I was listening to an audio book of C.S. Lewis’ The Weight of Glory when I blinked a few times in the striking light of his prose, realizing for the first time what it meant to look along the light and not merely at it. I was stunned. Lewis argued logically in poetic prose. It was so rich and clear. Lewis conversed so long in the western cannon that he wrote with a Western-Christendom accent. He spoke like one who had walked with Truth in the cool of the day through the English countryside and could imitate the Poet’s cadence and tone.
I was overcome with the idea that I was listening to someone who didn’t think about God as much as He thought like God. I purchased a copy of The Weight of Glory before I was done with the audio book and devoured the print by night and audio by day. I was transported out of myself. I had been looking through borrowed contacts. The eyes of my faith were altered. Continue reading “The Transposition of my Imagination”
It isn’t that he didn’t like people; it’s just that he preferred them dead. The dead can’t hurt you. So Daniel spent his time in the library reading, listening to the wise and learned from better ages. They led him to better worlds. Worlds where adventures happened and always turned out well in the end; worlds where men were good and women loved them for their goodness. Worlds where good and evil were clear. Daniel went to the land of other men’s imaginations as often as he could. It was safer there.
Squeezing the orange revealed nothing. Alfie could never remember if oranges were supposed to be firm or soft. The orange in his hand had a little give; it could go either way. Perhaps fruit salad was a foolish dinner choice.
Alfie needed a professional. He could see the stout produce attendant patrolling the melon stacks, considering Alfie with disfavor, like a police officer contemplating a tattooed youth loitering outside the mini-mart. Submitting the orange for inspection to this authority seemed embarrassing, yet necessary.
Alfie began to fumble with his coupon book to see if he should change his dinner plans, when he sensed someone approaching. Figuring the produce attendant was ready to make inquiries, he asked without lifting his head.
“How do you know if an orange is ripe?”
Alfie looked up, into the eyes of a young woman. Alfie felt they were the first eyes he had ever really seen. Continue reading “An Unripe Suitor”