Call of the Wind
Alarm
Picture David’s royal bed,
his oldest lyre suspended, vertically,
overhead . . . all night
an eerie, braided hum-m-m
roused by wind at play
among the strings. Chilled,
dream-stalled,
blinking — did he
burrow down? We know
cold blooms within
our bones in lonely hours.
Watch with me, as he
rises, lights the hanging lamp,
scrapes away the sand of sleep.
Kneels. Unfurls the Scroll.*
+++
Yours truly, on the other hand, chronic night owl, has finally found a natural cure for my insomnia. A little protein before turning in helps me sleep, at last, in heavenly peace.
And yet.
Rising in the darkness to meditate appeals to my yen for the mystical: solitude, breath prayers, listening silence.
I could hang Dreamer’s Celtic harp from the ceiling fan . . .
Safer by far to ask Ruach, wind of the Spirit, to occasionally nudge me awake. The older I get, the more I want to spend what hours remain meaningfully.
“Awareness needs constant refreshing,” author Rick Rubin writes.
Call of the Wind
Jesus often got up in the wee hours to listen and pray. Like King David before him, he traversed a world ravaged by terrors and keening need.
Think of it. The same Spirit that breathed on celestial harps and angel choirs at the Savior’s birth later called Jesus to rise, meditate by night in deserts and gardens, on perilous seas and mountainsides.
What was it like that night in Bethlehem, unearthly music filling the air?
Shepherds left their bedding. Lit a torch. Robes furled against the cold, they sought Torah’s promised Messiah: the Living Word.
Emmanuel.
Creaking knees, a groan, the crackle of flattening straw. Then . . . timelessness: the breath of God, tiny lip-smack and gulp. A hiccup. The baby’s sigh.
All the adults must have stilled in wonder, their mindsets expanding, outlooks extending.
In our day, imagining those small sounds enlarges my soul’s inscape, urging love’s outgrowth.
This Advent, amid our war-torn world — overrun and undermined by outrage, greed, and hype — I am listening for Ruach. Trying to breathe in sync.
O to become a psalm: wind-swept, humming . . .
Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.
*Jewish midrash tradition honors David’s lyre-as-alarm-clock, and his tender response.
Quotation, Rick Rubin, The Creative Act: A Way of Being.
Hear a Celtic harp (similar to Dreamer’s) played by wind blowing across an Irish cliff.
Rabbi Israel Goldfarb plays a replica of King David’s lyre here and another song here. (May take a few seconds to download, but so interesting)
You might also enjoy this post from the archives.
Sleeping man photo by Lucas Andrade on Unsplash
Windblown blue fabric photo by Daniele Levis Pelusi on Unsplash
Thank you…
For the “picture.”
I could see David, waking.
I’ve journaled, Alarm.
Everything you shared, echoes.
Needed the “sounds.”
Alarms.
Finding myself in the place of early morning allowance to unfurl.
Heard myself recently asking the Lord, “What does seeking Your face look like for me today?”
That very morning I found myself reading Psalm 143, and an answer in verses 5&6.
I Remember…
I Meditate…
I Muse…
I Spread…
Psalm 143:5,6
I call them his 4 “I’s”…
Get it?
4 eyes. 🙂
Challenged from David’s unfurling…
A call of heart… “Seek My face…”
Rubin!?
Recently listened to him interviewed by Malcolm Gladwell.
Ruben shared the story of producing one of Johnny Cash‘s last albums.
Cash was having difficulty with his vocal on The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.
Rubin suggested that “instead of thinking of it as a song to a romantic partner, think of it as a devotional to God.
It was then that the song made sense.”
Roger McGuinn shared with Rubin that when he recorded the Byrds first single, Dylan’s Mr. Tambourine Man, he sang it as a devotional to God. Though the lyrics were not about God, McGuinn said it better enabled him to feel the song.
Both, unfurled.
Once again, thank you, Laurie.
Rick, as ever, you’ve got me smiling. And thinking!
“Echoes.”
“Unfurl” is going into my journal this morning. (My turn to echo you: wanting to learn more about what that looks like, day by day.)
Ps. 143, a longtime favorite. All those quiet action words. And “four eyes {I’s}” is a great mnemonic. I need pithy reminders more and more.
I’ve only read about half of Rubin’s book on creativity. How intriguing to learn more about him through these stories you’ve shared!
Rubin writes about one of them in the book (though he doesn’t name the performer or song). While working in the studio, he says, “We can try different permutations while singing the same song, without changing any of the lyrics, to see which version brings out the best performance.”
I am enjoying knowing J. Cash was the artist. And I’ve always loved that song. Now I have secret, insider knowledge.
Now I want to google his performance and hear it from that point-of-view.
That angle.
And focus.
Unfurling . . .
On the podcast Gladwell asks Rubin who he was talking about in the book.
I’m glad he did.
The song is now in my 2023 playlist.
Bless you.
I am too!
So glad you shared this. Thank you!
“What was it like that night in Bethlehem, unearthly music filling the air?”
“In our day, imagining those small sounds enlarges my soul’s inscape, urging love’s outgrowth.”
Thank you for bringing these ideas to the surface for us, Laurie. Helps my thoughts to rest a little longer on that scene and event when thinking about the possibilities of what was heard.
Bethany, your are so welcome. : ) I’m grateful you lingered! Especially when time is extra precious during this season, countless tasks on the list.
I often feel surprisingly moved—even enlarged—when pausing long enough to bring imagination alongside the familiar. Hurry wins, all too often. Then I read a quote like the one above (“Awareness needs constant refreshing”), and I feel newly inspired to keep making the effort.
Merry holidays to you and your family, dear friend!
Thank you Laurie for lifting my heart and soul.
An honor to be alongside. You’ve done the same for me, many a time, dear friend.
Wishing you merry days! Hmm. Are moments more realistic? Joy . . . however, whenever, forever!
Beautiful and inspiring words. Thank you for that reminder to breathe in the breath of God, to be searching for and aware of His faithful refreshment, peace…life-giving presence we all need.
Dear Georgia, I need the reminder, too. Over and over. Trying to write it down reawakens me to the Endless Generosity, always present, to tend and mend us. Then, send us . . .
Wishing you and your amazing family a month of marveling days.
Laurie,
Thank you for sharing the links for the wind harps! What a delightful sound:)
And for a keener glimpse inside the stable.
Gratefully,
Katie
Aren’t they fascinating?
Thank you, Katie, for tiptoeing into the stable with me. : )
Wishing you tender, elastic, wonderstruck days . . .
Laurie, your insights come from holy depths! How true that awareness needs constant refreshing. Thank you for exploring the reactions to the Messiah’s birth, in that tight little circle within a Bethlehem stable, and for refreshing our spirits in preparation to be instruments of God’s peace. AMEN to your closing prayer!
Dear Nancy,
Wishing you and your family wholly holy days. Thank you for all the ways you encourage me to keep writing—with your own work as well as your listening heart. You are a gift!
“Awareness needs constant refreshing…” Well, AMEN to that. I wonder if even Mary found the need to do so….(?)
Susan, that thought ignites my imagination! I’ve never thought of Mary feeling bored or restless or impatient with the endlessly repeated tasks of daily living. It gives me a sense of solidarity in this lifelong pursuit of staying present . . .
Thank you!