Spirit Raising

The yeast in the mixture, the smile on your face, could it be that easy you ask. The glance across the office, that says it’s okay, we got over it, you can approach me and ask, the fear that is dismissed with eye contact, what’s the worry, the sincere expression that cannot be faked, when it’s real its’ real. the role of every life, Spirit raising, assumes that there is somebody more important that yourself in the room. The child comes home, the shoulders are shrunk, the child is worried, the mother knows immediately, what’s wrong she says, the child is not afraid, he slowly tells the story, in a minute he is feeling all right.

Imagine, Solomon sighed, it was a hard emotion, the small friend who can’t explain it, the fear that his phone hides, the worries of the bigger ones, the fear that is trapped and can’t get out. Solomon was sending the reminder to himself, those who were left behind while those who built themselves kingdoms thought it was all right. the toe rag mentality was a mind set of those of arrogant disposition, he had encountered them regularly, so he warned them about the Spirit, well, it was possibly the best news possible since the days of old, God is real, I have seen the Spirit, watch this space, amen.

Solomon smiled, it was passing on the Spirit, it was just an every day thing, no idols, amen.

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Olden Times Men and Girls

Two wives, or three, it was the custom of those times, no outrage, no cries of despair, no call for rights, no culling, no extreme thoughts, this was how they lived, the blessings, the children your love renewed, gifts, Spirits that your love provided space for, how simple, no guru, no extreme master or mistress, awareness of God, the center of the Universe.

Solomon read the story of Hannah, an old Jewish tale, recounts the woes of a young married woman, a descendant of Abraham, as so many of the Universe are. She appeals to God, her prayer is answered, she keeps her word, she calls her son Samuel, dedicates his life to God, three thousand odd years, we remember him.

So the streams of understanding spread out, different groups or cults, new religions, all with the same God, just a matter of understanding, pride and power is very hard to overcome though, have you seen the fashion these days, who with no money needs reminding, how many children worry, they don’t want to appear poor, the poor everywhere treated appallingly, get real. Throw away those rose colored seeing glasses, open your eyes, are you afraid to stare, don’t look that way chuck, what she says, that guy looks like he will rob you. How fear is so easily passed.

She puts on her make up, the babysitter is late, checks her phone, hurry up molly, she has to be on the floor by eight, otherwise they will dock her fifty bucks, with another fifty for the sitter, that will cut her wages a hundred bucks. She runs down the street, hopes it wont rain, gets to the club on time.

The floor manager gives her a feel of the ass, nice dress Marcy, she hates that, how he feels up the girls, some so young, she hopes they will escape the joint. The belly is over his belt, many dinners and too much good living, has taken one of those upper pills for the lower region, wants value for money. She looks at the wedding finger ring he wears, what woman married that lump of blubber. Old men and young girls, you wonder if there is an angel or two among them?. You just have to hope.

Joan of Arc

She passed on, this day in fact, the year 1431, burnt at the stake, she heard the voice of God, was filled with the Spirit, the same power that gives the swallow a lift, fly, the bird flies, and before her, as said all those years ago, by Jesus Christ, you murdered the prophets of God, and then built tombs to them and venerated them afterwards, the words of ancient scripture, come through, while the prophets are a tide that never fails to arrive, washing away the stone of stubborness, planted in the souls of men, who envied power and control. But the tide of Prophets comes and comes again, same as those warriors facing the machine guns with only swords in their hands. Is this the reason we are given examples of huge human loss, as the human tide tries to overcome the demon, amen. Solomon sighed, it is one way of viewing the journey, and the ever lasting eternal gift that is waiting, when the walls are breached and torn down. The souls mount up, the Body of Christ strengthens, layer after layer, until they fill the body of Man, thereby allowing the return of God’s Holy Spirit to earth. Solomon smiled, yeah, we have come to that moment, thank you Joan of Arc, and all those you inspired, amen.

Ironic really, those that tried to control the earth now have to clean up the mess they created, hurry up boys!

The Bird Stopped Singing

Silence in the street, the familiar hum is gone, the beat that used to fill your head, the side to side rhythm, the bird is silent, but his memory lives on.  How we take it for granted, the sound of music, birds and their tweets, the friendly smile that used to lend you a cigarette, and those conversations that went anywhere but always had meaning. There is no economic value in a bird song, there is no money in music on the street, well, you can press the button and have it automatically, why would live music matter. Solomon heard of the passing on of a good soul and friend of his, a member of the James gang, an outlaw type.  Mornings spent listening for a half hour, the requests he played, Neil Young and more, thanks he says, I’m sure your entertaining elsewhere now.

Good leaders, how the business minded only value money and nothing more, amen. There had to be a loading given to wisdom in the days ahead, the danger to the environment, the abuse of communities, the madness of celebrity culture, there are artists who inspire. Solomon reflected on the many times he heard the banjo play as he rounded the corner, and the smile it would put you his face, and the few requests he could make. It wasn’t economic the activity, but it was wisdom to support it. He had in times past, and now he could as God Most High, and expect to get a hearing, even when he wasn’t right. You never stop listening to music, thanks John.

Crisis In Numbers

Not enough votes to unite us, and too many votes that divide us. Numbers, the way we weigh things up, you don’t have enough numbers, you can’t get that, we wont get elected, you can’t afford that, numbers, little wonder there is a book of numbers in the ancient scriptures. The more you have in numbers, the safer you appear. The so called wisdom, and in our rush to get the numbers right, we ignored the other numbers, that apply to the health of the planet.

Crisis in numbers, not enough men and women to fill the roles and preach. Church in crisis, the numbers, how can it last. Crisis in Spirit, how do you increase it, the power to change the entire.

Children will shame you, and if you are intending getting into the higher love, a child you must be, a young person, not necessarily, it’s an appreciation you are supposed to show for the world and it’s creator, The Great God Most High. You are all children of a higher love, none of us are the boss. When the numbers reach the tipping point, the changes begin to take place, and we reach the critical level, so it seems.

Crisis in numbers, so much of the world already extinct, a number worth worrying about.

Finding Redemption

She sits at their kitchen table, has been speaking with their friends, her lawyer too, she has caught him cheating, she is waiting for him to come in the door, their santuary has melted before her eyes, the cocoon they built, was it all lies, I trusted him with my happiness, and now it’s all about to disintegrate. Her life is over, she is barely forty. The time I invested in him, worse, the other men she gave up for him, the career she set aside, maybe that is an excuse, another reason to hate him, we all strecth the truth, sanctimonious, who isn’t. How she liked fixing their meals, the list gets bigger. So many things she overlooked, the stuff she put up with, inside she tells herself she is perfect, well, he was the one who thrashed the relationship. There is the sound of a car in the drive, she fills the wine glass before he comes in, she doesn’t want him to have one. She is angry.

I’m home he says, she hears his voice in the hall, he has no idea that she knows, or what is ahead of him. He drops the keys on the counter, I’ll open another one he says with a smile, he needs a friend, he is looking at the bottle, it’s empty, why the silence he says, he is full of himself, a great day at the office and two weeks off as a result. I know she says, what, they have told you already, that’s quick. He fetches a glass sits down beside her, why the gloom he says, she is prone to depression, he doesn’t rile her, she gets over it within an hour, she has been that way, since she lost the baby.

It’s only your imagination he says, when she confronts him, he understands, she has not been feeling well these last few months, it’s easy to understand. Compassion, he is a patient man.

 

Love 1907 Style — The Müscleheaded Blog

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Hey gang! I found a very appealing and fascinating set of postcards from 1907 , featuring newlyweds off on their first adventure together : – their honeymoon. These cards were published by the Julius Bien & Co. Lithographic firm, which was in business between 1850-1915 in New York City. Bien himself was originally an immigrant […]

via Love 1907 Style — The Müscleheaded Blog