Cycles of Newness

So I have to tell you this story of a couple days ago. Driving home from Montana, I decided to take a detour. Driving down I-15 and it was packed in the north lane, miles of cars because of an accident. It gave me pause, thankful I was not backed up with the rest, but also finding a desire to get off the interstate as soon as I could. I got off at Blackfoot, gassed up, and headed west (there’s a movie in here somewhere) towards Arco. I threw on some music, set the cruise at a slow 65 and followed the firetruck in front of me, also doing 65 with siren blaring. Did I tell you there was a firetruck? No fire, I followed him halfway to Arco before he gave up on chasing fire-fairies and flipped a U.

Anyways, I digress. So rolling at 65, music, firetruck, sun low in the west and at some point I just started singing, sometimes with the words, sometimes my own verse. I dunno I just had to sing. Sing to God, sing with God. Yeah God sings. “He will rejoice over you with singing.” (Zeph 3:17) Sometimes it sounds like the Salmon River in a granite canyon, or a church full of people. Sometimes it sounds like my own voice. And then sometimes on a Friday evening, it sounds like a drive across the Arco desert. I have found singing in the most awesome times and in the most awesome people, coming from a depth indescribable, the core of their being. Some call it the soul, the Greeks call it the nous¹. God sings to us, to our nous, and invites us to respond with singing.

I had this vain idea in my mind to find a hot springs over by Craters of the Moon, and this was my second search attempt. I didn’t find the hot springs, but I did find an amazing pull out overlooking the park. We’re talking rolling hills of black lava, a couple scraggly trees interspersed, and an orange haze as the sun set behind me. So upon finding such a nice pullout, I did what any proper nostalgic-romantic American would do, I took a sip from the most amazing iced caramel hazelnut latte this side of the Mississippi, bit off a chunk of organic chocolate granola bar, (oxford comma) and read a chapter of Love Does by Bob Goff. You think I’m making this up. (The granola bar was 3 days old and the latte was lukewarm with a film of ice melt on the top, but details are for boring realists.) For a split non-second, eternity met the present, and that’s the best way I can describe it. I am out of words, so instead I will sing.

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¹I was reminded of an article I had read a few weeks back, The God Who Sings. In it, Fr. Freeman writes about singing, the ancient tradition give to us by God, one that anyone can take part in. Singing is an expression from the deep part of ourselves, it dwells deeper than logical thoughts or fleeting emotions, from the eye of soul or the nous.

The  nous – the best way I can describe, is if we hacked all of Dave’s limbs off, if he went completely off his rocker and sat in a padded room staring at the wall, Dave’s nous would still contain his Dave-ness. His nous is also his heart, the part of him where God sits and dwells. This is the part of Dave that knows God.

“Man is a musical composition made by God” – Saint Gregory of Nyssa