I’ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it
Then I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin’
But I’ll know my song well before I start singin’
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall
Sweet mamaloshen, I need a drink and I don’t even drink.
As you’ve no doubt noticed, this issue took awhile to put together, mostly because mostly what I’ve been thinking about is, “Who the %#&! cares about a literary journal right now?”
Maybe a literary journal has suddenly become a frivolous indulgence, or worse, a normalizing “caught in the bubble” obscenity. Or maybe it always has been and we just didn’t notice. Maybe time spent on a literary journal is time we can’t afford right now, when a hard rain is about to fall. And for sure time spent on a literary journal in the past could have been spent working to keep that hard rain from falling.
Or maybe the time spent on a literary journal matters even more right now. Maybe the most important thing we can do as storytellers is to nurture the timeless archetypal power that stories have to weave together the moral & social fabric of community when more temporal events threaten to tear it apart.
So which is it? Indulgence or obligation? Obscenity or salvation?
I don’t know. I wish to hell I did.
What I do know is that when in doubt, when the temptation to do nothing in the face of psychic paralysis feels irresistible, the best thing to do is usually to remain in motion, to keep putting one foot in front of the other, until the path becomes more clear. Because as recent events have reminded us, doing nothing is perhaps the most dangerous choice of all.
I don’t know what the future holds for S-Curves, for me, for all of us. That’s one of the things I’ll be thinking about as I walk the Camino de Santiago starting in just a week. But for today at least, let’s stay in motion. Let’s do this thing.
Photo © 2011 Austin Happel