Yesterday when I was blogging about creativity I had been struggling with a poem. Remember the part about trite, cliché, words that spit at me in the face? Yes, this would be one of those experiences. I’m not ready to give up on it yet.
It started with Pentecost and the three readings. The Old Testament reading was from Ezekiel 37: 1-14. The New Testament was from Acts 2: 1-21. The Holy Gospel was from John 15:26-27; 16:4b-15. I was struck by the connection between all three readings. It is usually not so obvious in the 3 readings. In these three I saw, felt, and heard the “Breath”. It started me thinking of the other instances of “Breath” in the Bible. It always has to do with Life and Life with God. It is also always in association with the Holy Spirit. Pastor Percy has been schooling us in “breath” and in Greek.
I could not ignore the Old Testament reading either. The drama of dry bones in a dust valley- DEAD. Dead even when prophesied over and the sinew and skin fill the form of bones. It was not until the “Breath” hit them that they became alive. Just as we are dead dry bones in our sin till the stirring breath of the Holy Spirit brings us to life in Jesus.
I set out to try and capture what I was thinking and feeling. Often times my writing helps me clarify and understand what I am experiencing. Yesterday, though as I sat to work on it, I became frustrated with my lack of satisfying words. I wanted to just quit ands chuck it away. I paused though, because I started reflecting on the article on creativity and the art of practice. So I just continued to write about what I was seeing in my brain. Yep, I used those trite cliché phrases but I plan to go back someday after I relax and let it simmer in my brain.
Hence I offer for you the beginnings of my “creativity”:
Breathe upon the waters
The Exhalation of life
upon the Nothingness.
Breathe upon the Dirt,
molded in your Image.
and the dirt breathes out.
priming Life in Man/Woman.
Breathe upon the Bones,
mixed with femur, sacrum, mandible,
phalanges, and cranium.
The valley of shadowy dust,
where the breath becomes sound at Word,
assembling the sinew and skin in a cacophony of rattles.
till the moisture laden prophecy,
gently lifts the hairs on cheeks,
nape, neck and forehead.
The microscopic bead of life,
grows army size in a Nation
Breathe the Fire,
Roar of the Spirit
In their exhalation the tongues
of Babel burst forth to fill
tornadic in breath,
gushing in the Waters of Baptism….
to be continues in the future where the Breath
still works in whimpers, whispers and shouts….