Step out of the Slipstream
See you in forty days
I am not naturally disposed to fasts and even less likely to talk about them with other people. I am very much into pleasurable things and also there’s a sliver of superstition in me that it’ll be jinxed if I talk about it too much. But here we are at the beginning of Lent and my dear old tradition is bringing up the same question it does faithfully every year. What will I give up? It’s homely, unpopular and — well, subversive.
The answer that floated to my conscious mind after mulling it over in the background for awhile was the Slipstream. This is my own little personal shorthand for the current of events and information which rushes past me on a daily basis — news, feeds, podcasts, audiobooks, headlines, radio — and picks me up and exerts more chaotic pull on me than I like to admit. I don’t need to point out that it’s been even more dizzying than usual in the past two months given our political situation. The season of lament feels — appropriate.
A blessed exception to the turmoil of the Slipstream has been this little inlet of lovely people and ideas. I’m here for it, as long as it keeps that essential substacky quality that drew us here. It is a good table in the wilderness, to switch metaphors. A flotilla of tables, says my poet friend
, to combine the metaphors. Still, I think I will take a break from this space too so I can return with renewed energy.The end of all things is near. Therefore be alert and of sober mind so that you may pray. Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling.
It feels like the end of all things, or at least the end of many things I know and hold dear. The early church was exhorted in their circumstances to pray with an alert mind, love deeply, and offer hospitality cheerfully. Here we go.
Be of good courage. Keep gathering around your tables, friends! And send up a flare from time to time so I know you’re there.
To the writers I follow, I look forward to enjoying your missives in my inbox. You provide needed food for my journey.
To the readers who support me by reading so faithfully, I’ll schedule a couple of past essays to go out. Hopefully they’ll meet you where you’re at.
See you in about forty days.
Love,
Abbey
I can’t think of a more timely Lenten act, nor of a more poetic way of expressing the need to take a sideways step. Slipping gently out of one stream and into another one, where I trust you find refreshment & renewal.
Good travels on your raft-table, Abbey. As this note came I was literally typing into a post that same ending of all things bit of textual ruin. Just wanted to see you off with that quantum turn for turn.