Over my head, I hear music in the air;
over my head, I hear music in the air;
over my head, I hear music in the air;
there must be a God somewhere.
Refrain from Over My Head an African American Spiritual
When you grow up in New York City, like I did, you will learn one cardinal rule, that is to never look up. Whatever you do never look up to see the second storey of a house, or the tops of buildings or worst still, the sky!
To look up at the sky, whether to actually see the sky or to take in the verticality of a very tall building would mark you as an outsider, or a tourist. Another rule is never be a tourist in New York if you can avoid it.
I tried very hard to follow the rule, and sometimes I even succeeded in presenting myself as someone who looks straight ahead with the kind of steely-eyed focus that said “I not only know where I am going, but I will walk over your corpse to get there!” However most of time I was too busy looking up to care. The most interesting things seemed to be over my head, calling out to me.
Above me were cornices and spires adorning the tops of buildings. And above them the limitless sky. There were timeless things: sunsets, the moon and a few intrepid stars twinkling with dogged determination above the city lights.
Looking up saved my life, not just by avoiding a falling flowerpot, but by reminding me that there is a reality far greater than the great metropolis--bigger than even the Big Apple. That reality refuses to be contained by steel, glass or concrete and it cannot be touched by any skyscraper no matter how tall. Looking up often helped me to see a way out by providing a way into a deeper truth that I fumble to find a proper name for. Sometimes I call that truth God, or spirit, or even the Good. Whatever it is I know not to call it “me” because it is not me. I know that I did not create and it cannot be undone, and through it I am made whole.
Over my head, I hear music in the air;
over my head, I hear music in the air;
over my head, I hear music in the air;
there must be a God somewhere.
Refrain from Over My Head an African American Spiritual
When you grow up in New York City, like I did, you will learn one cardinal rule, that is to never look up. Whatever you do never look up to see the second storey of a house, or the tops of buildings or worst still, the sky!
To look up at the sky, whether to actually see the sky or to take in the verticality of a very tall building would mark you as an outsider, or a tourist. Another rule is never be a tourist in New York if you can avoid it.
I tried very hard to follow the rule, and sometimes I even succeeded in presenting myself as someone who looks straight ahead with the kind of steely-eyed focus that said “I not only know where I am going, but I will walk over your corpse to get there!” However most of time I was too busy looking up to care. The most interesting things seemed to be over my head, calling out to me.
Above me were cornices and spires adorning the tops of buildings. And above them the limitless sky. There were timeless things: sunsets, the moon and a few intrepid stars twinkling with dogged determination above the city lights.
Looking up saved my life, not just by avoiding a falling flowerpot, but by reminding me that there is a reality far greater than the great metropolis--bigger than even the Big Apple. That reality refuses to be contained by steel, glass or concrete and it cannot be touched by any skyscraper no matter how tall. Looking up often helped me to see a way out by providing a way into a deeper truth that I fumble to find a proper name for. Sometimes I call that truth God, or spirit, or even the Good. Whatever it is I know not to call it “me” because it is not me. I know that I did not create and it cannot be undone, and through it I am made whole.
RSS Feed