Friday, February 4, 2011

Connecting Lines: "Galatians 3:3"

First, I am so glad and humbled that at least a couple of you finally have a reason to look forward to Fridays.

Second, today’s post is going to be tagged “Poems, Lyrics, & Creative Stuff”.  Family and household stuff will come next week.  I’ve got topics for both lined up.

But this is a lyric that I wrote over the course of about 10 years.  “Wow, 10 years!  It must be awesome!  Or long!  Or BOTH!”  There, there.  Actually, the idea for the chorus first came to mind after reading Galatians 3:3—about 10 years ago.  I jotted it down.  Hummed a melody to it.  Then forgot about it.  Then a few months ago, I started doodling some images and ideas that kind of suddenly reminded me of this abandoned chorus.

It’s a serious topic, but I tried to be playful with the images, rhythms, and rhymes, as if the narrator was so incredulous with himself that it was laughable.

When I doodle like this, the pages in my journal look like a crazy man’s writings.  Partial sentences are all over the place, often with lots of repetition and little cohesion.  Sometimes I finally start to string ideas together, sometimes literally drawing lines (like geometry lines) to connect lines (like song lines) into something like a verse.

But I digress.  I like when the lines start to connect.  And I like the idea of being able to share a bunch of connected lines with someone—anyone—who, in reading this semi-finished product, may be inspired to connect a line or two in their own life.


            Galatians 3:3

Gravely dehydrated but some joker cruelly traded
Toxic waste for water at the bottom of my well
I was trapped like in a structure dreamed by Dali built by Escher
I was walking up some stairs down to darker floors of hell

I was nothing going nowhere
And it was you and you alone
So why oh why oh why oh why

Am I
So foolish that I try
To finish on my own what you started by your grace
Once dead
Now regenerated
My soul set free, my mind renewed, my heart replaced
By you

Every vision was a tunnel and every cloud a funnel
Rated 4 or 5 and spinning towards the trailer of my chest
With, respectively, no distant light to beckon me
Nor silver lining or even just an eye where I can rest


With the water level dropping this fish was dry and flopping
And the only ropes to pull me free had hooks tied to their ends
Like a needle in a haystack I was lost without a way back
To that place where needles gather to help skillful people mend


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