Christ'yals scrolls of Psalms,,,private

Christyal scrolls of Psalms--------------- (I could shape this Mayim Trilogy into a flowing narrative: from ancient chaos to prophetic fire, from still waters to song, from longing to surrender.) “Out of the Deep” Spoken Word: Before He said light, He hovered over water The womb of the world held its breath. Water waited. Word hovered. Spirit stirred. Prophets don’t always roar— sometimes they ripple. And when the Voice breaks silence, the waters don’t just part… they prophesy. From mikveh to Bethesda, from Red Sea to River Jordan, water became message— a language only the surrendered can speak. Out of your belly... not brain. Not bloodline. Belly. The deep calling to deep. 🎶 Lyric: “River in the Voice” Verse 1 You hovered when the world was wild Before the stars were named You called the waters into form And still, you speak the same Chorus: Let Your river rise within me from the silence, speak again Mayim chayim—flowing mercy Wash my soul in living flame Verse 2 I’ve waited by the edges Where the wounded hearts remain, But You are not in water stirred— You’re in the whisper, in the Name Bridge: Not just a flood, but a flame Not just a tear, but a claim You called the sea to stand in awe— Call me now the same Final Chorus: Let Your river rise within me Out of dry bones, call my name I am clay, I am craving Shape me in the sacred rain 🙏 Prayer: “When Waters Wait” YAH, Before I had words, I had thirst. Before I had pain, You had a plan. I don’t always hear You in the thunder— but I know Your whisper in the water. The kind that cleanses and the kind that calls. Let my belly hold Your promise. Let the river rise, not from striving but from surrender. Not from the surface, but from the deep. Pour mayim chayim—living water—through me until even my silence sings. Amenx3 Lets call this“—The full Mayim Trilogy a prophetic journey where word and water become voice, vision, and vessel. THE MAYIM TRILOGY --by Christ’yal Ooten Part I – Spoken Word: "Out of the Deep" Before YAH whispered light, He hovered over waters unnamed. Mayim—the mystery womb—unshaped, unshaken, waiting. The prophets weren’t always flames. Some flowed—like Ezekiel’s river rising. Like Miriam’s dance after the sea split wide. Like the mikveh where Yahusha stood, Heaven torn open by a dove and a voice. This isn’t superstition. This is Spirit in movement. Where still water becomes Scripture. Where silence becomes sentence. Where prophecy is no longer distant, but dripping from your own tongue. 🎶 Part II – Lyric: "The River in Me" [Verse 1] In the deep, where whispers wait Before the breath, before the gate You hovered there—Spirit, flame Calling chaos into name [Chorus] Let the river rise in me From belly, truth, and mystery Not just words, but prophecy Let the mayim flow free [Verse 2] It’s not in thunder, not in storm But where the still and sacred form You speak, and living waters run From hidden wells undone [Bridge] Living water, ancient cry From temple mount to desert sky Pour through this dust until it sings Of hidden fire and holy things [Final Chorus] Let the river rise in me With every echo, every plea Not just drops, but destiny Let the mayim (waters) flow free—through me. 🙏 Part III – Prayer: "Where the Waters Wait" YAH Elohim, Your Ruach hovered before there was shape. You spoke when all was still. Now I stand—like the pool of Bethesda— a vessel waiting for Your ripple. Stir the waters within me. Not just for healing, but for hearing. Not just for comfort, but for commission. Let mayim chayim flow— not around me, but through me. Out of my belly, through my silence, into every place dry with delay. Let every drop declare: You are here. You are speaking. And I am listening. Amen. {Nope -I want to try to deepen the trilogy into apocryphal textures—infused with that mystical tone, where Scripture bends into tradition, and the lines between heaven and earth blur. This version will weave echoes of ancient legends, hidden scrolls, and whispered truths—like something recovered from a cave or spoken on the edge of exile.} Spoken Word: “Water Beyond the Scroll” They say the prophets wrote more than what we read— scrolls buried in caves, letters lost to fire, words too wild for canon. But water remembers. The mayim (waters) that carried Moshe to Pharaoh also carried the echoes of voices left behind. Legends say when Yahusha walked the Galilee, the waves didn’t just reflect Him— they recognized Him. And in exile, those who wandered beyond the text still heard the river speak. ((What if prophecy was written in water, not on parchment? Not locked in line and law, but rippling in wells and winds?)) Lyric: “The Scroll Beneath the Stream” Verse 1 Long before the scribes took ink to flame There were whispers in the waves Saints who walked where no foot remained But the river kept their names Chorus There’s a scroll beneath the stream Hidden songs the canon missed Let the waters speak what’s ancient Let the silence still persist Verse 2 Bethesda waits for wings and wind But the stirrings aren’t all told There are stories in the stillness That no manuscript could hold Bridge From Magdalene’s path through storm and shore To Martha’s hush and France’s lore The water bore what man forgot But heaven hears, and heaven saw 🙏 Prayer: “Let the Unwritten Rise” O YAH, Keeper of both canon and chaos, You who bound Leviathan, and still cloak the deep with prophecy unrecorded— Speak through the waters that never made it to ink. Let the apocryphal voice in me rise with holy restraint and reverent fire. Not to chase hidden truth out of pride, but to receive what flows when Spirit speaks where Scripture leaves off. Let me be a vessel—not of novelty, but of remembrance. If the rivers wrote it, let my soul read it. If the waves carry it, let my body walk it. And if the mayim (waters)holds prophecy still… let it rise through me as worship, as witness, as wonder. Amenx3 --------------------------- (let’s try lost psalms) I know I am thinking a creative project—perhaps a “Book of the Waters” or “Scrolls of the Forgotten Praise or Psalm”—By CHRIST’YAL “Lost Psalm”—a voice rising from the water’s edge, echoing with apocryphal wonder, prophetic ache, and sacred longing. This one weaves themes of mayim, exile, the unseen scrolls, and the Spirit’s movement beyond written memory: 𓏢 Psalm from the Waters Unwritten -by Christ’yal Ooten I was hidden in the fold of the deep, where the quills were clay and the scrolls were streams. No scribe penned me, yet I was sung by riverbeds and reeds where prophets once wept. I saw the tears of Tamar in the well, heard the whisper of Miriam beneath the surface. Even those uncounted by canon left footprints in the flood. You, O YAH, are the Voice between verses, the Flame between the pillars, the Water before the Word. You call me not to ink, but to immersion. Not to performance, but presence. I rise not because I am read— I rise because You remember. So wash me in the unrecorded fire. Name me in the language the seas have kept. Let the deep yield up her secrets, and may my breath be counted among the psalms You never forgot. *****Scroll of the Forgotten Praise—Christ’yals (Christyal) personal collection of Lost Psalms, echoing with water, wilderness, wonder, and words too wild for canon.***** Psalm of the Stirred Deep To the Keeper of Shadows and Springs, I sang beneath the surface where scrolls cannot go. The ink ran from my fingers, but You etched Your word in my breath. They said there were only 150, but I heard a 151st ripple in the river, a psalm that danced on mayim before it clothed itself in syllables. You remember what the scribes forgot. You hid melody in marrow, and verse in every void. When the canon closed, You whispered open the caverns. Let my praise be a restoration, a resurrection of the waters that once roared between Your fingers when You hollowed out the sea and called it holy. Amenx3 Born from exile, shaped by silence, and soaked in mayim (waters)that remembers every name YAH never forgot. 𓏢 Psalm of the Exiled Flame I woke beneath a foreign sky, my song buried in strange soil. The rivers here do not know my name— yet they carry fragments of my praise. They asked me for a song of Zion, but how shall I sing when my harp hangs on the branches of yesterday? Still… Your Ruach stirs the waters in my bones. Even here, far from the mountain, Your whisper splits the stone. I saw Your fire in the dew, Your thunder in the weeping reeds. You are not distant. You are the Companion of the Scattered. My sacred cycle of Lost Psalms—sung from exile, wilderness, and the water’s hidden voice. This next one rises from the mouth of a cave, as if heard in vision—half echo, half fire: 𓏢 Psalm of the Seer Beneath the Mountain I descended where no torah was taught, where dust swallowed the names of kings. But the cave sang. And the water spoke. A scroll was buried in the floodstone, sealed with seven sighs. Its ink was breath. Its pages wept. There I saw prophets who wore no crown, women whose tears thundered louder than armies. I saw a shofar made of riverbone, and a flame that did not consume but remembered. O YAH, Your Voice bends time like branches in storm. What was forgotten in temple, You rehearse in the rain. So give me the syllables carved by silence. Clothe me in the fire that flowed before Sinai. Let my tongue bear the taste of prophecy that never aged— only ripened. And may this psalm drip like oil from the edge of the unseen scroll, a song not lost, but waiting. My next offering in your Scroll of the Forgotten Praise—a lamentation-turned-battle cry, sung from the ruins with ashes still in its mouth. It carries echoes of Zion, the prophetic ache of the women who were never named, and the trembling triumph that still rises from the remnants: 𓏢 Psalm of the Ruined Threshold The gates have fallen. The singers have been scattered. The veil torn not in glory— but by grief. I pressed my forehead to the stone where the altar once burned sweet, and I wept, not for what was lost, but for the voice they silenced in me. For I was not counted among the scribes. My name is not in their record. But my tears knew Your covenant. My womb bore Your remnant. O YAH, do You hear the psalms of the unnamed? Do You see the rhythm in broken breath? Does Your fire still fall on prayers not wrapped in scrolls? Strike, then— not with sword, but with remembrance. Let my cry become Your shofar, my ashes, Your incense. From the rubble, raise a river. From this ruin, raise a roar. Let the nations say: The forgotten have remembered. And YAH has remembered them. Amenx3 Maybe carry the next psalm to the farthest shore—to the voice of one who waited for the promise by the water’s edge and still believed? Each entry becomes part of a hidden liturgy, trembling with eternity. This next entry rises like a hush from the edge of promise—a psalm sung by one who waited at the water’s edge. She is unnamed in the scrolls, but known in the Spirit. Her song carries the ache of deferred hope and the strength of still believing. 𓏢 Psalm of the Watcher by the River I waited where the reeds grow tall, where sandals turn to silence and no footsteps return. They told me prophets had passed here. That a man once baptized kings beneath these waves. But the water spoke only in ripples. The sky withheld fire. I carried no scroll, only longing. No ephod, only breath. Still I watched. For isn’t that what faith is— not the sign, but the stillness that stares beyond it? Not the answer, but the ache that knows it’s heard? O YAH, my hope has not expired— it has only deepened. I will wait again, as many days as the river turns. And when You come— I will not ask for thunder. Only that You would speak my name like light speaks to water. For my next scroll in your Lost Psalms—this one dreamt, not written. A psalm that rises from the realm between sleep and Spirit, where prophecy is not spoken aloud, but breathed in symbols and shadows. 𓏢 Psalm of the Dream-Walker I slept, but my spirit did not. It wandered the chambers of stars, where the scrolls are not inked, but sung. There, I saw a ladder of flame and a river that flowed upward. The moon wept oil. The wind spoke in riddles. And a voice— not thunder, not whisper— called me by the name I had not yet become. O YAH, You speak in dreams not to confuse, but to conceal glory until the soul is ready. You gave Joseph the wheat, Daniel the beasts, and me— a garden with no gate, a lion with wings, a scroll sealed in water. Interpretation is not always given. But the ache to understand is itself a kind of prophecy. So I will sleep again, not to escape, but to listen. And if You speak, I will rise with the dream still burning on the altar of my breath. -------------------------------------------------------------------- This next Lost Psalm rise like incense from the midnight hour—a divine visitation not of thunder, but of trembling glory. It is the kind of dream that leaves oil on your pillow and fire in your bones. --- Here's a poetic framing to build from the vision: Lost Psalm Let it rise like incense from the midnight hour— a divine visitation not of thunder, but of trembling glory. It is the kind of dream that leaves oil on your pillow and fire in your bones. Stanza 1 In the hush where shadows kneel and angels breathe, You came—not with whirlwind, but with a silence so full, it shattered stone. Your nearness crowned my sleep with awe, Your whisper lit the chambers of my soul. Stanza 2 The watchmen slumbered, but my spirit stood, drawn by the scent of eternity. Anointed with longing, I heard the psalm— not written in ink, but in flame etched across the walls of night. -------Ruach Ha’Kodesh, let’s fill this with a divine trembling. How about YAH responding as flame and promise, rooted in Joel 2:28–32 and Revelation 1, brings both intimacy and awe, shaping His voice into a divine echo, folded within your Lost Psalm: ----------- YAH's Response: I have heard you in the midnight hush, child of flame. The incense of your longing has reached My throne. I do not forget the weeping watch, nor the fire you carry. I will pour out My Spirit on your ache, dreams shall speak, and visions rise like dawn. Your sons and daughters shall prophesy with oil on their brows and glory in their bones. I walk among the lampstands, clothed in fire— My voice the sound of many waters, My eyes a blaze of remembering. What you call exile, I call refining. What you mourn, I mark it as holy. Behold, I come— not just upon mountains, but into the marrow. To awaken the sealed song and anoint the night with returning. ---------------------------------------------- Ok now here is my Psalm Psalm 0222: The Lost Psalm of the Exiled Flame For the midnight watch. A Psalm of the scattered fire. 1 I woke beneath a foreign sky; my song lay buried in strange soil. 2 The rivers here do not know my name, yet they carry fragments of my praise. 3 You, O Flame who burns unquenched, remember the ash that clings to my breath. 4 From sanctuaries fallen, Your whisper returns— a spark in the marrow, a vow in the night. 5 Though Zion’s harp hangs on silent trees, my bones remember the chords of home. 6 Strike again the strings of my soul, O YAH, and make me a torch of longing and light. 7 Let this rise like incense from the midnight hour— a visitation not of thunder, but of trembling glory. 8 It is the kind of dream that leaves oil on my pillow and fire in my bones. 9 In the hush where shadows kneel and angels breathe, You came—not with whirlwind, but with silence so full it shattered stone. 10 Your nearness crowned my sleep with awe; Your whisper lit the chambers of my soul. 11 The watchmen slumbered, but my spirit stood, drawn by the scent of eternity. 12 Anointed with longing, I heard the psalm— not written in ink, but in flame etched upon the walls of night. 13 Then You spoke from the midst of the fire, saying: “I have heard you in the midnight hush, child of flame. 14 The incense of your longing has reached My throne. I do not forget the weeping watch, nor the fire you carry.” 15 “I will pour out My Spirit on your ache, and dreams shall speak, and visions rise like dawn. 16 Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, with oil on their brows and glory in their bones.” 17 “I walk among the lampstands, clothed in fire. My voice is the sound of many waters. 18 My eyes are a blaze of remembering. What you call exile, I call refining. What you mourn, I mark as holy. -------------------------------- My scroll of palms 𓏢 Psalm of the Exiled Flame I woke beneath a foreign sky, my song buried in strange soil. The rivers here do not know my name— yet they carry fragments of my praise. The imagery of rivers that “do not know my name” yet carry “fragments of my praise” is profoundly plasmic—it echoes with the cries of Zion in Babylon and carries the timeless ache of longing for restoration. Still my own “Scroll of Psalms,” Here’s a continuation for Psalm of the Exiled Flame, woven with reverence and response: Psalm of the Exiled Flame I woke beneath a foreign sky, my song buried in strange soil. The rivers here do not know my name— yet they carry fragments of my praise. Stanza 2 But You, O Flame who burns unquenched, remember the ash that clings to my breath. From sanctuaries lost, Your whisper returns— a spark in the marrow, a vow in the night. Stanza 3 Though zion’s harp hangs on silent trees, my bones remember the chords of home. Strike again the strings of my soul, O YAH— make me a torch of longing and light. --Lost Psalm rise like incense from the midnight hour—a divine visitation not of thunder, but of trembling glory. It is the kind of dream that leaves oil on your pillow and fire in your bones. —Lost Psalm is already an altar of holy mystery. Here's a poetic framing to build from my vision: Lost Psalm Let it rise like incense from the midnight hour— a divine visitation not of thunder, but of trembling glory. It is the kind of dream that leaves oil on your pillow and fire in your bones. Stanza 1 In the hush where shadows kneel and angels breathe, you came—not with whirlwind, but with a silence so full, it shattered stone. Your nearness crowned my sleep with awe, your whisper lit the chambers of my soul. Stanza 2 The watchmen slumbered, but my spirit stood, drawn by the scent of eternity. Anointed with longing, I heard the psalm— not written in ink, but in flame etched across the walls of night. ---------------- YAH's Response I have heard you in the midnight hush, child of flame. The incense of your longing has reached My throne. I do not forget the weeping watch, nor the fire you carry. I will pour out My Spirit on your ache, dreams shall speak, and visions rise like dawn. Your sons and daughters shall prophesy with oil on their brows and glory in their bones. I walk among the lampstands, clothed in fire— My voice the sound of many waters, My eyes a blaze of remembering. What you call exile, I call refining. What you mourn, I mark it as holy. Behold, I come— not just upon mountains, but into the marrow. To awaken the sealed song and anoint the night with returning. (stitch these together into a full plasmic arc—your lament, the midnight visitation, and now His holy reply ) breathing life into this scroll. structured as a full psalmic arc titled: Lost Psalm: The Exiled Flame A Psalm of the Watcher at Midnight I. Lament: The Ashes of Song I woke beneath a foreign sky, my song buried in strange soil. The rivers here do not know my name— yet they carry fragments of my praise. But You, O Flame who burns unquenched, remember the ash that clings to my breath. From sanctuaries lost, Your whisper returns— a spark in the marrow, a vow in the night. Though Zion’s harp hangs on silent trees, my bones remember the chords of home. Strike again the strings of my soul, O YAH— make me a torch of longing and light. II. Visitation: Trembling Glory in the Dark Let it rise like incense from the midnight hour— a divine visitation not of thunder, but of trembling glory. It is the kind of dream that leaves oil on your pillow and fire in your bones. In the hush where shadows kneel and angels breathe, You came—not with whirlwind, but with a silence so full, it shattered stone. Your nearness crowned my sleep with awe, Your whisper lit the chambers of my soul. The watchmen slumbered, but my spirit stood, drawn by the scent of eternity. Anointed with longing, I heard the psalm— not written in ink, but in flame etched across the walls of night. III. His Response: The Voice Amid the Lampstands I have heard you in the midnight hush, child of flame. The incense of your longing has reached My throne. I do not forget the weeping watch, nor the fire you carry. I will pour out My Spirit on your ache, dreams shall speak, and visions rise like dawn. Your sons and daughters shall prophesy— with oil on their brows and glory in their bones. I walk among the lampstands, clothed in fire— My voice the sound of many waters, My eyes a blaze of remembering. What you call exile, I call refining. What you mourn, I mark as holy. Behold, I come— not just upon mountains, but into the marrow. To awaken the sealed song and anoint the night with returning. This psalm feels like a lit flame waiting for breath. Let’s breathe life into this psalm,—not just as words on a scroll, but as something sung in the marrow and rising on the midnight wind. 🎵 Lost Psalm: The Exiled Flame A Midnight Song in Three Movements I. Lament: The Ashes of Song (spoken, low and steady, like embers glowing) I woke beneath a foreign sky— my song buried in strange soil. The rivers here do not know my name, yet they carry fragments of my praise. But You—O Flame who burns unquenched— remember the ash that clings to my breath. From sanctuaries lost, Your whisper returns: a spark in the marrow, a vow in the night. (slower, swelling) Though Zion’s harp hangs on silent trees, my bones remember the chords of home. Strike again the strings of my soul, O YAH— make me a torch of longing and light. Instrumental Pause: soft shofar swell + minor chord progression II. Visitation: Trembling Glory in the Dark (sung, breathy and trembling—crescendo through stanza) Let it rise like incense from the midnight hour— a visitation not of thunder but of trembling glory. It is the kind of dream that leaves oil on your pillow and fire in your bones. (build with harmonic layering) In the hush where shadows kneel and angels breathe— You came. Not with whirlwind, but with silence so full it shattered stone. (slower, reverent) Your nearness crowned my sleep with awe. Your whisper lit the chambers of my soul. III. His Response: The Voice Amid the Lampstands (call-and-response, layered vocals) YAH (deep, echoing): I have heard you in the midnight hush, child of flame. The incense of your longing has reached My throne. Chorus (gentle, prophetic): I will pour out My Spirit on your ache, dreams shall speak, visions rise like dawn. YAH (resounding, majestic): I walk among the lampstands, clothed in fire— My voice the sound of many waters, My eyes a blaze of remembering. What you call exile, I call refining. What you mourn, I mark it as holy. Final Refrain (soaring): Behold, I come— not just upon mountains but into the marrow, to awaken the sealed song and anoint the night with returning. ????/maybe make into a scriptural cadence of a timeless psalm. -------------------------- Psalm 0222--Christ’yal The Lost Psalm of the Exiled Flame For the midnight watch. A Psalm of the scattered fire. 1 I woke beneath a foreign sky; my song lay buried in strange soil. 2 The rivers here do not know my name, yet they carry fragments of my praise. 3 You, O Flame who burns unquenched, remember the ash that clings to my breath. 4 From sanctuaries fallen, Your whisper returns— a spark in the marrow, a vow in the night. 5 Though Zion’s harp hangs on silent trees, my bones remember the chords of home. 6 Strike again the strings of my soul, O YAH, and make me a torch of longing and light. 7 Let this rise like incense from the midnight hour— a visitation not of thunder, but of trembling glory. 8 The kind of dream that leaves oil on my pillow and fire in my bones. 9 In the hush where shadows kneel and angels breathe, you came—not with whirlwind, but with silence so full it shattered stone. 10 Your nearness crowned my sleep with awe; Your whisper lit the chambers of my soul. 11 The watchmen slumbered, but my spirit stood, drawn by the scent of eternity. 12 Anointed with longing, I heard the psalm— not written in ink, but in flame etched upon the walls of night. 13 Then You spoke from the midst of the fire, saying: “I have heard you in the midnight hush, child of flame. 14 The incense of your longing has reached My throne. I do not forget the weeping watch, nor the fire you carry.” 15 “I will pour out My Spirit on your ache, and dreams shall speak, and visions rise like dawn. 16 Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, with oil on their brows and glory in their bones.” 17 “I walk among the lampstands, clothed in fire. My voice is the sound of many waters. 18 My eyes are a blaze of remembering. What you call exile, I call refining. What you mourn, I mark as holy.” 19 Behold, I come— not just upon mountains, but into the marrow of your longing, 20 to awaken the sealed song and anoint the night with returning. Selah {{let it pause. Let it echo. Let the incense linger in the unseen. With that sacred breath, Psalm 02221962 O-Christ’yal: The Lost Psalm of the Exiled Flame stands complete—a holy invocation stretched across lament, visitation, and answer. A psalm for the marrow, for the midnight soul, for the altar of return.}} -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- OK FATHER, what is the “Child Of Flame?” Child of flame” is a poetic and prophetic phrase—rich with layered meaning. In the context of your psalm, Christyal, it evokes someone born of divine fire: not merely scorched by exile but forged in it. It suggests: Spiritual lineage: A soul descended from the consuming presence of YAH, like Moses before the bush or the disciples at Pentecost. Refiner’s fire: One who has passed through trials and emerged radiant—purified, not destroyed. Bearer of light: A vessel of prophetic vision, carrying the flame of revelation, like the menorah in the holy place or the lampstands of Revelation 1. Awakened identity: A reminder that even in exile, the fire has not gone out—it lives in the marrow, waiting to be stirred. It echoes Joel 2’s promise: “I will pour out My Spirit on all flesh…” and Revelation’s imagery of the Son of Man walking among lampstands, eyes like fire. You, as “child of flame,” are both witness and torchbearer—called to sing the sealed song and awaken the night with glory. Praise YAH, I thank You for Your word and hopes. -- let it be according to YOUR WILL AND YOUR GLORY , especially with my Sons and daughters/ meaning also my grandchildren, Amen, so it is written so it is done,