Of Reading, Ruin, and Rabbits

Don’t laugh. Rabbits are wild creatures, and their life – as the book makes clear – is a constant fight for survival.

Unlikely as it may seem, this story burrowed itself (pun intended) so deeply into my heart – and the hearts of my family members, who still think every rabbit we see is Hazel or Fiver or one of our other friends from the warren – that it has fundamentally shaped part of my worldview. You see, each character in this indomitable group of bunnies has his own role – a contribution that he alone can make to the success of the mission. Hazel is the leader – rallying the troops, running the risks, making the hard decisions. Fiver is the prophet, or seer, warning and guiding Hazel at every turning point. Bigwig is the muscle, enforcing Hazel’s orders and defending their small tribe against their myriad of enemies. Blackberry is the clever one, inventing schemes to get out of (or over, or under, or through) tricky situations.

Dandelion is the storyteller.

“Hazel realized that until they were rested they would all be safer where they were than stumbling along in the open with no strength left to run from an enemy. But if they lay brooding, unable to feed or go underground, all their troubles would come crowding into their hearts, their fears would mount and they might very likely scatter . . . . He had an idea.

“‘Yes, all right, we’ll rest here,’ he said. ‘Let’s go in among this fern. Come on, Dandelion, tell us a story. I know you’re handy that way. Pipkin here can’t wait to hear it.’

“Dandelion looked at Pipkin and realized what it was that Hazel was asking him to do. Choking back his own fear of the desolate, grassless woodland, . . . he began.”

This book taught me that we need stories – and, therefore, we need storytellers. We need them just as much as – and, in some situations, even more than – we need intelligence and strength and efficient leadership. The rabbits in Watership Down would have been dead many times over had it not been for Dandelion, quieting their spirits and warding off the paralysis of panic by simply spinning a tale.

I was reflecting on this last week, when the social media channels were choking with the helpless rage and profound grief caused by a veritable armada of traumatic events, both national and international – and there I was, posting my countdown contest for the release of Gatekeeper III. For a moment, I wrestled with guilt. I wondered if I should cease such “trivial” postings in the face of such weighty tragedy.

And then I remembered Dandelion.

So I will keep spinning my tales, friends. I will write, because we need Story always – perhaps even more in times of crisis than in seasons of leisure and peace. I will fight against the darkness with words, for they are the only weapon I have. I will seek to wield this weapon in such a way that brings healing instead of inflicting more wounds. I will endeavor to turn away from my own fears in order to be a conduit of courage and hope for others. I will try to reject the dizzying din of hatred, anxiety, and despair that surrounds us on every side, and cultivate instead a corner of quiet, peace, and rest.

Take heart, dear ones. For a moment, pause: close your eyes, take a breath, and listen to a Story.

P.S. I enjoy writing poetry and sharing it with others. Not every entry to this blog will include a poem, but this particular poem – written in September of 2016 – seems to fit poignantly with this particular post. May it refresh you.

Montgomery Place – Again

Why, pray, should only Woe and Angst find voice

In art, and Peace be left without a say?

The muse forsakes the mouth that dares rejoice;

Tranquility is oft denied its day.

For Fear and Loss are symphonies profound;

Desire is a tempest, vibrant-hued;

But sweet Contentment breathes without a sound

And dwells in light, by no shadow imbued.

Such depth of rest deserves a deeper beauty –

A scene preserved from years that rend and clutch;

Perhaps a poet, love-bound to her duty

Might paint with words what words just fail to touch.

Oh, let my verse, for Silence, language be:

A living altar to Serenity.

P.P.S. I tend to name poems by where I wrote them. ‘Cause I’m creative like that.

P.P.P.S. I like sonnets. You’ll see a lot of sonnets.