The Grizzley, Our God, and Oompa Loompas

i am reading a book called Story by steven james.
it is james' interpretation of what scripture might look like. yes, look like. and i don't mean that in the post-modern, psycho-babble sort of way. i mean, he uses words to paint pictures. he explores what god's story might litteraly look like if we could see it.

i am loving the journey he is taking me on. begining in genesis.

he takes: "in the begining God created the heavens and the earth . . . " genesis 1:1

and shows me this:
you clothe yourself with daylight.
you wrap the stars around your waist.
crickets chirp from the folds of your garmets.
grizzlies growl from the deep hidden pockets of your evening robe.

where do you set me upon yourself?
am i an earring, dangling in the moonlight?
am i a necklace, flashing by your breast?
where do you slip me on?
where do i fit into your tale?


and i think this:

i love the image of god's evening robe. i picture it as a thick billowing quilt made of burlap like the rocky mountains and silk like the adriadic sea . . . stiched together with tropical vines. hints of piercing bright blue like the eager eyes of my husband and the deep indigo sky of the evening i married him. specks of the grey from the coat of kelly's beautiful dog, and though i don't understand the purpose of pets, i love that kelly loves her dog. threads of the many shades of green from the lush rolling hills of the midwest. cinched with a rope braided of the cream of my newborn baby cousins and the chocolate of my sweet friend latonya. i love imagining that god keeps a grizzley bear in his pocket. and there the bear stands, dwarfed by god's glory but set freed by god's closeness to know his own wild roots. i like to wonder where and how and why he might choose to slip me onto himself, despite his perfection without me.

i love james' descriptions. but for some odd reason, when he describes eden . . .

"adam was one note, eve another, and god a third. and they were woven together in a melody of relationship none of us has ever come close to recapturing. we hear faint echoes of that original song. but we haven't heard the whole thing. not for a long, long time."

. . . i can't help but imagine the scene from willy wonka and the chocolate factory where the children are receiving their initial tour of the magical land. and while the idea of a dark (not milk) chocolate river is heavenly, i don't imagine the the "original song of eden" was sung by oompa loompas.