The Spirit is deep today. I sense Him as the deep blue waters of my dream so long ago. The glacial depths of unknown magnitude; limitless, bottomless, unsearchable. I plummet in, my clothes thin around me; water cold and sharp like lemonade on a summer day. The water takes my weight, holds it, draws me down deeper still wrapping around me like a cloak; I feel my nothingness.
On days like today I am reminded that the best laid plans of mice and men mean so little when it comes to accessing the deep blue life Christ promised us. Words pour out of me like a great rushing waterfall, heart and all; the beat of my thoughts marking my page. I think of my reader, my audience, because it is hard not to think as a ‘writer’; of my ‘seen-ness’. I’ve learned to hate writing because I don’t want to pour the insides out for the spectacle of men; for the critic or worse still, the untouched. I’d almost rather be hated than to have no impact at all. Perhaps the biggest fear is of being…nothing.
What if my words are mine alone, my thoughts and all their swirling. What if I plummet into the deep to find I am all alone or worse still, I’m taking delight in something that is simply the fabric of existence; people jump in and out of their thoughts daily; the swim these knowable predictable plains, while I with childlike naiveté think I’ve found the hidden lands.
One of the biggest obstacles to my daily life are people.
I don’t think I’m alone.
They move around me in their own worlds, edges touching mine. We speak and think and there are depths within each of us that we don’t always know how to reach.
In my dream I stood above the waters on a log intercepting the glacial waters of some unknown place that didn’t need a name. The waters were deep and vast and the sky was bare and bright and blue. It wasn’t warm but we stood; all of us, stripping off on the log. They were my kin, my tribe, my fellow man, faceless; I didn’t know them but we beat with the same heart and they were my friends.
One by one we leaped, without thought or fear or planning into the waters which would kill us were this not a dream.
But we didn’t die, we sank. Deep and low into the ice, light streaming through the surface of the water. I bombed, like a cannon, sank like a dead fish, in the deep palm of God.
This is living, I knew it as I woke.
This is what the adrenaline junkie chases, what the dreamer dreams of, what the writer hopes to capture on the page, what the everyday man has forgotten, yet it haunts him from his own depths, like a dream forgotten.
To die, I often wonder, is to believe these depths are nothing more than a dream, a naïve hope from the mind of a boy or a girl who hasn’t learned what this world really is.
We all may die a secret death, a hidden death as we bump shoulders with those around us. Parts of us beating still; the breath, the pulse, the duties of the day, yet heart somewhere sleeping, dreaming or dying.
Who are we? What is this world we live in? Where does Spirit and flesh collide? I believe in the Holy Union; feel it in my bones on days like today as the blue swirls around me and I feel His spirit on mine; warmth and hope and everything pure promising a better day, a better tomorrow.
Hope has always seemed to me a dangerous thing, a fragile thing, a delusional thing; I’ve never really understood. To dream for something that may never happen; to hold on to a dream that may be the figment of my uneducated imagination. And then to use this hope as a lifeline in the grey depths of Un-Spirit life.
Then, today I remember the hope isn’t something I hold. It’s something that holds me; like cold blue water around my skin.
I am small, young and new; this world is His and always has been. This blue; this bright cold sky and endless depth. My friends around me; faceless kin with hearts full of adventure. Searching, we find, daring, we are delivered into the depths, and today I sink, into the blue, into the hope, into the dream and realise that this is the reality.
And the grey, is just, a dream.