Inklings in the Corner.

Laughing in the corner booth, rounded granite centered by leathered green chairs. Wine resting beside me, blog in front of me, and low-lit lamp hovering over me.

Trish sips peppermint tea while lingering over her sketching journal, colour pencils resting at her reach and thoughts pouring like intricate work from her hand. She is pensive, quiet, but rested and real. Her true self.

Deb sits across from me, stirring her lemoned water with a straw, then swirling Merlot and enscripting words and thoughts onto her peacock journal, the pages like fabric, textured thick. Her words come in pulse, a mixed of rushed squiggles broken like breathes by the sipping of water or wine.

We are The Inklings.

C.S. Lewis, JRR Tolkien, and other Oxford Associates coined the phrase. A group of writers, philosophers, thinkers, critiquers, kindred spirits, they met Thursday evenings in Lewis' dorm, and Tuesdays midday for decades to follow at The Eagle and the Child in a corner dulled by pub light and puffed with circles of tobacco, embracing the minds of the analytical and imaginative genius'. They drunk beer and discussed ideas and knit camaraderie and penned prose in that little pub corner, creating works such as Lord of the Rings and Out of the Silent Planet, criticism and encouragement given alike.

I feel a little bit like this, cornered at Nova's Bakery or Amelies or Smelly Cat or Crisp. My coffee or wine sipped slowly and my eyes slitted with thought, my hands plucking at keys. Trish and Deb lean forward and backward, an exchange of scrawling across papers. We smile, relax, write. Then we converse, commune, care. For we are philosophers, kindred spirits, careful writers, crafters at work. We are The Inklings.

~~~~

I found an old blog post, and wanted to hear Trish say in reflection to it: Did You Pray For That? Because, yes, my Inkling friends, I did.... And he heard:

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 2009

Inklings.

I've been reading and drinking in Sheldon VanAuken's book, A Severe Mercy, and this afternoon, and 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.