This questioning of the meaning of being, and dying, and being, is behind the telling of stories around tribal fires at night; behind the drawing of animals on the walls of caves; the singing of melodies of love in spring, and of the death of green in autumn. It is part of the deepest longing of the human psyche, a recurrent ache in the hearts of all of God’s creatures.
I think it’s been a couple decades since I last read L’Engle’s book Walking on Water:Reflections on Faith and Art. Perhaps it’s the way my brain works now – or maybe it is the nature of a book of “reflections,” but I found it hard reading to stay on her trail, while at the same time I copied out a lot of helpful insights and am always glad to read L’Engle.