In his letters C. S. Lewis frequently
refers to a custom he shared with a few select friends. He called it taking a
soak. They would find a quiet place in a sylvan glade and rest awhile letting
the beauty and the peace of such a place wash over them. The second entry
before from Wordsworth is much the same. We are often too busy to soak, but a
good soak was part of the genius of both Lewis and Wordsworth. Now that the
busy Sabbath is over some of us need a good soak, and what about the rest of
you? Creativity needs soaking time, but it also needs play time. Do something
you really enjoy and take a break from the rest of the “stuff”.
A Letter to His Brother: from Hillsboro 26 April 1927
We came down the side of that hill over a big spur called the Giant’s Grave and lunched admirably in the village of Ocue – beer and bread and cheese followed by a pot of tea, and then a game of darts: you know the apparatus for that game which one finds in pubs. Shortly after lunch we had the best “soak” I’ve ever had in a walk, by turning out of a little grassy lane into a wood where the grass grew soft and mossy, and there were solid clumps of primroses the size of dinner plates: not to mentioned a powdering of those little white flowers – wood anemones. We laid ourself flat on our back with packs under our heads for pillows (for it is in the beauty of a pack that it can thus convert into a regular bed a flat ground otherwise useless for soaking): some rash attempts at conversation were ignored and we spent an hour with half shut eyes listing to the burring of the wind in the branches, and an occasional early bumble bee.
William Wordsworth: The Prelude Book One
Whereat, being not unwilling now to give
A respite to this passion, I paced on
Gently, with careless steps, and came, erelong,
To a green shady place where down I sate
Beneath a tree, slackening my thoughts by choice,
And settling into gentler happiness.
. . .
Thus long I lay
Cheered by the genial pillow of the earth
Beneath my head, soothed by a sense of touch
From the warm ground, that balanced me, else lost
Entirely, seeing nought, nought hearing, save
When here and there, about the grove of Oaks
Where was my bed, an acorn from the trees
Fell audibly, and with a startling sound.
Thus occupied in mind, I lingered here
Contented, nor rose up until the sun
Had almost touched the horizon; bidding then
A farewell to the City left behind …
A Letter to His Brother: from Hillsboro 26 April 1927
We came down the side of that hill over a big spur called the Giant’s Grave and lunched admirably in the village of Ocue – beer and bread and cheese followed by a pot of tea, and then a game of darts: you know the apparatus for that game which one finds in pubs. Shortly after lunch we had the best “soak” I’ve ever had in a walk, by turning out of a little grassy lane into a wood where the grass grew soft and mossy, and there were solid clumps of primroses the size of dinner plates: not to mentioned a powdering of those little white flowers – wood anemones. We laid ourself flat on our back with packs under our heads for pillows (for it is in the beauty of a pack that it can thus convert into a regular bed a flat ground otherwise useless for soaking): some rash attempts at conversation were ignored and we spent an hour with half shut eyes listing to the burring of the wind in the branches, and an occasional early bumble bee.
William Wordsworth: The Prelude Book One
Whereat, being not unwilling now to give
A respite to this passion, I paced on
Gently, with careless steps, and came, erelong,
To a green shady place where down I sate
Beneath a tree, slackening my thoughts by choice,
And settling into gentler happiness.
. . .
Thus long I lay
Cheered by the genial pillow of the earth
Beneath my head, soothed by a sense of touch
From the warm ground, that balanced me, else lost
Entirely, seeing nought, nought hearing, save
When here and there, about the grove of Oaks
Where was my bed, an acorn from the trees
Fell audibly, and with a startling sound.
Thus occupied in mind, I lingered here
Contented, nor rose up until the sun
Had almost touched the horizon; bidding then
A farewell to the City left behind …
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