The Bear Under the Bridge

So many things.

I am reading a book right now called “I capture the castle.”

The main character lives in a house built on the ruins of an old castle. Her Father once wrote a very literary book called “Jacob Wrestling,” but hasn’t been able to write anything since. Thus, they are all dirt poor.

About the middle of the book, the Father changes somewhat. He starts becoming obsessed with random things. An old blue willow plate, a moth-eaten carpet bag, a herring skeleton…he finds them fascinating and drags them up to the gatehouse where he spends his time.

Sometimes his wife or daughter will think he is writing again, but when they actually get a peek at him they realize he is doing something silly, like crossword puzzles, or taping comic strips all over the walls.

He is thinking about his next book though. All the patterns and textures and shapes are meaning something, he just isn’t sure what. If he could just take his ideas and make them fit together somehow, a lovely thing would result, and he could begin to write it down. But they won’t fit together.

…

That is how I feel right now.

That is how I feel about life.
That is how I feel about writing.
That is how I feel about God.

SO MUCH and SO BEAUTIFUL and SO MANY THINGS but they are not forming together into anything practical.

I call this feeling “The Bear Under the Bridge” because the title doesn’t make sense and neither does the feeling.