It happened to me, it happened to her, the closet, the stuff we hold tight inside us, the fears, the anxieties, the global closet is a large one. In a time of great revelation, with so much changing so quickly, it is hard to keep the closet door closed and locked for ever, despite the efforts of some, to hide the truth from everyone. Solomon read a story of the art works kept hidden in secure specially prepared warehouses, art that would never be seen, only sold. And what was the purpose of it all, more. It also gave him an insight into the hidden treasures of all the main religions, the ancient documents, the testimonies hidden, and the great betrayals, safely tucked away in the guarded closets. In a time of Great revelation and divine interventions, wasn’t it time they made known the secrets they kept hidden, as no one of them could fool the Lord, amen.
He is lying across the bed, in his PJ’s, a side table, on it a new Glock, the equalizer as he calls it, since he took up his vocation, a hit man for the mafia. He is pondering, it’s a few hours before the assignment; it shouldn’t a difficult, the target has no protection; he is just another noisy environmentalist, a planning artist, he objected to a new development that threatened the water supply in his town, a bit like JFK when he was slow to embrace war, he was in the way. Room service he sighs as he swings off the bed, and pats his way to the en suite. Professional, he always likes to look good, it also helps. Well dressed types rarely arouse suspicion till it’s too late. Over the years he has liquidated a few, his vocation as he calls it, the only spirit he needs, the cash fountain that gushes the same way the blood gushes from his victim, that’s his thrill, money.
The world of God, the times of Jesus all those years ago, spell a different thrill, and a bounty at the end, that is simply beyond belief, a world based on love empathy and sharing, where there is plenty, it requires Spirit of the loving kind, intangible, you can never own it, you have to pass it on, your responsible for it, a minder.
Solomon looked at the empty church; it was over a hundred years old. He wondered how many knees had knelt at the pews, the knees, the prayers said. Years before he saw the pictures, full houses everywhere, fifty years later, they are close to despair, half empty even on the busy days, vocation. What happened in the intervening period, to cause such a flow in the other direction; they forgot about the Spirit he supposed, and thought they were running a business. He sighed, that is easy to fix, amen.
Thumbs click the icon moves quick, got ya, the game goes on, intense is the concentration, the gamer’s are enlightened, the games are burning their minds, cutting out all other interests. Imagine, creating the platform that consumes the imagination, fills the head completely, same way booze acts on the easy minded, the angry and the lonely, keeping them busy till they can’t drink any longer, comatose. The wisdom of the human race was being called into question. Solomon spent a few days among friends, and saw the control of the machine, and the fear that prevailed, when the machine was taken away, horror, anger, pleading, before finally relenting, till they got to play the game.
Too young to know about such things, well too young to know about such things, particularly when the elders preached against them, while carrying on with the same habits. Was this the story of the Pharisee’s and Jesus all those years ago. The warning given to those with responsibility for leading their flocks, the advice being simply this:
beware of those who say and don’t do, was it the same warning you get when you get to hear of the great pyramid scheme that made everyone rich, there has to be a trick.
On the holiday he watched many movies, listened to the veiled messages within; stuff that is not only adult but dangerous to the younger of the generation. Well if there are so many institutions warning us, why has nothing been done about it, access to the adult side of the web.
Children should never be exposed to this!, how often do you hear it. By the time he got to the tenth page of the newspaper, he had seen enough underwear, so much in fact it would have filled the closet of a Hollywood starlet, ..and they wonder where the ideas come from!
Can’t cope, can’t concentrate, you keep on running and those problems they keep following us. Life was a field of lava, it was all depending where you were. watching it from afar it’s not serious, up close it can all become consuming. He wondered, the flow of the lava and the human flow, or the race. He wanted to create a sermon that would help the congregation, they had been terrorized to long with the message of doom and damnation. They needed hope, a version of it that would stay in their minds. maybe that is the reason Jesus spoke in story terms: the legend would pass on, and while it may altar according to the sort of people who relayed it, basically, the use of terms common to that particular culture, the nugget would remain the same. That’s it, he saw it. The lava that flowed down the mountain, were the troubles that followed you, the problems you never dealt with, while salvation was the truth, how simple did that sound, how would he put it into the sermon, the performance was an hour away.
Your coming to church, he hears his mother, he is at the play station. He press’s a button, he has already forgotten, he is winning the game, two up and ten minutes to go, about two minutes game time. Hurry up she shouts, “do I have to go up there!”, he winces. He is clever. The teacher says that playing the game is good for my education. She can only smile, she is a patient mum. Hurry she shouts, damn, it’s two one and a minute left. His head watches the door, he thinks he hears steps, don’t push he thinks, he gets up, just as she reaches the top of the stairs.
In the car, why are we going to church Ma!, she is rounding a bend, being careful. Why are we going to church he repeats. She lets him say it a third time. The church appears in their view, she looks at him with a huge smile and says:
so you will learn to listen dear!
Do you have a child with listening problems, i’d say everyone who has children would say yes… well, why not bring them to church a few times, amen.
He loves himself so much he puts himself on answerphone and listens to himself, while imposing a reality on himself that is so far removed from reality to make it real, well, they say he is crazy, how about you. The sound of his own voice soothes, so he records himself all day, then late at night he replays the whole thing again. Amazingly, people donate half a weekly wage packet to hear him sing, and they do it regularly, who am I?
It was late after Christmas dinner, they had been playing charades for over an hour, and it was beginning to get to much, even for, Me. Blame the turkey me sighed, there was something strange about it. Strange, birds eat creepy crawlies, we eat birds, strange that we don’t like creepy crawlies. Solomon sighed, he was doing the thinking. Imagine it, all those angry demons, imagine all those factory reared birds, imagine the match of all matches, matching demon spirits with those about to be decapitated for our Christmas dinner, imagine that. Disposal was a problem, even in the time of Jesus, amen.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day; yesterday’s post is still on my mind. I’m grateful for the poem that was in me, grateful for words to tell you about this episode in my professional life, and grateful to be who I was and still am. A tough old cookie. A highly sensitive and intuitive wise woman. A […]