A Recognized Thirst

After avoiding it for more than a month, I finally sat down yesterday evening to write. Though it took me much effort of will to force myself to do it, as soon as I had begun, the pleasure of words and ideas flowing from my mind brought peace.

So I wrote this story about a man who thinks himself imprisoned, but really is not. I am fairly pleased with it, at least the idea of it, though I daresay I shall tinker with it a little more before I look for readers.

Now there is something I read a little while ago, which echoes in my mind. Oh, how true it is! I knew it before, but I refused to act upon it, rather like the man in my story. That of which I speak was written by the poet Rilke:

“You are looking outward and that above all you must not do now. Nobody can counsel and help you, nobody.”

There is a deep well within each of us and we need only go to it and dip into it, but fear often holds us back. Instead we look for others to tell us that our stories are good. We look for friends to encourage us, to talk of many things--“...of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings.” We look anywhere, but within ourselves.

The hermits, I think, knew best. Those who are closest to God are closest to themselves and thus closer to their own deep wells. When one is waiting to hear from his friends and wanting to talk with them, he often ignores what lies within himself. Yet if one were to withdraw wholly from the world—not to hear from any living soul—and be alone with God, he would be able to draw more deeply from that well. Perhaps I shall try that someday.

I suppose, though, there are many things that would be lost then. A conversation with a good friend is priceless, and oft brings into being things that otherwise would never have known the light.