Blow upon me great Whirlwind. For I have come again to dance again with your minstrel, your oracle, the shepherd king.

“One thing I have asked from the LORD, that I shall seek:
That I may dwell in His house all the days of my life,
To behold His beauty
And to meditate in His temple.”

—the psalms of David, 27:4

Last night I enjoyed meeting with a book club that my beautiful wife Christina is hosting at our local Borders. We’ve just begun reading Freedom In Exile—The Autobiography of the Dalai Lama and in the course of conversation on all things Lama, I found myself fixated on two ironies. First, it seems to me that most Buddhists—whose doctrine exults in detachment from passion—cannot escape a somewhat passionate pursuit of detachment. And second, that most Christians—whose doctrine exults in the very passion of Christ—cannot seem to escape the anchors of their apathy. I, being less the former and more the latter, find myself returning to the question of what makes a man move.

One has to be careful here to avoid chasing one’s tail with answers that—while they may sound acceptable—never truly arrive. I’m referring to answers like honor, duty, nobility, self-denial, sacrifice, and the like. All of which are indeed worthy of attention, yet fall woefully short in that none of them have the ability to begin by themselves. No, there must be a first cause for such action. A primal spark that ignites and re-ignites the fires of true passion.

Where is such a spark to be found? In me? Hmmm, no. No, despite that I really do believe I’m fearfully and wonderfully made (kudos to the Architect), I guess it’s just the nature of living in my own skin that keeps me from being too inspired by me. I want to be the kindling, not the flame. No, unlike the water-heater and furnace, I’m not self-igniting. The spark has to be somewhere outside, something other.

Perhaps it comes from the embrace of an idea, a philosophy, or doctrine. No, too contained, too easily manipulated, too corruptible, too controllable. No, I’m quite sure that the kind of spark which ignites an entire life cannot possibly be safer than the matches I was hypnotically drawn to as a child. Yes, the safety police warned me of their intrinsic danger, but oh, how I wanted to watch something burn. I needed fire.

So this is my conclusion, arrived at in part through honest reason, but confirmed in the experience of flame. It’s not some-thing outside of myself, it’s some-one. I need to fall in love. “Easier said than done,” you say. “Not really,” says I. Not if you’ve come to understand what falling in love is. And what is it? I think it is this … beholding beauty and becoming its captive. That is exactly how I fell in love with Christina, and now the orbit of my life is forever altered. I am caught in her gravity well. This is the captivity that I think we all secretly yearn for. If we choose to look, Beauty will woo us, then unexpectedly apprehend us. Beauty is the Master that buys us away from the freedom of apathy and sells us into the glorious slavery of passion. Yes, love is crazy. No, love is not blind. Quite the contrary, love sees what others cannot, what others will not. Love sees better better than anything.

All of this of course brings me back to Him and the warrior-poet who, vanquished by Beauty, penned these words from his own captivity …

“One thing I have asked from the LORD, that I shall seek:
That I may dwell in His house all the days of my life,
To behold His Beauty,
And to meditate in His temple.”

Well, the day calls, so I leave you with these passions to consider. When surrounded by Beauty, blindness is the only way out. So maybe it’s time to open our eyes, raise the white flag, and yield. Spinsters we are not made to be. Lovers, and in love, this is the spark that ignites a life.

“Dear friends, now we are children of God,
and what we will be has not yet been made known.
But we know that when he appears, we shall be like him,
because we shall see Him as he is.”

—a letter from John, his first, 3:2

Love,
Dean