Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.
A newspaper sat outside our door this morning. Now that’s service.
Sleep was hard to come by, what with the rocking of the car and the squeaking in the room. But what did it matter? We were nearly to Glenwood Springs.
No matter how modernized, the West is still the West. There is a cheerful ruggedness to the people that seeps into them from the cool water of the river. They neither fear nor gush over the mountains; they are simply part of them, and love them as family.
Glenwood Caverns looms over the town, high above the Colorado River. They are full of beauty and mystery. Discovered by a man named Darrow more than a century ago, they have changed hands many times over the long years, and are now a tourist attraction. Darrow’s tin-can-and-candle flashlight has been replaced by hidden wire and camouflaged lightbulbs. Walking through the guided tour, I wonder what he would think of his cave today. Would he long for the wildness and privacy of before? Or would he smile at the thought of thousands sharing in his wonder at the caves? For all good discoveries are meant to be shared. Open hands bring full hearts.
Note: This is the first in a series of entries written while Brain&Brain was on a train expedition through the west. Absorb Brooke’s beautiful photos here.
[Emeryville -> Glenwood Springs]
We’ve returned to a bygone era, remembered a time of America that we never knew.
Rail is travel for those who understand that life is about the journey, and for those (like me) that wish they understood. The world feels bigger, somehow, rolling by at a steady but relaxed pace. I see trees, mountains, boulders, valleys, rivers and waterfalls. I feel connected to all of them, to the world and its infinite systems and cycles that God created. I am connected.
This is the real world, passing without blur or a dense layer of cloud. Even if only for a short time, I can focus on what I see, gain a deeper understanding and appreciation for it.
I’m in love with the idea of slow travel. Strange to apply that term to a 70-mile-per-hour metal box, but today it’s true.
We dined with a couple returning from their honeymoon, he in love with trains and she with him. Sharing a meal with complete strangers is a strangely beneficial part of our trip; reconnecting with the art of connecting.
Already, this trip is refreshing my spirit.
Like so many, I’ve never found the desire to crack open the door to the mysterious world of the prophets. But when my brother-in-law mentioned how the book of Isaiah applies to us today, a seed was planted. Months later that seed has sprouted, and I’m now reading the writings of Habakkuk. At three chapters short, It’s a good entry into the prophets; yet its brevity is deceiving, for in those chapters lie riches. Such as this verse:
“Moreover, wine is a traitor,
an arrogant man who is never at rest.
His greed is as wide as Sheol;
like death he has never enough.
He gathers for himself all nations
and collects as his own all peoples.”
— Habakkuk 2:5
I read that this morning, and it too planted a seed. The word “wine” could be replaced by any desirable thing: food, sexuality, money. Things God has provided for our benefit, but when elevated to prominence, the results are the same. With cries of “more!” we chase promises of satisfaction and contentment, only to find that “the princess is in another castle,” and we must continue chasing. Eventually our desires consume us, and though no longer desirable, we have pursued them so far that we cannot stop.
In the end, this is about believing a lie. It’s a tale we’ve seen play out many times since the Garden, and one we must be on guard against at every step on our journey. Generations can be devastated because we believe that Earthly things can fill our souls, a momentary amnesia that causes us to forget the truth: that fullness is found not in plenty, but in acceptance of the One who sustains all.
Yes, it’s a bit of a sensationalist headline. But he may be right, and if so, I think the death (or at least reduction) of giant-budget films would be a good thing for the industry. They only allow for broad audiences and safe filmmaking, and stifle experimentation.
However, I don’t like the idea of tiered pricing. I suppose it makes economic sense that the thing that cost more to produce would cost more to see, but I think it would be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Ticket prices are already too high; pushing them further would drop the number of people going to the cinema considerably.