This morning, with my in-breaths, I breathed in with Adam. As God breathed life into him, I felt that breath coming into me. It comes in as physical nourishment, of course. But also life itself. A primal spark I am re-living.
And with the out-breaths, I knew I was saying God’s name: the Hebrew words given to Adam, carrying a nearly impossible-to-translate meaning, sounds without teeth and tongue. It is a name above other names, in that it is a thing said through out our lives, countless times. And it is name beyond names in that it is a thing we do.
When I breathe this way, it feels as though God’s primal spark which enters me with an inhalation, leaves me as an act of worship… As all worship does, it is begun in Him, comes from Him, returns to Him.
And breathing in that intimate space, lips near mine, like some primal mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, like a kiss.
And when I had done this for some time, as I breathed in, my mantra was “Jesus lived.” With the held breath my mantra was “Jesus died.” and as I breathed out “Jesus is coming again.”
And after thirty minutes of this, I was such a mess, a wonderful mess. These strange sobs– not bad things– were coming up from the deepest parts of me. I felt the space between God in me to be less than nothing.
There was a part of me that knew I would return to the ordinary way of perceiving. These flood gates that were thrown wide open wood close. And I had this sense that this was my doing, this was my act of self-defence, that God would have me that close to him, all the time.
I will head to church in a while, and I will then go about my Sunday. And then I will enter my week. I am going to try and do with all those doors within wide open.