is interesting how some times I can cease to think much, and long – oh so deeply inside – that I was. Things blend together, and have more than one picture that can be played, but lately I see the obvious. Sometimes I feel imprisioned and it’s my fault entirely. “I felt confined,” there is one who might remember those words, and I think that I’m beginning, more and more, to understand why a lot of the time I feel that way.  So often I long to be alive, but I feel dead. I long to be mad about life, so much, and just feel bland. I seek passion and find it being denied. I feel imprisioned sometimes for the simple fact that I imprision possiblity. There is so much more that I can be – and so much more I want to be – but when I take that and put it aside, containing all, I feel trapped.  However, maybe this is not as bad as it sounds. Yeah it isn’t the best thing, to find your self trapped in a seperate place from passion, desire, and Vision, but how glorious is the escape. I feel confined a lot, and I thnk that is something that needs to be made known, but I am desirous of amazing things at the same time. My goal I guess is the be some sort of emotional, spiritual and even phsyical Houdini who extends beyond himself, by leaps and bounds. I want to be rugged, adventureous, and spontaneous. An explorer, a warrior, a knight, and a hero. I want to be there. My heart longs to take action, to attack, to conquer, for that is the core of my heart. Now is the time to find those things! Escape is at hand, but I must focus, place my trust and jump! I guess today I’m jumping away from the things I create in my mind to dissappoint myself, the petty things that hold no impacting value on anything.  I am all that I long to be buried down deep and I must uncover it; I’ve begun to uncover it!!

“You can truly become all you want to be, Jeremiah.”                      

Just remembeirng words and knowing they are from someone real who is really there, holding their hand out for me, makes me suddenly become all that I ever could be and more.