"The Sleeping House" - [Complete Album Information]
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1. Fast Asleep(Instrumental)
About:
I tried to set the tone of the record by presenting a sonic representation of descending into sleep or, as the artwork suggests, descending into water. The piano line is a variation on the chorus of The City Prevails, which refers to the sirens singing us to sleep. This is the beginning of the journey.2. Cast Your Bread
(Ecclesiastes 11:1)
Surrender, a word that we don’t understand
How are we to get ahead when we have empty hands?
We fight for what will fade
We cling to that from which we’re saved
And soon we’ll wake to find
We’ve naught but fists of sand
What good is the whole world
If you’ve no soul? (Mark 8:36)Cast your bread upon the water’s edge
And you will find the bread of Life (John 6:35)
Cast your breadOur bread seems small but when it’s broken it will feed
A multitude of thousands, hungry and in need (Mark 6:30-44)
If we want to live
Our life is something we must give (Mark 8:35)
Just like kernels of wheat
die to bare forth seeds (John 12:24)
Lord it’s in your hands now
As it’s always beenCast your bread upon the water’s edge
And you will find the bread of Life
Break your bread and pass with open hands
And you will find the bread of LifeHow are we to get ahead when we have empty hands?Cast your bread upon the water’s edge
And you will find the bread of Life
Cast your bread
Cast your bread
And you will findThe bread of LifeAbout:
Years ago when we were writing for Wake Up, O Sleeper, I was intrigued by Ecclesiastes 11:1: “Cast your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will find it again.” (NIV) I had no idea what it meant, but I felt like it was important. I read lots of commentaries on the verse, and most of them had a similar interpretation—it is referring to business investments. While this may be the most accurate interpretation based on the original language, it just didn’t satisfy me. I talked to my pastor and mentor, Kevin Minchey, about it, and instead of just telling me what he thought, he encouraged me to search the scriptures and see what the images of bread and water mean throughout the Bible.
I discovered a lot. The story of Moses being put on the water as an infant, the reoccurring references to bread as sustenance, the story of Jesus feeding 5,000+ people with two fish and five loaves of bread, and Christ’s referring to himself as the bread of life. I prayed and pondered and came up with my own interpretation of Ecclesiastes 11:1, and I wrote some lyrics about it in a song that we never recorded. I never forgot about what God taught me through this verse, and I have been waiting for a chance to use it in a song again. I changed the lyrics quite a bit for this song, but the idea is the same. My understanding is that bread is symbolic for our necessities, and our nature is to scramble for these things and cling to them when we get them. Christ calls us to give. He doesn’t just call us to give when it makes sense. What is the story of Jesus feeding 5,000 with two fish and five loaves of bread telling us? I think it’s telling us that God doesn’t need a lot of resources to meet a lot of needs. He doesn’t need things to make sense to us. It doesn’t make sense to us to give away our stuff and still be taken care of, but throughout the scriptures, we’re told to give and trust God to take care of us. So, what happens when we cast our bread on the waters? Let’s find out together.3. Failing In LoveAm I your enemy
If I speak truth? (Galatians 4:16)
And the whispers in my ear
I sing from roofs (Matthew 10:26-28)
No, I’m your enemy
if I don’t say enough
Oh that you could see
This truth is loveI will fail you in love
We will all fail in love
But that doesn’t mean that I’m your enemy
Comfort doesn’t equal love
Sugar water isn’t love
But the Truth will come and set us free (John 8:32, 36)Would you tell me if you knew that I was dying?
Some sort of parasite that got into my brain
Would I tell you that I thought that you were lying?
Ignoring evidence, ignoring all the painThere’s too much sugar
Too much water
Too much sugar
Too much waterJesus, set our hearts on fire
And let it burn our flesh down to the ground
Jesus, set our hearts on fire
And burn our flesh to the groundAm I your enemy?
Am I your enemy?
I’m not your enemy?I’m not the enemy!About:
I have always liked Galatians 4:16, which says “Have I now become your enemy by telling you the truth?” It’s tough, honest, and kind of sounds like a smooth line from a movie. Over the years I have become more and more convinced that loving people is not often related to making them feel comfortable. The gospel is hard, and it refines us. We all need it. We all need to be reminded of it even when we think we’ve got it.
I’ve made poor decisions over the years, and I know I have felt the most loved when someone had the courage to call me out on it. Even though it is hard to swallow at the time, I always see the value of rebuke and reproof, and it sets apart those who really love me. Conversely, when someone says, “I was really worried about you,” after I’ve made a huge mistake, I want to scream, “Then why didn’t you say something?!!” Loving people is the hardest thing to do, and yet it’s the second greatest commandment. We will all fail in loving one another, and there is grace, but telling the Truth of the gospel will never be failure. It is far better than comfort and it will likely cost you that and more.4. Buy The Truth
(Proverbs 23:23)
If I had a dime for every dollar I’ve wasted trying to be happy
I could retire because I would be miserably wealthy
Then I’d have the time to see that I’d thrown out my life like the paper
And maybe the time by God’s grace to start it all over andBuy the Truth
Though it costs all you have (Proverbs 4:7)
Buy the truth
Don’t ever sell it out
What good is a tool in the hand of a fool if you don’t buy wisdom? (Proverbs 17:16)If I sold You out, I could make enough money to live for a while
Walk in the room and important people would smile
Hold my head proud, and know I had made the best business decision
Wave at the crowds who give me their money like it was religionBuy the Truth
Though it costs all you have
Buy the truth
Don’t ever sell it out
What good is a tool in the hand of a fool if you don’t buy wisdom?Please, don’t make yourself at home
Please, don’t make yourself at home
Please, don’t make yourself at home
Please, don’t make yourself at home
The Land of opportunity
And superficiality
Syncretized theology
A compromised reality
God, touch our eyes
Expose the lies
That waste our lives
And block the light
A future hope (Proverbs 24:14)
That we’ll wake up
And see the Truth for what’s it’s worthBuy the Truth
Though it costs all you have
Buy the truth
Don’t ever sell it out
What good is a tool in the hand of a fool if you don’t buy wisdom?About:I wrote this song about my frustration with how quick we are to sell the Truth to be liked and to be comfortable. Those of us who are in Christ did not come to him because we thought it would be popular or make us money. We didn’t come to him for worldly status and power. We would not have gone to the foot of the cross for that. We went because in Christ we find Truth, life, hope, love, grace, redemption, salvation, and an infinite number of things that we have no means to gain on our own.
Somewhere along the way, many of us have forgotten our first love. Many would sell the Truth for thirty pieces of silver if it meant we could increase our comfort. But who do you know who is happy when they get there? Who really cares? We spend our lives trying to convince other people , who we don’t really care about, that we are important—that we don’t have problems.
We could find true joy spending our lives for the sake of the poor, the destitute, the foreigners, the widows, the orphans—for Christ. I urge you to see that Truth is far more valuable than what will be offered you in exchange for it.5. The MirrorI looked into the mirror
Didn’t know what I would see
But it was still just me
But it was still just me
With all these different images
Of who they think is me
I don’t know which one to be
And my eyes look like the seaOh, what fearful times are these
I know that You don’t promise this, but please
Let me feel you now
Because I know that You are here
Whispering in my ear
And looking in the mirrorShe woke up this morning
Didn’t know who she should be
So she turned on the TV
So she could escape for free
And all this time You’ve been right here
But she just couldn’t see
There is more than just a dream
She’s the daughter of a KingOh, what fearful times are these
I know that You don’t promise this, but please
Let her feel you now
Because I know that You’re there
Hearing every prayer
And returning her stareI’ve been so many people to so many people
But I just want to be who You want me to beOh, what fearful times are these
O, Lord, you don’t promise this but please
Let me feel you now
Because I know that You are here
Whispering in my earAnd looking in the mirror
About:
This song began four years ago at a coffee shop in Virginia and ended last year at a studio in Georgia.
Sometimes there are so many different versions of who I portray myself to be, I don’t know who I really am. I’m a chameleon. Our world, our media, our society—they all tell us who we’re supposed to be. Our identity is something greater than the clothes we wear, the bands we like, the job we do, the people we know, or the things we own.
At the end of the day when I lie down and I’m alone with God, I know that regardless of how I may feel, I am in Him and He is in me. That’s who I am—my beloved’s. We are sons and daughters of the king.
6. Eye Of The Storm
(I Thessalonians 4:13-18)
I got the call at 2am, it awoke me from my sleep
I didn’t recognize the voice, it was nervous and quite deep
He said that she was taken fast, she probably never knew
Maybe he was comforting me, or maybe it was trueThe last time that I saw her she was walking out the door
I didn’t think to hug her, it was just a trip to the store
Did I say I love you? Did she know it when she died?
When she had her last glance at me, did I look her in the eye?Though I don’t see, I still believe
There’s a purpose
You’re the eye of the storm
We fall asleep but we believe
You will wake us
And Your bride will come homeI took her to a restaurant, she spilled her drink on me
In anger I belittled her, I never said I was sorry
And now it’s those memories that haunt me in my sleep
How often we love someone, but we’re just to proud to speakThough I don’t see, I still believe
There’s a purpose
You’re the eye of the storm
We fall asleep but we believe
You will wake us
And Your bride will come homeWhen I was at the funeral
I tried hard not to cry
I didn’t want to grieve like the world
As though the lost had diedShe’s my sleeping beauty
For now she’s resting in peace
But one day, Redeemer, Redeemer
You’ll wake her from her sleepI did alright till I went in her room
I buckled under the load
Tomorrow if the rain stops
we’ll put a cross on the side of the roadGod is good all the time
Even when little girls dieAbout:
The first question I get asked about this song is, “Who is it about?” Honestly, it’s not about anyone in particular. I just know that dealing with death is an incredibly hard thing to do, and I don’t know of many songs that face it. I think our God gives us some comfort and guidance for dealing with loss in I Thessalonians, and I wanted to write a song about it. I think it’s very important to realize that for those who are in Christ, death is not final. God is our comforter, and though He is with us as we grieve, His sorrow is not for loss but for us who are grieving. To Him death is a joyous homecoming, and in the blink of an eye, we will all join Him. Our God is a mighty storm that gives and takes life, and the safest place to be is right in the middle of it.
As I write this, there is a man in the city where I live burying his six-year-old daughter who was hit by a car. I pray that he will understand that God is good during this time. I pray that this song may remind the grieving that our God is always good.7. The City Prevails
(Ecclesiastes 1:4)
For all the spires this city raised
You’d think this is a holy place
The shadow of a cross descends
But it’s swallowed by the haze
You never sleep do you?
Always pouring smoke into
The atmosphere
What happens here stays with us till the grave
Wisdom cries out in the streets (Proverbs 1:20)But the sirens are singing us to sleep
They’re so loud that I can’t think
I hear voices but I just can’t tell
And when we’re dead, the city prevailsCountless walk the open streets
With shackles chained around their feet
Wisdom says to fly away
But they cannot see their wings
Water, water everywhere
But not a drop that I would dare
Drink and so we think we’ll go
Imbibe the filthy airWisdom cries out in the streetsBut the sirens are singing us to sleep
They’re so loud that I can’t think
I hear voices but I just can’t tell
And when we’re dead, the city prevailsOr I will fall into the world
I will fall into the world
Don’t be silent
Please, God, don’t be silent
Don’t be silent
Please, God, don’t be silent
Or I will fall into the world
Or I will fall into the worldAbout:
I often use the city as a metaphor for the temporal world. The city is a loud, distracting place with traffic, sirens, bright lights, factories, and people busily shuffling down the sidewalks. A few years ago we were leaving Chicago, and I couldn’t help but see the irony in the sight of so many spires shrouded in the smoke from nearby factories. I jotted the first lines of this song down and they lay there forgotten until this song started taking shape.The city is a looming antagonist in the drama of our lives. It was here before we were born and it will be here after we’re gone. The city was built by the hands of men, but it controls the lives of men. It does not love us, but still we crawl to it. We are drawn toward the flashing lights and the glamorous storefronts. It doesn’t take long for us to forget where we are from and where we were headed. In time we look like all the other zombies hurrying down the sidewalk toward nothing in particular.There is more than this world and this city has to offer. There is clean water that will quench our thirst forever. Our hope and our redemption is in the streets crying out. Can you hear it?8. Spirit SongAll grown up with nowhere to go
How come nothing feels quite like home?
Sometimes it hurts to be awake
What’s the plan when we’ve got no plan?
A costly piece of paper in hand
But that’s not what it takesSpirit, sing out a little louder
My flesh is so weak
But it screams with all its strength
Spirit grow up, into a flower
My flesh is like a weed
That strangles out the seed
And blocks out the sunlightYou could say we’re living on prayer
Boomerangs that fly in the air
We’re back where we started fromSpirit, sing out a little louder
My flesh is so weak
But it screams with all its strength
Spirit grow up, into a flower
My flesh is like a weed
That strangles out the seed
And blocks out the sunlightDon’t we need something, need something to live for? It’s You
Don’t we all need something, need something we’d die for? It’s You
That’s all I know to do, so pleaseSpirit, sing out a little louder
My flesh is so weak
But it screams with all its strength
Spirit grow up, into a flower
My flesh is like a weed
That strangles out the seed
And blocks out the sunlightAbout:
This song is about the complexity of growing up and the continuing theme of being distracted by the world and the flesh.So many of us find ourselves out of high school or college and still have no idea what we’re supposed to do. I was having a hard time with life in general when I wrote this song. I was lonely, hurt, and confused. I felt like no matter how much I truly wanted to hear God and follow Him, I could hardly hear Him for all the distractions that were in my life—and many of them were put there by me. Still, as I lay in bed at night, I knew that I would do anything to be with Christ. I felt like I would do anything if I only knew what it was God wanted me to do.Maybe you’ve been there. Maybe you’re there now. Rest in the fact that God is there with you, too.9. Wonder Tour
You’ve already made too many mistakes
To ever amount to anything great
You’re not allowed to dream out loudYou’re far too young to even count
And much too poor without any doubt
You haven’t done nearly enough
To deserve any grace or anyone’s love.God speak truth
To the lies that we’ve believed
Instead of YouYou’re in the wrong city for that line of work
and you’ll never make it unless you’re a jerk
Live for yourself and store up more wealth
We’ve traded in dreams and our youthful ideals
For less noble themes of paying the bills
And trying our best to look like the rest
While hiding our fears by the way we are dressedGod speak Truth
To the paychecks we have trusted
Instead of YouAbout:
A few years ago, we got to play in a broken Midwestern town that had been ravaged by drug addiction, teen pregnancy, abuse, suicide, and an incredibly high drop-out rate. The town was known for very little besides being a hub for meth production. A friend of ours spent time with people in the community, and he told us unbelievable stories that broke our hearts. We walked the streets of this town praying for hope and Truth to come and fix all the brokenness. Our friend has a free event in the town every year called Wonder Tour so that the kids there can have something positive to do for a couple of days, and we were fortunate enough to be a part of it.
Later, as I was praying and thinking about the people of this town, it occurred to me that maybe no one had ever told them there was more than what they were living for. Maybe no one had ever told them they were valued simply for being living creatures of God. Maybe no one had encouraged them to dream dreams bigger than the confines of the town. Maybe they had never heard the gospel.
I started to realize how much they are lied to. Then I thought about how much we’re all lied to. All our lives we’re told we can’t do things because we just don’t have what it takes by this world’s standards. But what if we didn’t live by this world’s standards? As I drove home, I text messaged myself over and over again with all the things I was thinking, which is not the safest thing to do. A couple of months later, Casey came up with some guitar parts for the song, and I made those text messages rhyme a bit, shaping them into the lyrics for Wonder Tour.10. The HouseNaked I came with nothing to show
You gave me everything that I call my own
I have nothing to give that wasn’t given me
You’re able to see so much more than I can find in meWhen I was in chains, I thought that I was free
But ages before I was even born, you called to me
To turn me loose from all the fear and all the doubt
My heart’s not big enough to hold all of this love,
but you keep pouring outYou brought me from the womb
You made me trust in You
You, O God
I need YouIrresistible, You’re irresistible
Yours are the only hands that can heal meYou brought me from the womb
You made me trust in You
You, O God
I need You
GodI need YouAbout:
The House is the body of Christ that has fallen asleep. The House is what we long for the most and where we want to be as we wander the streets. The House is the place we could enter if only we would put down the chains that we have been fooled into thinking are our freedom. The House is the glory of Almighty God that has been forgotten over the ages. Our Father has always been calling us Home, and we can be there if only we can humble ourselves and utter the words, “I need You.”11. The Incomprehensible Sleep
(Matthew 26:36-46)
Our lives up to this point have lead to this
A garden in the dark, a deadly kiss (Matthew 26:47-49)
If you want to follow me
We’ll walk into suffering
It’s this act that will distinguish usMy disciples, those I’ve chosen (John 15:16)
Don’t listen to the sirens
Don’t you know that I would never lead you astray
Tie yourself to the mast and cover your ears with wax and
Keep your gaze on me, for God’s sake stay awakeSometimes you have to close your eyes to see.
Sometimes to walk you have to get down on your knees.
All I ask is that you pray
All I ask is that you stay awake
But your dreams betray meMy disciples, those I’ve chosen
Don’t listen to the sirens
Don’t you know that I would never lead you astray
Tie yourself to the mast and cover your ears with wax and
Keep your gaze on me, for God’s sake stay awakeWake up.Are you resting? Are you still asleep?Wake Up, O Sleeper (Ephesians 5:14)
Wake Up and say a prayer
Wake Up, O Sleeper
Are you my betrayer?
Wake up, O Sleeper
Wake up, O SleeperIncomprehensible, Incomprehensible
About:
The incomprehensible sleep is the sleep Christ’s disciples fell into as he prayed in Gethsemane. Jesus’ only request to them in his darkest hour was to stay awake and pray, yet, they failed him. We, too, have all fallen into this incomprehensible sleep. We can wake up. Indeed, we will wake up. Do you hear Him calling us? “Set your hearts on things above, not on earthly things.” (Colossians 3:1,2) The title for this song was inspired by a sermon by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who knew suffering better than I can imagine. The sermon is entitled Judas. It was preached in Finkenwalde, Germany on March 14, 1937.12. Wide Awake(Instrumental)About:
WAKE UP.
The artwork for this record is very important to us. We would like you to know the meaning of it, and how it all came into place:
Before Pencil Meets Paper:When Charlie and I began our discussions about the artwork for The Sleeping House, it went without saying that we desired it to be as much an instrument of worship as the music and lyrics were. An intent and a hope for the glorification of Jesus has always been readily apparent within the music that Cool Hand Luke has released over the years, and our artwork for this album also needed to serve that purpose.With this in mind, I prayerfully approached the songs that Mark had given to me. I let them become my ’road music’, accompanying me daily on mid-Ohio’s back roads, thumping and keening fuzzily out of my car’s failing speakers. They burrowed in through my iPod’s headphones and laid the tempo for my typing strokes while I was at work. I let myself sit with these songs, asking God to paint at least some vague shape of what they were meant to look like while I listened to them.He did much more than that. He Who Loves Us, after all, is he who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all we can ask or imagine. As a result, through listening to these songs, he first gave me strong impressions: immense space. Incredible age. Ancientness and holiness beyond what we are capable of truly grasping or wrapping our minds around. I also had a sense of "beneath", although not in some scary, hidden-in-a-cave sense of the word. Rather, it was something more along the lines of "providing root, sustenance, and basis". It was "beneath" in the sense of hidden depths, an antediluvian ocean that has spent so many millennia lapping against the bedrock of this place that even the very foundations of the continents are secretly worked through with caverns that hold its waves. There is no part of Creation that this deep, ancient water does not touch, seep into, and provide root for.In this mental impression, I was given a chance to understand a small part more of the holiness and mightiness of God, to touch with shaking fingers upon the sheer age and power of his Presence. He was, is, and will always be. He has no beginning, and he has no end. This is the holiness of God: that word-stilling hush that settles like a heavy cloak upon the head and shoulders of one who steps into the presence of something far older and more alive than anything that person has ever experienced before. There are almost no words for it, and those that do come to mind afterwards seem paltry, thin, and sadly lacking as descriptives. This is deep water, older than time, and the Presence of God is within it.As I continued to listen to The Sleeping House, these impressions solidified further. They gradually began to form a story, complete with discernible beginning and end. While I’ve felt led by the Holy Spirit within my creating individual pieces of artwork prior to this, I’d never before felt as though God had literally handed me an entire tale he meant for me to attempt to visually convey. I can only pray that in some way, these drawings serve to capture the "mental movie" he has played out for me every time I listen to this album.
Impressions and Imagery:The man, clad in layer upon layers of underwater armor, watches silently as the ship above him dwindles in size. It is his link to the reality of the world above, and even now, as darkness engulfs him, it recedes into the swiftly vanishing blue light. The deeper he sinks, the less light his surroundings embrace. Even through the steel skin of his diving suit, he can feel the slow hammer of ocean pressure increasing with each passing minute. This is the point where claustrophobia mixes like a seething cocktail with crushing separation, and he must consciously force his breathing to slow in order to prevent life-threatening panic. He has chosen this, this journey into the deep and hidden places. The bottom of the sea, after all, seems to be one of the last places where mystery remains, fascinating and threatening as it is.The abyss is a place of heavy silence. With him hearing only the sound of his own breathing, hollow and artificial as the air is pumped in through his laboring tanks, the man is fully conscious of how isolated he is. His suit’s meager lights barely illuminate the dark ocean floor before him, and the sun above is visible only in vague hints of light blue-green far above his head. He can make out vague shapes in the blackness, rolling plains of grey sand, unmarked by plants or footprints; the occasional distant underwater crag or mountainous formation. This is a place separate and untouched, and yet he senses... something. It is evidenced in a tickle at the base of his skull, a flush in his cheeks, and the palpitations of his heart. There is both awe and fear within him, and he knows that it is not solely due to his current placement. Something awaits him here. He senses this in a manner deeper than sound, born out of a waking memory almost like a dream. He remembers... something, and knows that somehow, it remembers him.Through the blackness, a massive shape takes form. It looms before him, silhouetted against the slight brightening of distant sky. It is no natural formation, but something wrought with defined angles and carved edges, a thing seemingly made by the hands of men. And yet, that seems impossible. For, what age this place speaks of! It is a temple, ancient towers rearing high into the murk, elaborate shapes carved into its pillars and steps, its roof and its entryway. The doorway is open, towering over him and dwarfing him with darkness that makes even the blue-black water around him seem bright. His breathing is stilled, and his mind slows to a crawl, unable in the moment to even scramble for thought. What is this place? It reminds him of word-pictures from old adventure stories he read as a kid, and even the temple of Solomon described to him by his grandmother. It is a place older than anything in his previous experience - this he knows without a doubt. And as he enters its doorway, the man knows he leaves the outside world far behind.The entry dias stretches out before him, a giant stone half-circle marbled with filaments of bronze. His shadow makes him out to be something other than human, elongated arms, fingers, and legs stretching out down a central corridor whose end vanishes from sight. He looks upward, halting breaths momentarily fogging the glass of his faceplate, and realizes with a start that he cannot see the ceiling. Although the man can make out the bases of pillars, interconnected monoliths holding smooth walls upon their backs, he finds that he cannot find an end to the length of the temple. Reality shifts, for the space is incongruous with what his eyes have seen. How can a place be higher, longer, and deeper the further up and in he goes? The temple’s interior space is exponentially larger than even the massive structure he saw from the outside... how? What? Wait! Suddenly, arguments with himself over measurements don’t matter in the slightest. Looking out across the vast space, his eyes have began to adjust to the darkness. From the base of the dias that she stands upon, rows of rectangular shapes, approximately four feet by seven feet, stretch away into the black. He begins to attempt to count them, but quickly loses track... there must be hundreds of them! No, wait... thousands? More than that, even? As his brain begins to approximate a tally, he feels his mouth gape and eyes widen in awe. "There must be millions of these things in here." His eyes adjust further, and widen all the more.These shapes are tombs. Millions upon millions of rectangular, elaborately carved sarcophagi stretching back for miles, their tops reaching to just above his waist as he begins to walk among them. Atop each of the sarcophagi lies the stone sculpture of a person, every one distinctly unique. Their faces are startlingly lifelike, stone lips seeming about to part, shaped eyes about to open. They seem peaceful, and yet, expectant. All wear armor, delicately filagreed with the shapes of plants, birds, and what seems to be roaring lions. The lion motif is continued onto the main body of the tombs themselves, a roaring lion engraved beneath the armored feet of each person. Some old history lesson tugs at his mind: a dog at the feet means they died at home, a lion at the feet means they died in battle. The sheer number of people begins to numb and overwhelm him, but something familiar catches his eye. His attention is not merely demanded - it is focused, and he is overcome. Tears well and make their way down cheeks already marked with sweat, and his hand rests on a carved stone knee. Through tears, he struggles to focus again on the statue’s face, but it does not change. His eyes remain his eyes, his mouth still his mouth. His features look rested and prepared, smooth in anticipation, and his breath slows as he reaches to touch the stone cheek that is his. How did he come to be here? What does this mean? Shaking his head as he attempts denial, his eyes lock with something in the distance, something that paints his face with coruscating light.The temple with no end appears to have a center point, or focus. The rows of tombs move toward a raised dias in the middle, steps lofting a flat platform above the temple floor. The man moves slowly toward it, his thoughts dreamlike and his feet seeming to float. The platform is square, its four corners designated further by the wooden poles that rise from them. Drifting downward and encircling these poles are banners, their length seeming endless as they float, barely moving, surrounding what he knows now to be an immense altar. They appear to be made of finely woven cloth, bright white even in the darkness, and his eyes are able to make out letters stitched along them. Some of the languages he recognizes - Hebrew and Arabic - but some seem alien. "Ancient", he murmurs, correcting himself, and he finds that he knows their names despite knowing he does not: Hebrew, Arabic, Aramaic, Akkadian, Ugaritic. Ancient and storied tongues, some long-dead, all whispering the same sort of phrase, again and again: Glory to God. To God be the glory. Glory to God alone. Light flares brighter, and he whispers the phrase himself, his lips unable to say anything else."Glory to God. Glory to God. Glory to God."In the center of the altar, light and color coalesce between the wings of golden seraphim. It is a light that suddenly seems to fill every inch of the room, spilling over and into all things. The man is filled with delight, but then finds himself on his knees in fear. Joy beyond description fills him even as his tears continue, and he is profoundly aware of a distinct truth. Somehow, far beneath the ocean waves, deeply set apart from all he has known, he is in the Presence of God. The Presence that dances atop the golden chest before him, shifting throughout the color spectrum into new shades he never knew existed. The Presence that seems to sing without sound throughout the water around him, curling all of reality into itself and back out again. The Presence that is holiness defined, a holiness within which he finds himself want to remain forever, day after day without end. His tears dry as he gazes in awe upon the Spirit of God, moving in all directions and yet remaining still before him. He is aware of many things in this moment, and yet acutely conscious of his lack of knowledge. He knows himself to be nothing compared to the glory before him, and yet the glory... sees him. Knows him. Acknowledges him, and calls him. Somehow, he knows that within the Presence, who he truly is and has been made to be waits for him. His true identity is hidden there, within that ancient light that speaks his name, a light whose name he knows now, too. The light is the Word of God, He Who Is What He Is. The light is the Presence and Spirit of God, King of Creation and Creator of All Things. Within the light is someone named The Prince, The Son, The Lamb, and the The Lion. His true self is hidden with the Lion within the Presence, and he knows that he wants nothing more than to be there too.The man pulls his eyes away from the altar momentarily, looking back across the vaulted hall of the temple to where his armored self lies in state. He looks back again at the golden ark that rises before him, feeling the thrum of a thousand silent voices singing within his chest. His words form theirs, and he raises his hands before him. "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, Who Was and Is and Is To Come." The man looks again between the two points, his eyes scanning from death to life and back again. He is aware suddenly of the choice before him, and his eyes look back to the door through which he entered this place. Out there, the world from which he came awaits. Who he was is there, and here, within this place as well, still wrapped in a whirring suit of steel, plastic, and rubber. His body is surrounded by a machine that works to hold a wall between he and the water around him, a frantic attempt by the best mankind has to offer to sustain a life that he now knows as so fragile. The man now knows this: to be truly here, in this place, in this Presence, to truly know He Who has made and knows him, this old life must die. Who he was can be no more; the old must be gone for the new to come. His gloved hand finds the knife at his belt, its edge ground diamond-sharp above the waves in preparation for whatever need he might have below them. His other hand seeks the rubber hose that joins his helmet to the air tanks he wears on his back, pulling it in front of him. He feels the dry, faintly chalky air he is breathing pulsing through the tube, and looks again to the altar. He smiles, raising the knife again, whispering to the Lion and the Lamb who beckons him atop the altar."I choose you."There is no sound as the helmet drifts to the floor. Bubbles push out and past it, moving upward as their air seeks the distant sun. The helmet connects with the floor, a small metallic clang sounding within the mammoth space surrounding it. Holy light sparkles across its steel plates as it rests before the altar, never to move again. It serves no function but symbol now, dual in its purpose. It is what was, and it is what was given.Atop the altar, the Presence of God surges and pulses, a luminous and holy glow whose beams drift outward, delicately touching upon the engraved faces of millions. There is anticipation, and there is hope. The Spirit waits, and the Spirit sings.-Adam Baker; Three Bears Design.
"The Sleeping House" - [Complete Album Information]
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