Starting out...
The words of Robert Frost, to inaugurate this endeavor.
Into My Own
One of my wishes is that those dark trees,
So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,
Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom,
But stretched away unto the edge of doom.
I should not be withheld but that some day
Into their vastness I should steal away,
Fearless of ever finding open land,
Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.
I do not see why I should e'er turn back,
Or those should not set forth upon my track
To overtake me, who should miss me here
And long to know if still I held them dear.
They would not find me changed from him the knew
--Only more sure of all I though was true.
These words, more than any others I have found, typify the attitude with which I have struck out from my comfortable cell of ignorance and allowed myself to be bidden by the Love of Christ into the light of Life Everlasting. These words remind me of the spirit of adventure that I seek to kill with fear and squelch with the business of life. I suspect, however, that it is this spirit of adventure that brings me closer to the heart of God than all my careful religiosity.
Into My Own
One of my wishes is that those dark trees,
So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,
Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom,
But stretched away unto the edge of doom.
I should not be withheld but that some day
Into their vastness I should steal away,
Fearless of ever finding open land,
Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.
I do not see why I should e'er turn back,
Or those should not set forth upon my track
To overtake me, who should miss me here
And long to know if still I held them dear.
They would not find me changed from him the knew
--Only more sure of all I though was true.
These words, more than any others I have found, typify the attitude with which I have struck out from my comfortable cell of ignorance and allowed myself to be bidden by the Love of Christ into the light of Life Everlasting. These words remind me of the spirit of adventure that I seek to kill with fear and squelch with the business of life. I suspect, however, that it is this spirit of adventure that brings me closer to the heart of God than all my careful religiosity.
posted by Jason Fleming at 10:59 AM
2 Comments:
Yo, Jason, sup. Awesome poem. I loved it (can you imagine Frost reading it, I can't. but anytime I hear a Hemmingway quote, I can see him sitting at a bar sipping a brew or chillin' in a hammok somewheres. Anyway...). I read some of your stuff on Dave's blog, and he's right you need a Phd. in dropping somethin' cause that was deep.
Robbie, my man. Thanks for stopping by. As I can only update this at work right now my responses are a little slow.
I feel you on seeing Frost. For some reason I find it hard to see him, although I can see his world so clearly in my mind. The sun, the fields, the earth. This man had an abiding love for his surroundings that I deeply desire. Talk about the Kingdom, Sometimes I think this man has it better than I do.
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