Overland

"'One word, Ma'am,' he said, coming back from the fire; limping, because of the pain. 'One word. All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder. I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny any of what you said. But there's one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things – trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's a small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say.'" - Puddleglum's Speech, The Silver Chair

Winter

"Lord, you are the God who saves me;

    day and night I cry out to you.

May my prayer come before you;

    turn your ear to my cry.

I am overwhelmed with troubles

    and my life draws near to death.

I am counted among those who go down to the pit;

    I am like one without strength.

I am set apart with the dead,

    like the slain who lie in the grave,

whom you remember no more,

    who are cut off from your care.

You have put me in the lowest pit,

    in the darkest depths.

Your wrath lies heavily on me;

    you have overwhelmed me with all your waves.

You have taken from me my closest friends

    and have made me repulsive to them.

I am confined and cannot escape;

    my eyes are dim with grief.

I call to you, Lord, every day;

    I spread out my hands to you.

Do you show your wonders to the dead?

    Do their spirits rise up and praise you?

Is your love declared in the grave,

    your faithfulness in Destruction?

Are your wonders known in the place of darkness,

    or your righteous deeds in the land of oblivion?

But I cry to you for help, Lord;

    in the morning my prayer comes before you.

Why, Lord, do you reject me

    and hide your face from me?

From my youth I have suffered and been close to death;

    I have borne your terrors and am in despair.

Your wrath has swept over me;

    your terrors have destroyed me.

All day long they surround me like a flood;

    they have completely engulfed me.

You have taken from me friend and neighbor—

    darkness is my closest friend."

Finding Home

We live in a mismatched world. We play the part we're told to with little regard for talent or courage.
There is no "right-fit." The papers can only print the words "generalization," "racism," "sexism," "misunderstanding." We're all a crazy bunch of kids running in circles in need of something to hold onto.

In this world that can't distinguish the grays, how are we supposed to respond then to a beckoning?
If some meaning calls out can we even hear it through the salt and pepper fights on the screen?

Home isn't a place you live, it's not a location, or even a state of being.
Where do you belong, where you mean something, where you smile:
That's the hint of home, the teaser of the rich secret.

The forest, the trees.
The sea, the waves.
The meadow, the flowers.
The stage, the thrill.
The knowledge, the books.
The sounds, the music.

That's finding it,
Get on your way,

Home.