Who Am I

The questions in the hearts of many, what is my life, who am I, why do I exist, what is my purpose. Seated in a cafe, outside of course, no borders exist, we all breathe the same air, enjoy the same sun, she twiddles her thumbs, she has come a long way, crossed many borders, had adventures you want to forget, had to sell herself, we all need to be fed, and a hungry child doesn’t ask where the dinner came from, the little eyes look up at you, for me they ask.

The time of the arrival of Christmas, a festival of praise, our way of giving thanks to God. She looks at the men and women passing by, their arms holding bags, it reminds her of the time, when all her possessions could be held in them, apart from the child she held to her heart. Who Am I, she keeps on asking.

An older man passes by, catches her eye, and smiles at her. Her fears are put at ease, he is not one who will betray me, she can see it. Who Am I.

Refugees, immigrants, women seeking shelters, children seeking example, Solomon was reminding himself of past times, the race to buy the last gift, wondering what they might think of him, did he spend enough. Years later, he sits with two codgers, he having escaped death in this life by divine intent, no longer worried what others thought of Him, think about it, the One who made life real for us all. Who Am I, a child of God he said as he passed her by.

Young Eyes

Four years old, forty years old, sixty years old, the eyes are still young, it’s how you view things. Young, you want to see more, old, you’ve seen too much, in the middle, you want to see some more. Everyone has their own interpretation. The church elders see the season, they call it commercial Christmas, too much based on selling, well, we do call it the season of giving, are we supposed to feel bad, do you want us to fall to the misery of others.

Solomon saw the young eyed lady, well, she was bored, waiting for her guardian to get her coffee over with, I want to go home and share my days with my other friends, there is a feeling of sharing inside, everyone compares, that’s called being human. What is the difference between an oak and a willow, they are all trees the cynic says, so the cynics say, and Christmas has become too commercial, not really. Lured to buy presents for others is no social disorder.

Solomon wished there were more Christmas moments in the world, when people felt empathy towards each other, and in his opinion, it applied to all the faiths, amen.

The Healing Spirit

He is in the bed, there are days, and this a heavy one, his mind is trouble, apart from the pain, there are memories. Lying on the bed, all the time in the world to think, the only noise, the coughs and roars of others in the wards, the rush of feet on the corridor, old age he sighed, wishing he could get to his feet. He has a rush of thoughts, it’s as if all that is wrong, his mistakes have come to overtake him, crush him inside. Fight he says, trying to push the images away; it’s a collage of all the harm he has encountered, why did I not do more. Please God, release me from this nightmare, please, he pleads, how I wasted my life, why did I gather all those things; the previous week he was worried about the insurance cover on his classic car collection; at this moment he doesn’t care if they all suddenly rust, what does it matter when you can’t take it with you. That was before the stroke. Alone in a private room, who needs time to think when what they have to think of is only about themselves.

Solomon had lunch with a good friend, a co believer; they were exchanging Godly wisdom, the conversation was alive, there was energy, the conversation they have; the lives that had touched them in many happy ways. How the heart fills with light, when you look outside yourself, how the body has time to heal, when you don’t have to stress yourself out. Rest sighed Solomon to his friend, a very thoughtful soul, who spent most of their days, encouraging the words of eternal life, rest is essential; as he pointed out to his friend, gesturing with h

is hands to his fellow diners; no one here got here on their own, no one ever does, amen.

Head Dress

Don’t we catch ourselves out so easily, the dogma that ties us up in chains, all that is learned, the regulations, how we survive, by gathering up a list of stuff we have to adopt our lives too, so darn predictable. Behind the veil, there is a Spirit, a person, same as in olden times, before divorce and the microwave, changed the way we do things, no need to be worried if you are late for dinner, stick it in the oven, as for divorce, it’s common, it’s just an agreement between lawyers.

The Spirit has to live, it has to breathe, it has to move about, it’s the same as a stream of water, it has to flow. She had bright ideas, but they told her it wasn’t her place to have an opinion, she persists, this is my life, so she is a warrior, she has been chosen for a task, there is so much of the Spirit inside. Slowly and slowly, the Spirit deadens, the mind becomes unbalanced, she is trying to Hold her Spirit. Young man wants to serve God, the teaching authorities decide that you have to lose yourself before you can be programmed to their way of thinking, so it’s seven years before you make an exit from the seminary, when all that is in your head, is what is called foundation, whatever that is supposed to mean.

Solomon wondered at the daily ways souls try to make contact with their divine helpers, the Spirit, the little habits we store inside us, the candle, the little routines we try to build into our busy lives. A thousand thoughts a second are permeating the air, the natural electric charge is heightened, it’s not the same air either, and the growth of stress is approaching epidemic levels, who doesn’t feel the stress, the child in school has got more than textbooks to understand, there is the new social environment as well, it’s pretty heady.

She sits in her room, the head dress is off, she looks at herself in the mirror, tries to re assure herself, she is on medication because she is Spirited, not for any other reason. In the bad old days, they sent them to the Gulag, for retraining, as it’s called, she is well aware, hang on she tells herself, the helper always arrives. Finding the space, is this what the homeless teach us everyday, are they teaching us more, amen.

Music Words Rhythm….R..

Lasting impressions, the music that sticks, it is more than memory, it’s emotions. The song is from a time past, you might have heard it as a child, it could have been the first time you felt a Spiritual presence, it is lots of things. Funny how the big ego stuff never makes the cut, too much of the artist too little of the talent, distractions. Solomon sighed, there are moments in your life, the first time you escaped out the back window, climbed down the roof, hopped onto the ground and hurried off to the gig, with friends of course, never with those unknown. Young, the rules don’t matter that much, same as your hormones, you hear the music, inside you start to blaze as the rhythm runs through, your naive ideal and young, haven’d suffered the fears of the elders; well they are more experienced, its’ not your fault or theirs, and nearly all the time you get home safe. There is no darkness, the world is yours, its a choice.

 

Then you age, the experiences build up, the cover up begins, there are problems at home, stuff you want to hide, it could be an addictive parent, it could be anything.

Solomon sighed, It’s wonderful to think that God is the same to all, amen, the eternal friend never deserts you, unlike those who want from you. Solomon was reliving a night many years before, not old enough to vote either, but the memory lived on, in a corner of his mind. Music with real Spirit has great power, I hope you have a good listen, amen.

2019

A hundred years of a plague, an unstoppable flu, it happened, not your imagination, the history of the dark ages, Popes far from holy, removed from the teaching of Christ Jesus, dearth of loving Spirit, demons, and then the recovery, the reformation, the renaissance, Leonardo Da Vincii

, others, don’t be alarmed, it’s true, Michelangelo, and a host of great artists, commissioned, to resurrect the reputation of The Holy Roman Church, and to inspire faith in God Most High.

Do we raise the Spirit today, when we ask, have we done what we said we would, or is it wishful thinking? Is it the old thinking, we will get away with it, is that the message we send out, are we chancers, great pretend artists, hoping to get away with it, hiding our own stuff, then pointing elsewhere, do you assume you can fool God, because you got away with it for so long, are you impressed when someone with clerical power tells you your fine, as if it’s an absolution, didn’t they say the same all those years ago.

Why is God called merciful, Patient and enduring, do some assume more of the old will suffice, do they assume God is silly, history tells us otherwise, don’t be alarmed, but it’s better to play cards with all the deck in play, at least you have a decent chance, how many lives have been stolen by under the table ways, do you assume it’s wise to undermine Spirit, you can’t possibly assume it will be allowed to go on, and as the Spirit strengthens, the words of the prophets  sharpen and seriously accurate, it’s not written to fool anyone, it’s written to enlighten, the numbers, Moses and the desert, Ezra and the trumpet, Noah and the boat, the warnings of Jesus, do you all assume it’s wild talk.

Do church people assume a safety net, it’s deeds it’s actions that denote you, cover ups fine, will admiring the objects on the mantel piece give you any comfort when you face your last days, will you admire them and smile, and say, they are mine, what good is it, they will be someone else’s as soon as your gone, like a door that closes, gone, and when you realize it, will all those great ideas mean anything if all they did, was stay in your head, every race has a conclusion, and it’s 2,120 years since the time of Jesus, Spirit in the form of a man, 2,800 years since Ezra.

Believers don’t need to worry …Remember Moses, Abraham…

Easy for you to say, the words that slip from the tongue, are you able to prove it, the first words on most minds, easy for you to say. He is poorly dressed, his shoes leak, his hair is a mess, and there is only the price of a coffee in his pocket, don’t worry he says. Solomon sighed, he saw the Spirit at work, saw the anxious turn to happiness, it was the flip of a switch, come to think about it, so did Moses, but Moses always gave credit to God, he never tried to claim credit himself. Many years later, Jesus repeats the words, all glory to the Father. Those who are jealous of power and envious wondered, how can he do this; their response; he has demons in him they said. Jesus hears their thoughts, understands them better than they could possibly imagine and warns them; Dudes, you can say what you like about me, but if you dare insult the Holy Spirit, you won’t just regret it. Moses returns from the Holy Mountain, got the assurance from the Most High God, is content, this is working out he says to himself, he weeps, his joy immense, to have the approval of the eternal God, mega. Then he he see’s them back to their old ways, worshiping what’s earthly and common, same as those who judge people so quickly; not ambitious enough, you must be unwell; a child decides to serve God, had a career in front of him, what a waste his friends say. Forty years later, they ask their unambitious pal to intercede for them before God; life has a habit of turning around rather quickly. So if you believe, why worry then.

To see the wonders of God, amazing.