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.

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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.

Get Up!

The preacher woman has put the fear of God in them, the accusers retreat from the hall, they see the moving Spirit, they know she represents God, they all step back, their earlier enthusiasm curbed, once they encounter the power of the all mighty One True God, they had never seen the like. She calls them towards her healing hands, where she will lay them down, the crowd is excited, they have been praying, genuinely calling out loud, Save us they pray, save them she did. The newspapers across the United States were full of the wonders, a preacher woman becomes the most famous woman in America, the years, the 1920’s.

The healing Spirit, the gift she was bestowed with, was not a gift as far as the excess’s of human kind were concerned, more a hindrance, you mean they believe, what a problem they thought; she was not a member of the religious mainstream.

Many years later, Solomon hit the same sea

m, came upon the healing Spirit, had the visit of the Great Spirit, and had used it as his special surprise ever since. Seriously, did anyone think they could scheme against the Great Spirit and escape their destiny, no one did.

The old man is tired, his years are closing in, he has disappointments reminding him, there was more he could have done, he is getting the reminders of eternity, as the dots of old memory join up, why didn’t I notice he sighs, his eyes teary. The door opens, and the old sallow skin changes in color, the eyes brighten up, as love enters the room. Isn’t that so easy to do?

Older Persons

Oh Golly, he looks at the desk, he has to get up, in his hand the calendar, how do i fit them in, it’s impossible, he wonders about it, the new year, looks at the calendar, can’t fit it in their either, when was the birthday, realizes he missed it cause he can’t even remember it, so long since they

celebrated one, oh what a chore, visiting the older ones at such a busy time of year. His Father sits by the bed, the air is sterile clean, smells hospital, instead, it’s one of those ultra clean hygiene marketed nursing homes for the very nearly fully aged, the last resting place before the big departure at they say, where you fletter your last days among the weakest, where you hear the late night screams of the tormented. His Father is close on eighty five, has been in the facility three years, two years more than expected. The financing of it, the mortgage on his sons house and the small pension he draws from his days in the public service.

It’s high maintenance, the running costs going up annually, demand for retiree spaces is huge, the elderly generation living longer, the rest of the generations only now realizing it, they will be elderly one day too, the cost of all these programs, re opening the old arguments for euthanasia.

Solomon was listening to the woes of an old friend. He didn’t want to install his Mother in an old folks home, her ability to move about severely curtailed by a degraded hip, that doctors can only treat with pain medicine. Older persons, they cost a lot to maintain, 2,000 a week, 1500 a week, depending.  Solomon listened to the figures, was shocked, it would be cheaper to stay in a good hotel. His own thoughts of retirement, whatever surprise the boss had for him, had worked for ever.