There are times when running can be absolute bliss.
(There are, of course, also times when it can be the exact opposite of bliss – but I prefer to dwell on the good of any situation, always.)
Sometimes, you hit just the right song with just the right weather at just the right point in the run – and then, if you’re anything like me, you fling out your arms and throw back your head and imagine you are flying.
It is in those moments that I feel deep kinship with Eric Liddell, the Olympic runner quoted thus in the 1981 film Chariots of Fire:
“God made me fast. And when I run, I feel his pleasure.”
As I was enjoying one of these moments recently, I decided I wanted to write a poem about it. There is such beauty to be savored and shared: the way the air flows over your arms like water over fish scales, and the taste of autumn in the air, and the paradoxical awareness that such freedom and lightness can only be found in the midst of grueling labor.
The poem that eventually presented itself, however, took me rather by surprise. It is not focused on running, specifically, but rather on a certain literary character running: one of my favorite Tolkien characters, Lúthien Tinúviel.
Lúthien’s story is far too long and sad to be told here. In brief: she was the daughter of an Elven king, Thingol, and a Maia (think demi-angel) named Melian. According to Tolkien, she was the most beautiful being ever to walk the earth – except, she didn’t walk. In the poem about her (on which Tolkien worked intermittently throughout his life and never finished), she’s always dancing – or running:
….then forth she came
As sheer and sudden as a flame
Of ambient light the shadows cleaving
Her maiden bower on bare feet leaving;
And as when summer stars arise
Radiant into darkened skies,
Her living light on all was cast
In fleeting silver as she passed
So. Freaking. Gorgeous.
She only stops running when Beren – son of Barahir, a mortal man and far below her in lineage – calls her by her Elvish name: “Tinúviel”, meaning “nightingale”. Then she turns, and looks at him, and lets him catch up with her – and, as Tolkien said of her descendant, Arwen, when that lady beheld Aragorn, “ . . . her choice was made, and her doom appointed.”
She and Beren descend into the depths of hell (literally) to wrest a silmaril from the crown of Morgoth – the bride price demanded by Lúthien’s father. They succeed, but Beren dies along the way (spoiler alert). Overcome by grief, the immortal Lúthien goes to the Halls of Mandos (think God of Fate) and pleads so passionately for their love that Beren is sent back to earth – on the condition that Lúthien forsakes her immortal privileges to share in the fate of mortal men and women.
The lovers dwell together for a time, running and dancing through the glades. They have a child, and the silmaril causes some more mischief. Eventually, they both die, passing beyond the knowledge of Elves or the Valar – and, thus, the world loses the most beautiful creature ever to have lived, until the earth is remade and Iluvatar (The One) reveals his purpose for all races.
I love her.
Sorry-not-sorry to bore you with the intricate Tolkien mythological details. I think the only person living who would be as excited about this poem as I am – and who would catch all the subtle references without requiring explanation – is Stephen Colbert.
In my happy dreams, I go on Stephen Colbert’s show to talk about The Ancient and its Tolkienian influences, and we geek out over this poem and Lord of the Rings and have a marvelous time.
For now, I shall just share this poem on this blog – for it’s not just for Tolkien lovers, really, or even just for runners.
The truth is that, like Lúthien, we are all running:
~ We are running to train.
~ We are running to release.
~ We are running to escape something.
~ We are running to catch something.
This poem is about all of the above.
May we all, like Lúthien, find ourselves caught by the Story pursuing us – only to realize that we have been running towards it all along.
Run, Tinúviel, Run
Fly on the earth as bird through air
Leap nimbly o’er obsession’s snare
Till trained to bear the weight of care
Run, Tinúviel, Run
Seek still the old forgotten way
Lost freedom calling through the fray
As long as Now is called Today
Run, Tinúviel, Run
Mark not the miles that lie ahead
Nor count the tears your heart has bled
But for the love by hope once fed
Run, Tinúviel, Run
With arms outstretched in mirrored flight
With fruitful feet that banish blight
With head flung back to taste delight
Run, Tinúviel, Run
To find and be the friend most true
To call the dead to live anew
To meet the fate pursuing you
Run, Tinúviel, Run
Always to tears you bring me . . . Tears not of sorrow but of the joy in coming home!!!
To the story to which you were born
Run, Ruth, Run!
I love LOTR and Eric Liddel is a model everyone needs to study!!
WOW!! And I
hope all these thoughts and poems apply to walking as well!! 🙂
They do indeed! 🙂 Sometimes, I have found it easier to contemplate the beauty when walking. Enjoy!
Beautiful poem and tribute to Tolkien. I think you should tweet this link to colbert. It would be to his benefit to read your works 🙂