"If I could find the right words, if some god would lend me a touch of eloquence / I'd show you my heart. I'd lift it out of my breast and turn it over in my hands, you'd see how pure it is / Of any harm or malice toward you or your household. [She holds out her hands to him.]"
—Medea to Creon, from Medea (1946) by Robinson Jeffers.
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I've decided to explore the poetry of Robinson Jeffers as Lenten devotion. I've visited him before, but not with such intensity since college.
I'm in love with his long, lithe lines that threaten to break earlier than he has planned. They are often unwieldy, but they are his.
I wrestle with and against his own wrestling against God and the cosmos. I can see the stars and the rocks and the cormorants and the hawks through his eyes.
I wonder if there can be such a belief as Christian Inhumanism. I wonder if others have arrived at such a conclusion much earlier than I.
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