Musings – Page 4

The Sea-Longing

April 5, 2013 by Gillian Bronte Adams 4 Comments

And now Legolas feel silent, while the others talked, and he looked out against the sun, and as he gazed he saw white sea-birds beating up the River. “Look!” he cried. “Gulls! They are flying far inland. A wonder they are to me and a trouble to my heart. Never in all my life had I met them, until we came to Pelargir, and there I heard them crying in the air as we rode to the battle of the ships. Then I stood still, forgetting war in Middle-earth; for their wailing voices spoke to me of the Sea. The Sea! Alas! I have not yet beheld it. But deep in the hearts of all my kindred lies the sea-longing, which it is perilous to stir. Alas! for the gulls. No peace shall I have again under beech or under elm.

~ J.R.R Tolkien, The Return of the King

The sea-longing.

I have felt it.

Have you? The indescribable feeling that stirs in your heart as you stand upon the sandy shore overlooking miles upon miles of rolling waves. Water stretching in all directions. Deep. Unfathomable. Seemingly endless.

And the cry of the gulls. Can you hear them?

And yet there are other things that inspire this same feeling.

A lightning storm. Flickering strands of light crawling across a midnight sky. The rhythmic drumming of hooves galloping across a green field. Soaring melodies that summon emotion and stir the soul. A book that resonates deep within. That creates this longing, this desire for something more.

According to Tolkien’s essay On Fairy Stories, this longing is the purpose of all true fairy-stories, for they are “not primarily concerned with possibility, but with desirability. If they awakened desire, satisfying it while often whetting it unbearably, they succeeded.”

C.S. Lewis also speaks of this desire in The Weight of Glory.

In speaking of this desire for our own far-off
country, which we find in ourselves even now, I feel a certain shyness . . . We
cannot tell it because it is a desire for something that has never actually
appeared in our experience . . . The book or the music in which we thought the
beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them
was longing . . .

Longing . . . but a longing for what? What is this desire that great beauty awakens?

The desire for something more. For a world beyond our own. For a purpose in our lives. For true love, true pleasure, true joy, true glory, true beauty.

The longing for our Creator.

These things–the beauty, the memory of our own past–are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the things itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshipers For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never visited.

C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory

This deepest of longings cannot be satisfied by anything in this world. For this desire is for something deeper than anything in this world. All other things are but shadows and dust that will fade with the rising of the sun.

The book of Hebrews houses the “Hall of Faith” in chapter eleven. After mentioning Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Moses, and others, it goes on to say:

All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own . . . Instead, they were longing for a better country–a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them.

~ Hebrews 11:13-16

We are longing for a better country. A heavenly one.

I believe the longing that fills our hearts when we see the ocean, or the glory of a sunrise, or explore the depths of a truly great book, is a longing for our true home.

A longing for the far country.

Mining for Gold

November 29, 2012 by Gillian Bronte Adams 4 Comments

“You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.“

~ Jack London

Sometimes the best stories don’t chase after you, begging to be written. You have to hunt them down like the ever elusive white stag.

You have to dig them out of the deep places of the earth, like precious gems.

You have to dive into the depths of the sea and retrieve them, like ancient treasure from the wreckage of a sunken ship.

Victory won through sweat and sacrifice is that much more dear. And a story penned through tears and toil, mined from the depths of the earth, hounded from the farthest reaches of the forest, often rings truer than the story that springs nigh fully formed into your head one morning.

I’m still hunting the plot for my newest story, By Sword, mining my characters out of the rocks, and following their pathless trail through the forest. And it’s hard work. Discouraging, sometimes. But every once in a while, a tiny sliver of gold breaks through that inspires me to keep going, to keep hunting, to keep typing.

To hunt inspiration with a club.

Where are you in your writing? Are you hunting inspiration or refining gold?

Wanted: Burglar To Share In Great Adventure – Middle Earth Ramblings

November 13, 2012 by Gillian Bronte Adams 5 Comments

“As they sang, the hobbit felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through him, a fierce and jealous love, the desire of the hearts of dwarves. Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking stick.” ~ The Hobbit

I expect most of us, like Bilbo, have a bit of a Tookish side. The part of us that loves adventure and the thrill of peril and the glory of great deeds. The part that loves reading Tolkien or leafing through ancient epics, watching action and adventure movies, the sight of the road going ever on and on.

The part that wants to wear a sword instead of a walking stick.

“I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it’s very difficult to find anyone.” ~ Gandalf

If only he had stopped by at my house on the way to the Shire. The Tookish part of me is jumping up and down at the moment, “Pick me! Pick me! I’ll sign up!”

And I would in a heart beat.

If The Hobbit were set in modern times, I could see Gandalf writing up this ad and posting it on facebook, or craigslist, or somewhere online.

WANTED: Burglar to share in Great Adventure.

Requirements: small, stealthy, clever.

Destination: the Lonely Mountain.

Object: Gold.

Remuneration: treasures beyond imagining.

Employers: Thorin and Company.

Expected enemies: trolls, goblins, wargs, dragons, and other nefarious creatures that inhabit the dark places of Middle Earth.

Danger: High.

Chance of return: Slim.

Apply at the Prancing Pony in Bree, ask for Gandalf.

Note: Thorin and Company are not liable for any injuries to employees, including (but not limited to) loss of life, limb, or sanity, dismemberment by wargs, enslavement by goblins, or barbecuing by dragons.

As Gimli would say, “Certainty of death . . . small chance of success . . . what are we waiting for?”

Song of the Saddle

November 7, 2012 by Gillian Bronte Adams 4 Comments

If you have spent any length of time wandering the dust-ridden halls of this blog, then you might just know that I spend a decent amount of my time in the saddle. Especially during the summer months – odd considering that I live in Texas where the summer months are known for the blazing sun, triple digits, and mud cracks large enough to be portals to distant lands . . . or at least, the center of the earth.

Having spent so many hours in the saddle, I’ve come to realize that riding is like music.

Each horse has a distinct rhythm. The beat of their hooves, the varying pace, the distinct walk, jog, lope, and run that is all their own, contributes to their unique melody.

Each saddle sings its own song. An old saddle with its well worn leather skirt, wooden tree, and metal pieces frosted with rust creaks a different ballad, a tale of miles already traveled, than the squeak of a new saddle with leather stiff and unbroken, and metal pieces still jangling to find their proper place.

Each landscape offers a different harmony. The drum of hooves over hard packed earth differs from the harsh scuffling through dead leaves lining the forest floor or the soft thudding through the arena sand.

For me, part of the joy in riding is discovering the beautiful melody that each different horse, saddle, and landscape affords. Finding the horse’s rhythm so that horse and rider can move as one. Hearkening to the ballad of the saddle and listening to the tale it unfolds.

There is a sort of grand symphony present in the world around us, if we just have ears to hear it. The whisper of a turning page. The orchestral chirping of crickets in the night. The blazing glory of a sunrise. Each is a song in itself, an offering to the praise of the One who created it all, the Singer who set the song in place.

So, when I weary of writing and the formerly pleasant clacking of the keys as I type becomes only slightly less grating than the scraping of nails across a chalkboard (one of the worst sounds in the world!), then I take to the saddle once more, lose myself in the rhythm of hooves, and allow the cares and worries of the world to fall from my shoulders, borne away upon a fleeing wind.

Are there any sounds that seem to bear more melody than others to you? Have any others become enchanted, as I, by the song of the saddle?

The Sea-Longing

Mining for Gold

Wanted: Burglar To Share In Great Adventure – Middle Earth Ramblings

Song of the Saddle

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