Will it go round in circles? Will it fly high like a bird up in the sky?
I dig some Billy Preston, especially when he's singing about having a song and no melodies or a dance with no steps, and instead of deciding to not sing or dance, he asks a couple top-notch questions: Will it go round in circles? Will it fly high like a bird up in the sky?
The beautiful thing about a question is that it implies, by its nature, that another step must be taken. Billy says he has a song but no melody. (Funny because he's singing a song with a melody at the same time he's telling us that he has no melody. How many times have we all said that we can't do something while we are in the process of actually doing it?)
So, Billy has publicly admitted that he doesn't have what he needs to complete the song or the dance, but he KNOWS that he will. Otherwise he wouldn't ask two questions about what they're going to do when they happen: spin around or soar.
He says he's going to sing it to his friends anyway. Well, I don't know for sure, but I'm guessing that if Billy's friends are anything like my friends, they are going to listen to that melody-less song of his and love him and give him the space he needs to stumble around that scale, fall flat on the dance floor, until some sort of refrain takes hold of his voice and his feet and then...
I don't have anything against circles, so when he asks if it's going to go round in circles, I'm like, cool. Circles are cool. That would be okay. Nothing wrong with going in circles for awhile. But then he wonders if it's going to fly like a bird, and I'm thinking, right on. I really like flying. And birds.
I was about to dive into an ex-English teacher analysis of what he means by these two questions but have decided, out of respect for the value of the questions themselves, not to go there.
Let's just say that I like both questions.
So, where am I going with this? See, I was actually going to write about the experience I had today on the elliptical. Because it involved a question.
But before I go there, let me just say that, my past experience with physical fitness has ranged from learning how to break dance in elementary school to playing basketball--mostly on the bench--in middle school, a one year attempt at popularity via the dance team in high school and then a long, academic period marked with increasing atrophy of any muscular tissue I may have developed while popping and locking in my youth.
I've avoided gyms, not that I haven't paid many membership fees throughout my lifetime, basically donating to the health conscious, if you will. And I've shied away from anything related to a machine, thinking it was just a little too close to the image I have of a mouse on a wheel chasing after the cheese it will never catch. I will run if someone scary is chasing me. Okay. Let's be honest. I would also run if someone gave me cheese.
You know, I didn't mean for this to be funny at all. See, I started crying on the elliptical machine today. My sister Rasa has been in town, and like an angel, she has been encouraging me over the last week to get to the gym and move. Because, you know...angels are health conscious beings.
I imagine they are, anyway.
So today was day five on the elliptical. Headphones on. Stretchy pants worn for actual exercise rather than the adjustable waistline necessary to eat 6-7 pounds of nachos in one sitting.
I keep trying to make this funny, but it's not funny at all. Because I was crying. In the gym. On the elliptical. Because I heard myself saying No No No. I have a body, but I don't have a melody. I've got a body, but I have no steps. No. No. No.
I recently read this life-altering meditation/devotion about going into prayer anytime we are sitting inside of No, that we must continue to pray until we can leave the prayer saying Yes.
After 30 minutes, I'm fighting with it. No. No. No. I'm pushing my heal down with each beat, imaging I'm snuffing out the serpent, the just give up. My trick on this machine is to turn up the resistance anytime the resistance turns up in me. I'm maxing it out and my legs are burning and I'm still hearing the no but I'm fighting for the Yes as hard as I can because it doesn't just matter to me, it matters to you. You my friend, who will listen to my melody-less song. It matters to LIFE. I want to weigh in on the side of I Will Not Give Up No Matter How Messed Up Things Seem.
And that's when the tears started. I felt something break open. A Yes. And then I heard the question rise up inside and spill out like clear, living water:
Will you plant seeds for me?
The beautiful thing about a question is that it implies, by its nature, that another step must be taken. Billy says he has a song but no melody. (Funny because he's singing a song with a melody at the same time he's telling us that he has no melody. How many times have we all said that we can't do something while we are in the process of actually doing it?)
So, Billy has publicly admitted that he doesn't have what he needs to complete the song or the dance, but he KNOWS that he will. Otherwise he wouldn't ask two questions about what they're going to do when they happen: spin around or soar.
He says he's going to sing it to his friends anyway. Well, I don't know for sure, but I'm guessing that if Billy's friends are anything like my friends, they are going to listen to that melody-less song of his and love him and give him the space he needs to stumble around that scale, fall flat on the dance floor, until some sort of refrain takes hold of his voice and his feet and then...
I don't have anything against circles, so when he asks if it's going to go round in circles, I'm like, cool. Circles are cool. That would be okay. Nothing wrong with going in circles for awhile. But then he wonders if it's going to fly like a bird, and I'm thinking, right on. I really like flying. And birds.
I was about to dive into an ex-English teacher analysis of what he means by these two questions but have decided, out of respect for the value of the questions themselves, not to go there.
Let's just say that I like both questions.
So, where am I going with this? See, I was actually going to write about the experience I had today on the elliptical. Because it involved a question.
But before I go there, let me just say that, my past experience with physical fitness has ranged from learning how to break dance in elementary school to playing basketball--mostly on the bench--in middle school, a one year attempt at popularity via the dance team in high school and then a long, academic period marked with increasing atrophy of any muscular tissue I may have developed while popping and locking in my youth.
I've avoided gyms, not that I haven't paid many membership fees throughout my lifetime, basically donating to the health conscious, if you will. And I've shied away from anything related to a machine, thinking it was just a little too close to the image I have of a mouse on a wheel chasing after the cheese it will never catch. I will run if someone scary is chasing me. Okay. Let's be honest. I would also run if someone gave me cheese.
You know, I didn't mean for this to be funny at all. See, I started crying on the elliptical machine today. My sister Rasa has been in town, and like an angel, she has been encouraging me over the last week to get to the gym and move. Because, you know...angels are health conscious beings.
I imagine they are, anyway.
So today was day five on the elliptical. Headphones on. Stretchy pants worn for actual exercise rather than the adjustable waistline necessary to eat 6-7 pounds of nachos in one sitting.
I keep trying to make this funny, but it's not funny at all. Because I was crying. In the gym. On the elliptical. Because I heard myself saying No No No. I have a body, but I don't have a melody. I've got a body, but I have no steps. No. No. No.
I recently read this life-altering meditation/devotion about going into prayer anytime we are sitting inside of No, that we must continue to pray until we can leave the prayer saying Yes.
After 30 minutes, I'm fighting with it. No. No. No. I'm pushing my heal down with each beat, imaging I'm snuffing out the serpent, the just give up. My trick on this machine is to turn up the resistance anytime the resistance turns up in me. I'm maxing it out and my legs are burning and I'm still hearing the no but I'm fighting for the Yes as hard as I can because it doesn't just matter to me, it matters to you. You my friend, who will listen to my melody-less song. It matters to LIFE. I want to weigh in on the side of I Will Not Give Up No Matter How Messed Up Things Seem.
And that's when the tears started. I felt something break open. A Yes. And then I heard the question rise up inside and spill out like clear, living water:
Will you plant seeds for me?
Comments
Post a Comment