C.S. Lewis always inspires me, no matter what I read of his. This morning I read sections out of his biography, specifically the chapter called “Checkmate” that details his conversion. After reading it, I felt like ditching my iPhone, deleting my Facebook account, and reading a classic. It almost doesn’t matter what he’s writing about, he gets me.
The reason is that in Lewis I find a man so alive to the world, so aware of his existence in all its glories and horrors that in comparison I feel half-asleep, numbed to most of reality, going through life forgetting that I live in a world where daisies and narwhals and redwoods exist. Life is a fantastic and horrifying thing.
We have largely forgotten the awe of existence, and the weightiness of life. No doubt the Niagara Falls of consumer information has exposed our inability to to discern the valuable from the worthless. We are drowning in a sea of memes, statuses, clips, bits, and likes.
He reminds me that the riptide that drowns us in the ocean of triviality begins as a slow undercurrent; that if we’re not careful our the dominating feature of our existence will be shallowness. The fight to wake up and to see and to feel; to really, really live, is, in fact, a fight to the death.
Thank you, C.S. Lewis.