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Yo Hey Vav Hey
It's the sound of breathing, the gesture of being alive, the act that stands to say that we can live. More often than not, we are unaware of the life we're living; unaware of the breathes we're breathing. So many times we are unaware that, without the ability to breathe, we are merely clumps of dirt, ready to crumble -- so fragile, so weak.
We live with ourselves -- a paradox of our own bodies. We move as dust, as a vapor in the wind, but alive with breath and soul -- breathed from God so insignificantly significant.
We are unaware that we are not our own bodies. That depending on dust, thinking that we are stong is futile without breathing. We cancel the simple thing in life that allows us life. The breath of life -- a soul, a goal, a purpose, a declaration that there IS a God.
"Yo Hey Vav Hey . . . could it be that the name of God is the sound of breathing?"
"What does a new born baby have to do first to keep on living? Breathe, or declare the name of God?"
Won the Battle
It's one thing to know that you are in a struggle. . . it's another thing to know Who you're struggling for.
There is no battle without meaning, no soldier without objective. It is purpose that gives perspective, light, and existence.
Why do we battle, why do we choose? Why must there be terms of comparative degree -- bad, good, best. And why, oh why, did there have to be a difference?
Because we were given the choice, once when a Man was stripped off his regal robes, spat at, tortured, and killed, all for the sake of love. All for the sake of love. And before that, our demise was clear - -eternal damnation in the pits of hell.
If not for that death -- that pure example of love -- what choice would we have but death of our spirit. So why do we battle? Because of love.
Thank You for the struggles. . For the choices.
If I Meant It
Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry, you don't know how lovely you are. I had to find you, tell you I need you, tell you I've set you apart.
I can remember how it sounded, the way I heard it, when it wasn't sung. When there were no insturments but two -- the flowing of words and that beating heart. i remember when lyrics were sentences -- applicable not to just a musician, but to all. These words -- all these words -- they were said, they were felt, they were lived.
Would it mean much if I cried?
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