Doing in the Head…

snake oil salesman, comes to town, opens the back of his truck, this will cure you he howls, while those seeking hope gather round. $2  a bottle, the folks stick out the hand. They are doing their heads in. Jesus sighs, did they ever do anything simple. They put so much effort into getting ready for the ritual, they lost out on what it all means. He is listening to it, so are those who turned away, its simple, you don’t need all that.

Meat, days, washing, foods, he throws his head into the air, why are they making what is so simple complicated; it’s the same as giving a lawyer access to your thoughts, sooner or later they will find some fault and then the arguing and division will come.

He warned the pharisee’s, why do you burden the people, it’s simple. So in order to help, he sits down and tells them the story of the good Samaritan, who were not popular to others in the day. They listen; this dude can call down thunderstorms and miracles, don’t upset him, they listen; How you love is how you treat total strangers, that is who you really are, not just how you treat your friends.

Food on Friday, meat, washing hands, ritual cleaning, circumcision, none of it matters, no matter who who are, if you don’t fully love. The barriers to entry, that religions had created, needed to be revised, it was that simple, unless it was a cult they were aiming to achieve, amen.

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The Escape Route

She reached for the bourbon, drops two clicks into the glass, a few pills in her palm, she is used to them, taking them a long time, her head goes back, the tablets then the jack, she swallows hard, a good night sleep, she hasn’t had one of those in years. The TV is playing, the current offering does not suffice, she plays with the buttons like she was throwing dice. An old movie, she was young when they first saw it together, her eyes well up, the tears will flow, a combination of self pity, and love long lost. Years ago she had the chance, she chose the career over the chance, that love finally found her. Successful in all respects, the trappings are not a problem, the garden is perfect, does she give out about it, usually after a late night of booze, otherwise she is quite calm, till the night comes. She can build, she can encourage, she can motivate, but there is no escaping the hole in her heart.

Solomon sighed, Love has to be a flow, same way a plant can’t live in damp marshy soils, apart from a very few. In the world that attempted to own everything, including our genes, there was no ownership for love, only a responsibility for it’s safe delivery to the next. Many folks had troubles, everyone, some went deep, some went into despair, it was how you dealt with it, decided it all, the escape route. Building walls around your troubles, was only a delay.

 

Give Me Shelter from my fears…

What was there to hang on to, what was there to worry about, she was being moved on again, the lady in the old gray coat. Her dreams were years ago she can hardly remember, but she held on as long as she was made to, then decided to throw it all out. The bags are stuffed full, she pushes the trolley, her sleeves rolled up, its not that cold, besides you get used to it, she sighs. Those arms were so smooth once she remembers, then again, so they, did any of her friends remember, hardly.

Passed on the street, she snarls under her breath, they are looking at me, she would she says to herself, as if her life was all that mattered, and it did, but that was part of the disease, she walks up the steps of the great cathedral, there is always comfort there, and all of a sudden she wakes up, reaches out her hand, and feels him beside her; just a dream he sighs as he holds her close to his side. He gave her shelter from her fears, she remembers,

amen.

That Hurts!

On time she wakes, presses the button on the side table, the news. My pills, where are they, her first thought, can’t do anything without them, so see thinks. She is hiding demons; not demons inside, but the demons she is actively fighting. Her Spirit is strong, has been known to confront, no one mess’s with her, one strong woman they all say. In the morning no one can see her, the struggle, the weakness, the admitted failure; she drops two morning pills, they will put her on a calm cloud; she is ready to think.

She squeezes her hand, balls it, is the pain gone. She was playing guitar the night before; after there was a long ache, worse than a tooth ache; she wasn’t a talker, she played guitar instead. Her leather trousers are on a heap on the floor; she looks around for another pair of shoes; least she didn’t take home someone. It’s like the mind thing, when you forget, some things she wish she could forget it all; yeah, she had those thoughts, but they never went far, she numbed the demon first. That hurts, it’s her knee, she needs to sleep with it straight, her memory is vague; one thing she knows for sure, Her Spirit must remain strong, and that hurts sometime.

She had it all, another life lost, another star gone. So the pages said, the talent lost. But was it really; didn’t the events give an added energy to her works, as a new generation became aware of her artistic output, and would be influenced accordingly.

Jesus and His Friends….

He’s not supposed to hang out with women, they should be at home, women, what do they need to hear, they don’t make decisions, we do. The apostles are having a few beers in the tavern, Jesus is after heading out of town, they are doing his head in complaining, could they not just relax. Why are they anxious in the company of women, what do they fear. Jesus is seeking a place to relax, sit still, enjoy nature, listen as they say, undisturbed, he likes Martha, Mary, Elizabeth, even Lazarus’s sister, a pretty cool person; she listens better than the men, and they have no difficulty thinking the options through; always with the well being of children in mind; they are not planning on global domination, they think of the world to come, and how it will be for children. They are tired of the constant wars, and the talk of revenge; It’s doing his head in, they have to forgive, but first he has to forgive them, so he seeks solace. Lying on a blanket in the middle of a field, he asks wisdom to come to him, listen he says, this is not an easy situation, i need your advice, what will I do…Jesus and his friends, Men and women were always equal, they just had different skills in a world that was slow paced, that’s all….

The Vocation

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.

 

One Day

She lies on the bed, the tired body and the heavy head, sore from a bruising. You will meet worse than me he said, years before, when he spoke to a so called friend of the thug who helped end her life. Really sighed Solomon, could anyone be worse than what he was looking at, someone who preyed on the vulnerable, dosed them with drugs, to keep them under his control. Not likely sighed Solomon to himself.

After many promises and interventions, and the missing friends: they too had a life to get on with, she finally is overcome, a victim; the blame put on the descent into alcoholism. She knocked on many doors, sought help from many corners, all she attracted were the wolves who preyed on them, those without back up or good friends. One day he sighed.

Solomon was recalling a friend, who had passed on this day years before, a true tragedy.