The Song on the Inside of God

At the creation, as you stood alone on the earth, right before you began shaping man from clay...what were you thinking? Was all of creation rejoicing in the beauty of its Creator?
Were you basking in the glow of new born creation, untainted by years of pain and futility? Did you miss a certain voice that was still inside of you? The voice that you were about to give breath to, about to give sound to? Did you long for that voice? Was the praise empty without it?
As you put your hands in the clay was there this sound inside of you directing your hands? The sound of man still on the inside of God. The sound of praise from yet unshaped lips, longing for form in which to fill with the resonance of this sound, this song on the inside of God. The sinuses as they are formed, the lungs, the caverns on the inside that would buzz with the vibrations of this song on the inside of God. The song of praise that you withheld only to bestow on the crown of your creation. The song on the inside of God. Lips, tongue, throat, larynx, were you excited as you shaped these things? The labyrinth of the inner ear, the marvel of intricate design, a millenia of thought, the wonder of love perfected in a form to wonderful to have been comprehended by any other creation!
The form of Jesus, was it hidden inside of you until that moment? Had the angels ever beheld you like this before? Were they all freaking out, the living creatures burning with wonder at this new facet of you...God as Lover? The God who had only need to speak and his imaginings appear from thin air. This portion, this piece, the pinnacle.
You get down in the dirt, get dirt under your fingernails. You breath in the smell, knowing its all about to change. Was there any moment of hesitation, looking down history to see what man would do to hurt you? Was there a moment? There couldn't have been. You would have seen it all before you even started creating. You had to know the risk you were taking by putting so much of yourself into one being, and then giving him a will to choose you...or not.
You come to this clay, shaped like the visible part of you, you come to him and the music swells, the leaves rustle in the wind, the birds all flying around to find better seats on nearby branches. The music grows and grows, these romantic strains, strains of yearning, strains of longing flutter, soar, through the air...and you kneel down. The music stops, it breaks apart, silence, a pause...a breath in, a breath out...a breath in, a breath out. Adam's eyes flick open, the music breaks in again. It's a sound no ones ever heard come from God. A song of Man, a song for Man, the song of a Father, the song of a Lover, Man responds. This song that has been in God from eternity past has now passed into him, a transformation from eternal being into clay, creates a body for this sound, a cathedral that has two legs and can see. Praise is perfected in that moment.

You let go of a part of yourself, trusting that Man will give it back. But it's a risk because he may not. Your heart open and vulnerable, you're risking like a lover, you're open like a father, you are like none have ever seen you before.

And its not just some short term relationship you're after. You designed longevity into this Man. You allowed for a long discovering of the wonder with which he was created to spur worship, cause you love the sound of the song that was in God. Because you long for that sound to come back to you. It's our highest gift, the aim of wonder, the song that started as you laid your hands in the clay. The song you want back for yourself, the song that you will get back. How high a gift to give this sound that belongs to you back to you. The song that started with the dream inside of you...The song on the inside of God.

I am the song on the inside of God.

"Let me see your form"

I felt the pull to sing today. It's been a while. I went to the Boiler Room, locked myself into the first floor and started playing my couple of chords on the sticky keyed keyboard. I was surprised to find myself drawn to the Song of Songs. Even more surprising was the pull to chapter two. I can't remember the last time I sung from chapter two. I have been unconsciously avoiding the Song. I am not sure why, but I sort of feel like the intensity of singing from it has been too much for me for the last few years.

I started singing, “Behold he comes...leaping on the mountains, skipping on the hills...” C to F, C to F...

Moving into, “Winter is over, the spring time is come, the season of singing is here...Rise up, my love, come away...flowers are a-blooming on the mountains, in the crags of cliffs...” A to G to F, A to G to F...

Then: “Oh my dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places...Oh my love, in the wounds of the lamb, in your closets, let me see your form, let me hear your voice...”

On the inside, in the caves of my heart there was all sorts of things coming up. I felt Jesus' desire for me, and it made me mad because I felt like he said, “Anna, what if I was a black man and desired to see your “form”, and said it was lovely?”

I have long struggled with despising black men for thinking that I am beautiful without knowing me. There is something inside of me that thinks there is something wrong with these men. I have blown them off for the most part because the vast majority of “responses” to my “form” have been lingering looks or cat calls from strangers. Then there are the black men that I actually know. The ones that would not dream of disrespecting me, the ones that love and honor me. They give me the same look sometimes. They use more veiled compliments as to not be vulgar, but still, is there something wrong with them too? Or is it me?

My response to this was, “I didn't know I was so mistaken.” I felt completely convicted. I felt like Jesus was telling me that I was spitting in face of the Unique part of His nature that is embedded in every people group/culture. Something that I believe whole heartedly, though I never dreamed that it would translate into something like this.

I honestly don't know how to respond to this. I asked for the gift of repentance, and feel like this is a deep cavern that needs some serious overhauling so it may take time, but I am willing.

Time and Space

It is these two juxtaposing themes that have me all tangled up inside. Time and space. They seem cruel to the self that I carry around inside of my frame, weighing me down to the earth, and there is no escape. Through flights of fancy and dreaming I suppose I have had moments of reprieve, but overall I have to come down and face the fire of my living in time and space.

I vent frustration with it by flying through my voice, defying and deafening the odds against me. I float, I flutter, I dive, and I soar. The voice is a wonderful thing and its beauty becomes me. But time, like a robotic jailer keeps bringing me back into space. I get depressed sometimes when I can't sing anymore. When I ache from being in one position too long or my fingers are stiff from holding onto my basic chords too long. I loath, oh!, how I loath to come down back into my skin and bones.

So the question for me becomes, how do I sing through my life? How do I make the song work for me from eight until five? Maybe I am just creating more havoc on my wee little heart by trying to make it from eight until five. What if, gasp, I am not created for that world?

I suppose of the things that I am most certain of in life, this is the paramount thing: I was created to sing. When it all began, I was a song, and when it will all end I will become, again, the never ending melody that I have heard through my life in underground currents of rhythm and harmony. It is the in between time that is killing me.

Time and space, humans and place! Why do you keep me locked up? What if it is me that is denying my own self the freedom of choice, the freedom of song? What if I am the robotic jailer of my heart? It seems congruent with the rest of the discoveries in my life.

"A mirrored jar, with the lid on tight"

In darkness and in light
In capabilities and in fright
I sing, I sing, I sing.

The Annual Birthday Blog

This year its differant. This year there is hope and spring in the air. This year I am not holding my breath waiting for something spectacular to happen. It's happening. I'm living for the first time in my life from a deep place in my heart that was recently brought to life by the Living God and there really is nothing more to say about it.

So much has happened in the last 3 months (I've only been here for 3 months!!!). I feel like my life is just beginning. Like I have so much potential and hope for that potential to actually turn into reality.

I am thankful. I am 29. Amazing.

I can't sleep

So, here I am again. It's late. I want to sleep, but it is not happening for me at the moment. I say and FEEL such dramatic things when I am PMSing. I end relationships, I cry about things lost, I make broad sweeping statements that may or may not be true...oh wait...I do that all the time.

As you may have picked up: I am PMSing. It really is amazing. Some people think I should get on birth control because I have such intense PMS. I, don't think of me as sick, sort of like my broad mood swings. It sort of defines me. I cringe as I write this. Am I going to hate myself in the morning for what I am saying now? I already sent a myspace message tonight that I am going to regret (speaking of ending relationships) later.

Anyway, as I was saying. Mood swings. If I can warn people in advance perhaps they are not so bad? Okay. So I know that ALL of my roommates would STRONGLY disagree with me. Even if you warn people that you are PMSing or whatever, feelings still get hurt. But why should a person go on meds just to prevent feelings from getting hurt? I don't know. I don't think that it is the solution that I am looking for at the moment. I think I need to eat better and stay away from artifical hormones that are snuck into our foods.

I did have milk this week. That must be it!

What can I give that is extravegent, but not self-gratifying? Is it possible to give without feeling a sense of self-gratification for giving? I hate that about myself. Here's a little tidbit: I love to give because it feels so good. But when I can't give something, I often times can't figure out my role. I give when I don't have anything to give, because I at least have a role. Sick. I know. What is even more sick is when I realize this about certian people in my life that I have been doing this to. I often times have no other foundation for relationship with those people and when my ability to give is taken away or limited, I become insecure and usually don't have much desire to relate with that person anymore. Yes. I am that shallow. When there is nothing left for me to give, more often then not, I walk away.

I think that the older I get the less I want to play ball. Meaning. I have less and less patience for relationships with the opposite sex. Period. Don't get me wrong. I throughly enjoy the opposite sex. But I am rarely impressed, and I like to be impressed. Not that any man is wanting to impress me. I just appreciate the novelty of being impressed by a man. Of getting a glimpse of the Image that he is bearing (or trying to bear in honesty). I think I also get very annoyed that "guys" my age are still playing the game with girls that are younger and younger. I am annoyed that I get so annoyed about it. Who cares? I guess I do. I want them to have to grow up too! I feel like my leash has been considerably shortened, why not theirs? And here I am again trying to play Holy Spirit.

Do you know that I have had almost every single guy from my bloody past contact me in one way or another in the last year? Like obsure crushes too. And every single one of them has gotten promptly booted out of my life. It's like I've had to cut every single tie. Severely. I hate admitting this, but I think the older men and woman get, the less they are really allowed to be "friends". Unless there are some pretty clear bounderies. But "buddies" doesn't cut it after a certain age. I guess I'm just too interested in sex to play stupid mind games, and be "buddies" with anyone. Hence the great CLEARING OUT of my sorted history.

Here's to a clean slate and no more "buddies"!

Proximity

I should be in bed, but I figured I'd write a little something. Something about proximity and what it has done to me.

I have been back in KC for a little over a month now and oh what a change. I was talking to a friend the other day about proximity. About how it amazes me that so much can change due to it.

There is so much that I don't understand, but still, in a much more profound way, somehow I am resting and trusting more than I have in a long time. It's like when you've just been through a battle and all you want to do is rest and you don't care where or how. That is sort of how I feel. I've had pictures of myself in this season. It's one of a child that is dirty and shell shocked. Rubbish all around, disoriented and deaf. I know that might seem a bit extreame, but, I suppose, in matters of the heart its very subjective.

Anyway. Proximity. It does the heart wonders. I have hope again, unlike many past seasons of my life. I really do feel like some big changes are coming.

The other day I was sitting at the House of Prayer (can you believe it?! I couldn't either) and I had this simple, yet one of the dearest times I've ever had with Jesus. "I am the Resurrection and the Life" he said. And for the first time in a long time, I believe him.

I was sick, but I had to die in order for all the Glory to go to Jesus. He said, "Roll the stone away." It's time.

Roll that bad boy away.

Floating

Do you ever feel like you are floating? Sometimes when I sit real still I feel this turning inside of me. Like I am trying to get out of my own skin. It is a very strange feeling. I feel like that when I'm about to get a migrane sometimes, or when I'm coming down from one. I don't feel a headache coming, but I am exhausted.

I heard about someone I love the other night. Someone who meant the world to me. I heard they were in town (the town in which I now reside, Kansas City btw). I heard they had called an old friend to talk. I have carried them in my heart for years.

I don't think I am safe for this person any longer. But, since knowing them I have wanted to become a safe person for others like them.

I can't live in regret about the foolishness of my youth any more than the next person. I have been living out the consequences of that and much more. I don't know what else it will take for me to become safe, but I am guessing it has to do with me owning stuff and risking and being more open then I have been.

I hear his voice in my head sometimes, scoffing at my attempts, calling me trite. It is honestly the last thing I want to be, but in all of my desire to be sincere and genuine, I still hear it. Why does his opinion matter so much to me anyway? Even knowing that it did would piss him off. I can't please him. I never really realized this, but I've sort of been living a part of my life in the secret hope that one day he won't be indifferant toward me anymore. That he would care and like me again.

It's dumb. I know. He is one fucked up individual. I don't really understand why I should care. But I do. So there.