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Last week I hiked Cloudland in NW Georgia.
I have never been there before, and it was a beautiful day for a long walk.
My friend Mike and I arrived around ten in the morning, and decided to see the waterfalls first thing. Hiking into the canyon was a new experience, and hiking out showed my heart was ok. Poor Mike. He is so used to going a little faster, and I’m just easing along, looking at wildflowers, trying to spot birds and eating blueberries.
My dreams take shape when I’m walking with a pack on my back. I tell myself stories and compose poems. I look up at God’s glory and praise him for what he has done for me. Don’t be alarmed, it’s ok, all of us old guys talk to ourselves.
I look at some of the people I know and I am sorry for them. They are never alone. Are never able to slow down, think about what has been and what will be. Even when I worked in the city as the world closed in on me I’d walk the length of the main street and back, gathering my thoughts and flaking off the stress. Are people afraid of being alone?
Friends from the city are amazed that we moved to a cabin on a dirt road, and spend great amounts of time doing what we love. Alone.
If you write I hope you give yourself the time to dream dreams and make up stories. Sometimes the process of writing, editing and submitting is overwhelming, and we have to make ourselves sit still and remember what it was like when it all started and we listened to the stories at they formed in us, and how exciting that was.
I hope one of the blessings you receive this week is some quiet time.
What He Wants
Sometimes he just wants to live long enough to fulfill promises made,
and to hear, “I forgive you,” for falling short.
Sometimes he just wants his body and mind to hold out as long as the journey takes.
Sometimes he just wants to hang prayer flags from the trees,
believing his God hears and sees all.
Sometimes he just wants to stand again and feel the same swelling in his heart
that was there when he first saw the great mountains.
Sometimes he believes a thousand years has passed,
and this is just a dream.
Sometimes he believes a thousand years has passed,
and this is just a dream.
Robert W. Kimsey
I think one of the hardest things for me right now is waiting for the stirring of words to awaken in my mind. I know they are there hidden in my soul. But what do I speak of? What stories do I tell? How do I put into words what's transforming in the depths of my heart? I love it when the words of the soul stir up to the surface. It's a "coming alive" inside of me.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing your heart here. I couldn't agree with you more. It's in the "be still" that I find my God waiting... I love those moments...
I used to seek solitude any time I could get it. Now I'm alone most of the time, but find myself seeking work to keep my mind busy.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad your health is good, Robert, and you can still hike the trails. That would get the language juices going I'm sure. Recently at a Coffee with the poets in Sylva,NC, a retiree read his poems created in his head when he hikes every week. Nature has always been a great instigator of poetry and great writing.
Robert, Your posts always stir my deepest soul, bring tears to my eyes, and life to my heart. You never cease to amaze me how you can point us wayward writers back to the path of righteousness in the work of our calling.
ReplyDeleteI have been in a place lately like a fishing line snagged in a tree, hanging just above the place of my purpose but so entangled in a place I shouldn't even be in that I can't get there. How I long to dip into the waters of creativity that is in me and let the bobber of my mind bounce upon the waves of my life until It is pulled deep into the water with the catch of the day.
I am so thankful for this blog, thankful for your encouraging words. God bless you and yours, Ruth.