The shopping experience, miles away, the comments, the heart felt prayers, as forgotten as Monday is come Tuesday. Apathy hadn’t a close relation. Vanity takes over the world. My vain opinions of myself, the effort to impress, mind blowing. A Chief of the Church, clueless, the ability to communicate, absent. This does not augur well for the future of the Spirit or those he represents. It’s simple to explain; the addicted nature. The day your born, you gather the experience the way a squirrel hoards nuts, religiously.
Addicted, how can your appearance be so important, well, more than important,all there is. If a minutia of that same effort was put into Godly affairs, to think before you shop,can’t do, have to shop. Addicts. We don’t do that drug, we have been institutionalized instead. Emotionally addicted, to those you work with. The cursing, the talk, their habits become yours. Break the chain, seems impossible, they are the people I work with. Concentration camp inmates have more freedom; at least they think for themselves.
She won’t allow herself forget; she hangs onto hurt the way others hold a baby, she refuses to let go. It’s easier to deal with oneself when you have a grief; what, if I forget it, what will I do then. The meth addict loves the high too. The mention of the drug, or the hurt, the brain opens, the voice is clear. Well, if we say nothing, we have to deal with it, addiction.
Jesus enters the courtyard; what he see’s is horror. The Holy Place is a business stall. Outraged, do they know the Father at all. Outside, a man of the church organisation, sighs, when he is gone, it’s back to business, as he tries to assuage the traders. He doesn’t want to lose the commission.
2,000 years later, mercy is sought, the signs from old, point to the eternal truth. Meanwhile, storms and sudden changes have many on edge; those remote places,no one feels safe. If only they turned to God,as the prophet Isaiah wrote, and whose he, Isaiah. Just the one Jesus referred to regularly, amen. What is eternity you ask?.