T.S. Tuesday: An End and A Beginning
For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
~T.S. Eliot, "Little Gidding"
This week marks the beginning of new era for me. I wrapped up my job at Plant With Purpose last week and have about a month of bucket listing, bridesmaidsing, and packing before I move to Guatemala.
The last couple days, as I've stared at my screen, fingers perched, or opened my journal, pen clutched, I've found myself voiceless. Like Eliot writes, I'm caught between "last year's language" and not yet confident in my next year's voice.
Usually my words flow profusely, involuntarily. But this transition, from full time, productive member of the working world to, as ee cummings puts so eloquently, a "human merely being" has been tough to process.
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| I'm sure this voids any sympathy you were feeling for me in my "tough transition," but this is how I spent my first morning of "funemployment." |
I don't know exactly how God is moving. I don't know if I'm supposed to be sad to say goodbye to my friends and coworkers or if I'm supposed to be excited for the new adventure that awaits. I've found myself torn between the bitter and the sweet, wondering what to make of it.
I'm scared that I've made a mistake. That I'll get to Guatemala and be lonely out of my mind. I'm scared that my writing will wither when I don't have to spill words onto a screen before work, when blog posts aren't squeezed into lunch breaks, and when I look at my schedule and see wide open spaces.
For the first time in 4.5 years, I don't know exactly where I'll be on Monday mornings or how much will be deposited into my bank account every 15th and 30th of the month.
It's a little disorienting to say the least. But also exciting, exhilarating. When I was in high school, one of the most meaningful things I heard from God was the promise,
"You will grow."
I am excited to learn more of my identity outside of Plant With Purpose. I am excited to make new friends in a new country. I am excited to see God move in new ways, to count new gifts and chart new graces. I am excited to await another voice of a new year.
And though I'm scared, I am excited to make an end and a beginning.
T.S. Tuesday: Communing with the Dead
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| T.S. Eliot |
I have friends in dead places, and, according to Scott Cairns and T.S. Eliot, that is okay.
I recently read a chapter by Scott Cairns--who taught a spiritual writing class I had the privilege of taking last semester--in the book, A Syllable of Water, about poetry, Cairns' forte.
After 15 weeks of class, I wasn't surprised by Cairns' emphasis on the ongoing dialogue between the writers of today and the writers who have influenced them, dead or alive.
He breaks many of the myths about poetry being self-focused and self-referential, doodling verses composed by closed off hermits and dreamers and maybe even hobbits, too.
Cairns writes,
"Solitary as it often seems, the discipline of poetry offers us a way out of our private isolations, our culturally encouraged solipsism; it is a journey that joins us to an amazing community of like-minded folk, the poets who precede us... I'm talking about the living and the ostensibly dead."
I'm glad to hear this because I commune with a lot of dead people: poets and theologians and writers of all stripes whose works offer me the chance to grow and learn, to recreate and regenerate my own thoughts and works. From T.S. Eliot to Henri Nouwen to Jane Austen, some of my most kindred spirits are not living.
Scott Cairns--still very much living--became another kindred spirit when, later in his essay, he mentions the seemingly omnipresent T.S. Eliot (convenient for this post, eh?). He quotes Eliot's "Tradition and the Individual Talent:"
"No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone. His significance, his appreciation is the appreciation of his relation to the dead poets and artists."
Both Eliot and Cairns assert that the point of poetry specifically, art in general, and--I hope--the words shared on this blog, is to continue the conversation, to engage in the ongoing recreation of the world. To create space for continued dialogue. To leave my thoughts and words in a way that you can make of them what you will.
I don't claim to be a poet or an artist for that matter, but I am grateful to the many "like-minded folk" who have preceded me and allowed me to learn and glean and grow from their art.
And even if you don't consider yourself an artist or a poet or a writer, I want to extend a welcome to this community, an invitation to share your thoughts, and encouragement to join in a great conversation between friends, both living and dead.
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Who are the most influential authors you've read? Your favorite "friends in dead places"? What pieces of art--poetry, other types of writing, or otherwise--can you come back to time and again learn something new?
T.S. Tuesday: Attempts at Sowing Proper by a Girl Who’s Not So Proper
“All men are ready to invest their money
But most expect dividends.
I say to you: Make perfect your will.
I say: take no thought of the harvest,
But only of proper sowing.” T.S. Eliot, The Rock
Sow proper when corners cry out to be cut.
Sow proper in the mundane.
Sow proper when resentment burns.
Sow proper when you want to evade.
Sow proper when anger is easier.
Sow proper when laziness hangs.
Sow proper when no eyes are upon you.
Sow proper and don’t be swayed.