The Dreamer
On a midnight in midwinter when all but the winds were dead,
“The meek shall inherit the earth” was a Scripture that rang through his head,
Till he dreamed that a Voice of the Earth went wailingly past him and said:
“I am losing the light of my Youth
And the Vision that led me of old,
And I clash with an iron Truth,
When I make for an Age of gold,
And I would that my race were run,
For teeming with liars, and madmen, and knaves,
And wearied of Autocrats, Anarchs, and Slaves,
And darkened with doubts of a Faith that saves,
And crimson with battles, and hollow with graves,
To the wail of my winds, and the moan of my waves
I whirl, and I follow the Sun.”
Was it only the wind of the Night shrilling out Desolation and wrong
Through a dream of the dark? Yet he thought that he answered her wail with a song—
Moaning your losses, O Earth,
Heart-weary and overdone!
But all’s well that ends well,
Whirl, and follow the Sun!
He is racing from heaven to heaven
And less will be lost than won,
For all’s well that ends well,
Whirl, and follow the Sun!
The Reign of the Meek upon earth,
O weary one, has it begun?
But all’s well that ends well,
Whirl, and follow the Sun!
For moans will have grown sphere-music
Or ever your race be run;
And all’s well that ends well,
Whirl, and follow the Sun!
I’ve been reading and rereading this poem now for ten years. It’s a painting a dear friend gifted me. The artist Jared Dunten suffered a spinal cord injury after diving into the Rio Grande. His mother encouraged him to try art during his recovery and he now paints using a paintbrush in his mouth. It hangs in my bedroom and I often fall asleep to it with the thought, “All’s well that ends well/Whirl and follow the sun.”
It’s the first lines that piques my interest today. Tennyson surely had something dark and painful he’d endured. He suffered. He felt anguish and wrote it for the whole earth to share with him this collective grief.
But the end. My gosh. The end is an imagined perfection he MADE happen by willing it so. To suffer but whirl with the sun. What a beautiful arc.
Strother started as an outlier for any fraternity. He showed up in a wheelchair and that’s new for almost anyone. He is also just one of the guys. Strother got the princess parking (he hates when I call it that) on campus with his truck and was on call for any and every task. He put his work in to make the parties happen, whether it was picking up lumber for a build, or picking up his pledge brothers to get the party cleaned up and garbage disposed of the next morning. He was there. And he loved it.
Yesterday he began his third round of chemo. About five pledge class buddies helped me clean out his dorm last month and he officially withdrew for the spring semester. TCU has been more than amazing. They refunded his semester long after they were obligated to do so. And they’ve saved his spot for fall enrollment.
Monday night 50 or so Sigma Nus came to our backyard for an early initiation ceremony for Strother. With every ounce of will I could muster I drew the blinds closed and allowed them this sacred time for their traditions to unfold in probably the weirdest place they’ve ever held initiation. And I won’t lie, I wept quietly at the earnestness with which they made this happen for my son.
My son is this beautiful being who is in his midnight winter. He is weary and overdone. But his moans will grow sphere music. His pain will literally make something harmonious. Maybe Strother will bring together a family that needs healing. He could teach a hospital how to gracefully treat a complex situation. He may raise awareness in the community for blood banking. His fraternity will learn an entirely different meaning of the word bond.
I find beauty in art. More accurately I find how incredibly endurable we can be and still express it through art. Strother’s story is an arc. This I know, he will whirl.
https://www.instagram.com/p/DVwIRmkkRpe/?img_index=1&igsh=a3FrdHhiMWcxbHQ0
