Timothy WillardComment

Timothy WillardComment
This caught me. The image, the verse. I’ve been considering the benefit of sadness and melancholy and how, in a strange way, both can bring a kind of joy as we move through them. Always there is movement, melancholy, into light, into contemplation. Perhaps “The Great Sadness” exists because there is, in fact, “A Great Joy.” And that is where we’re headed … though some get mired in the melancholy.  theparisreview: The Great Sadness You can’t look at yourself in the ocean. Your looks fall apart like tendrils of light. Night on earth. —Federico García Lorca. Photography credit Yale Joel.

This caught me. The image, the verse. I’ve been considering the benefit of sadness and melancholy and how, in a strange way, both can bring a kind of joy as we move through them. Always there is movement, melancholy, into light, into contemplation. Perhaps “The Great Sadness” exists because there is, in fact, “A Great Joy.” And that is where we’re headed … though some get mired in the melancholy. 

theparisreview:

The Great Sadness

You can’t look at yourself
in the ocean.
Your looks fall apart
like tendrils of light.
Night on earth.

Federico García Lorca. Photography credit Yale Joel.

Tim's authored four books, including the children's book Shine So Bright and the critically acclaimed Veneer: Living Deeply in a Surface Society. He studied beauty in the works of C.S. Lewis for his PhD under Alister McGrath. When he's not scratching poetry, or chasing the scholar's craft, you can find him carving up the trails of the nearest national forest on his Salsa El Mariachi 29er.

He lives in Charlotte, North Carolina with his wife and three pixie-daughters, and two acres of Great Horned Owls.