a re blog, forever young….

via Lightness of being

Advertisements

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.

 

We’ll meet in my Tent says the Dali Lama..

A messenger has come, the “wise” are assembled, the ear of the Holy Divine is burning, the latest atrocity is a news story no one wants to hear; there is too much fear in the system, and the Great One wants something done about it.

(If they can poison the air so readily in Syria, they can do it anywhere!, this madness has to be curtailed, what chance have the bees got!)

So he summons the wise  men and women of Faith;  The Dali Lama, Suleyman The Prophet, the Leaders of The Christian and Islamic faith, to a meeting with Jesus in the desert. How can they solve other peoples problems when they can’t solve their own, it’s been going on awhile, something has got to give, or someone has got to give. The Great One is inside the tent too, behind the veil, he listens.

Sunny day at the oasis, what else, a mid twenty degrees and a sweet breeze, not enough to raise the sands, but cool enough to keep everyone cool under the collar, no excuses. The agenda is simple; all the leaders of their Faiths have to deal with in fighting, and this had been going on a long time, did they not listen to Jesus when he warned them about divided kingdoms; they fail.

“We have obeyed the Great Prophet in all that he asked” says Suleyman

The Dali Lama sighs,

“why is your great religion divided then, why can’t you go back to the cross roads and start again, people are afraid of the anger you share for those of your own faith; can’t you make it plain, you say Jesus is number three in your order, well if that is so, why do you ignore his teachings then!”

“What do you mean asks!” Suleyman,

Jesus is sipping some nice tea and having a few blows from a hookah; he is the only one interested in the pipe, a sweet blend, he enthusiastically partakes. When the others refuse it he quips to himself, maybe they should try each others company more often rather than hide away among their own; who isn’t afraid of what they do not understand. He takes the pipe to his lips, inhales.

“and what about the Jewish question?” adds the Dali lama, who is all smiles as usual.

Jesus raises his eyebrows, it’s a thorny issue, he thought that was dealt with, but it regularly raises it’s head, always when change is on the menu; the usual excuse, point in the other direction, he reaches for the hookah, peace man he sighs.

Inside the veil of wisdom, The Most High listens, and while those outside are not divided for once; they are talking, He sows wisdom in them. A week later, they announce, a new prayer, one for all of them, a small step, but a game changer. When the sworn

enemies became brothers the light they form enlightens….

Martin Luther King, and the all saints band present, one night only…

 

 

Martin Luther king, jimmy Hendrix, Joan of arc, hosts

Of others, Johnny cash, Michael Jackson,

the female martyrs, the men who went over the top,

 

The fields of Vietnam, the countries destroyed,

The brave spitfire pilots, the Indian tribes, the lost

Wisdom, the Inca’s, the few who survived,

 

the three Wise men, the prophets of old,

the mothers who struggle, many never had a chance,

the conceit of The powerful, the arrogance of their supporters,

 

Merry go round mentality, the road that never ends,

Celtic warriors of old, the truly regal beings, che

Guevara, a doctor with a heart, never gave Up,

 

the list goes on its endless, many millions sacrificed,

for something Worth waiting for, hoping defiant certain,

the current Conundrum, the indifferent classes,

 

women Fire constantly, the situation is untenable,

seeds of a current generation wither, and now we have

Raised the ire of God, and it’s understandable,

 

Children pouring their fears into the universe, the cries

Of the hopeless, it’s overwhelming, a cosmetic change,

Not really enough, young girl tied to a bed,

 

visited all Day, till there is nothing left,

caste inside she is dead, always been this way,

the poor will be poor, nothing that can be done,

 

the apathy of The talent, obviously God Most High,

well, assumes otherwise, being The one who plied us,

with gifts, games or no games,

 

For many it’s gone the wrong way far too long,

Change of direction, not a suggestion, well, the

Master is back as they say, and thinks otherwise,

 

Perhaps there are those who live Babylon wise,

What interest had they in love, don’t loot, yeah,

Just a few ideas to hurry you all along, amen.

Oscar Party, 2018, and the winners are…

Can anyone remember who won last years Oscar for best supporting camera crew, anyone. Blank faces, the actress in the corner, (sorry actor, the word actress does not exist), her mascara is running, it’s two blocks east of the theater, running. Not even a best supporting role, she saves that for the breast implants and her plastic surgeon. Friends, she promised them a statue, nothing. Pride ways you down, and what you think your friends think of you, does the rest.

No men allowed either it seems, there is a global outcry against inappropriate sexual antics; they focus on the lowest common denominator. The politically correct audience applaud the clever comments, eye each other, as if saying,  I told you so twenty years ago.

Meanwhile, every perversion you ever thought of, is there at the click of a button. The brilliant smiles, they might last awhile till the roots go bad, sorry she says, I got a specialist for that, seriously he nods, does she actually believe all that.

Solomon encountered a strange week; the head miners were doing there thing, sowing stress or what they call, self doubt, he listens and wonders where this is coming from, as they all claim to be of God, a surprise, the stuff he heard wasn’t anywhere he looked, it only came out of their heads. But the tricks of the demons, remorseless. He saw two small faces, transform to horror, expressions he did not think possible in children. What were they like at home; the stressed mother knows all about that.

Encouragement

I went in his house and sat down. I was a stranger. And he took it upon himself To make me feel comfortable. He did. Just a feel good moment.

via I Was A Stranger — The Chatter Blog

Indecent Proposals

Was that a Robert Redford movie!, no, indecent proposal she replied, what the difference an “S” makes, as becomes ass and so on, but because you didn’t say it, you qualify for the peter griffin school of political correctness. Can you see meg receiving her medallion for correctness. It does not matter what you really think, so long as you make the right noise when in the company of others, (and that includes no noises that others might find rude).

Then along comes a Spider, no, not Morgan Freeman, he’s busy making films, telling stories, I mean a spider, and he starts telling everyone what he thinks, spits it out, says it without reverence for anyone or anything, we call him Donald. He doesn’t like that sort of person, wants everyone perfect including women, has a penchant for well endowed blonds, not the first either, says what he thinks about it all, throws the dirty underwear on the table, admits to having some; to many it sounds like freedom, to others he sounds fear,; to the honest listener, he is simply revealing what the human race thinks of itself.

Solomon was a news regular, he listened. There was much strife in certain areas, that would not be allowed in other places. The victims as usual in these cases, don’t have access to representatives to speak up for them. They are at the mercy of aid agencies, and the media. The worst cases are highlighted, the story is decidedly sad, is full of hopelessness, as if there is no remedy to it in the long run. In a world that boasts about sending rockets into space, with their payload, how come, the same energy wasn’t poured into finding solutions to fairly normal human issues. Solomon wasn’t going to stand before God Most High and pretend; amen.