Inklings.

I've been reading and drinking in Sheldon VanAuken's book, A Severe Mercy, and this afternoon, was craving the beauty of his pen pal relationship with C.S. Lewis, writing each other letters of deep self and thought, though they had never met, and keeping each other then, persistent in prayer. The character of C.S. Lewis comes through and is astounding to me, as it was to VanAuken, as he is a busy professor and acclaimed writer already at that point, mirrored and quoted by numerous theologians as the most influential contemporary of the time. But yet, Lewis writes these incredible, almost in a romantic sense, poetic narratives to VanAuken, offering open discourse regarding the Christian faith, or furthermore, the essence of belief. It is beautiful, the display of discovery woven through an intellectual literaturistic style in these letters.

As the book sat coddled on my chest, myself wrapped in blankets and nuzzled in this cold, wet afternoon with tea, admiration and desire wells with in me for friendships as such. To sit with Lewis' companions, the Inklings, and discuss theology and terms amongst a stirring glass of wine or simmering tea. Or to read such personal, provocative, and honest letters regarding the search for belief and faith from another.

There are some where I have this now, this stirring shared through in qualms by email or blog space, but a returned desire for the essence of this intellectual, bookish, theological community is awakened and drawn. It begins with Lewis and VanAuken and a realism in pen pals, and comes to fruition in what clever antidotes I can conjure up in my daily communities.