A week or so ago, I woke up from a dream where I was writing a song called “Calling Hungry.” That’s happened to me before, both in dreams and when awake, I’ll hear what I think is potentially a great song in my head, and I end up disappointed because I have absolutely no musical talent whatsoever. Fortunately, some friends of mine who do have that talent have turned a few of my poems into songs, so I guess I can call myself a songwriter. I also had the good fortune to collaborate with a guy, whom I would call a “musical mad genius” to create a progressive rock concept CD, The Eyes Of Ezekiel, back in 2009.
“Calling Hungry” the song will likely never get written but the idea won’t quite leave me alone. In my dream, I was trying to decide whether it was a romantic song or song of faith. Now that I’ve had some time to think about what it’s getting at, it feels kind of like a psalm. I feel like I’ve been running through the kind of dark forest we read about as kids in the old fables and fantasies for sometime now and can’t seem to find my way of escaping.
Yes, there are those days when the sun breaks through and brings some respite from the trials and tribulations that come with living a life that is opposed, but those days seem rare right now.
“Calling Hungry.” That’s what I’m doing when I’m reaching or calling out to J as I run through or from the wilderness. I know I can’t make it to the end of the race on
my own. CS Lewis wrote somewhere (probably Mere Christianity) that God is the fuel we were designed to run on. If we ignore him then we run the risk of spiritual starvation; and we are spiritual beings after all. I’m calling/ crying out to J precisely because I’m hungry. Spiritually hungry.
Perhaps, I am at my best when, like Dickens’ “Oliver,” I hold up my empty hands to God and ask “sir, may I have some more, please?”