My Eyes

Damn advertising Guru, could sell a g-string to your ninety year old aunt, and tell her it was comfortable, get you to forget yourself for a while, the blurb, you look great in that, even if you could not see, darn advertising guru, as for those psycho dudes, the head experts, is there a ship I could borrow, the mid Atlantic would be a good place to bring them for a Holiday, moor them off shore with their off shore accounts, a few strong anchors, away from everyone where they can’t do anymore harm. Blast sighed Solomon, he listened to the news, the crocodile tears, the affect of pornography on happiness, relationships, and children of course, the darn advertising Guru, what medication was he on, vitamin “M” of course like so many. Too darn busy getting their thrills to wonder about the affect it was having on others. Solomon encountered the “Spirit” the early apostles enjoyed, and when it is real, you don’t have to excuse your thoughts. So many eyes squinting over their small screens, wondering, is this love what we are seeing, cause they seen to be doing nothing else.

My eyes cried God, what are they doing to the children of the world. Solomon recalled the words of Jesus, God is inside you, the Spirit, it’s not over there, it’s inside you. Why pollute the eyes of God you wonder, unless you intended in murdering the Spirit within. Holidays are occasions, not every day experiences. One of those moments, he saw the expression on the faces, he prayed, there was a sense of disappointment. He listened to the words, the bread and the fish, the division of food, the Spread of the Spirit, well being, it was a lesson, simple as that, you share and it gets better for everyone, Amen.

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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!

Train Sets and timetables…

She waits on the platform, checks her watch again, he’s late, but she’s not worried, he is aboard, the last time they met, was at a station just like this. her eyes are anxious, the wait has been long, the hour of arrival has passed, damn those railroad engineers, will they ever get their times right, same as asking all women to give birth at eight in the morning, so the rest of the workers can get on with it, she sighs, here it comes, the light is coming near, she can relax. Solomon sighed, wasn’t life like a train, you wait on the platform, waiting for ever it seems, then the light comes, and suddenly all you thought of, becomes more than real, cause you can feel it. How many had been patient for so long, the efforts of so many, the givers, their patience extended to the lengths of the earth. Smile, the time he encountered the Spirit, real time, it’s on the way, and so the changes are coming, and what is the driving energy, real time love. He heard the sigh in the heart, the words hit the insides that no other gift can give, the miracle of the Spiritual over the material, worth waiting for too….as for those who control, what grief, to think there is Heaven, welcome aboard dudes, I hope you have all been loving…

The Scream

Help me, she twists and moans, her body contorted, the disease has her limbs out of sync, the nurses pass on the corridor, their faces covered in anguish, she has been like this all morning, they nod, they have been to her bedside regularly, what can they do, there is no cure, just medication.  He hears her wailing, the sound of a thousand witches, what a noise, he is visiting others, the sound bears down on his ears, a prayer is uttered in silence, comfort please, the wailing stops, calm is restored, it was as simple as that, no drama, no big intervention, just ask in the Holy Name.

It was easy to silence demons, you just had to remind them of the Power of God, the fear they would never be able to overcome, Solomon used the Holy Name regularly, and the power was immediate, whether it was a set of words, or inspiration, it just delivered. He wrote it a thousand times, to remind them, you are not alone, the demons are powerless when it comes to Holy Spirit, amen.

Feeling Sorry….

Tired day long night had too much did a bit too much stuff, head hurts, sleep unruly, facing the day, another Monday, difficult getting out of bed, I really want to get out of my head, the world is mean and I am feeling sorry for myself, what have i done to deserve this, crunch, the world revolves around me, cause all there is, is me, my problem, thinking about nobody but myself, the root of my problems. Reaching for the medication, it’s not prescribed, two pills later on your feet, thinking about going to work, is there something i missed. The coffee is sharp, the brain unwinds, do the teeth, thought of having a shower, a splash of deodorant will cover the smell, get me through to the evening.

The stairwell is navigated, soon your on the street, rush along, where is the nearest transport, you don’t feel like walking, then you rush across the street, it’s busy, you’ve done in a thousand times, rushed, you get a thrill out of danger, the white shit you suck up your nose, mixed with rat poison to get you a little higher, when did you last read the contents of any medical product, probably never, you just accept the doctors advice. The kids are unruly in the car, she turns around, the latest scream from the three year old, ear shattering, too much, she wants to give him a …bang crash, he slides into the path of the car, slipped on a banana skin, she is unable to react, you go under the car, crunch, you hear your bones shatter…. the light, they are all around you, you can see can’t hear, feeling sorry…

Solomon lazed over a coffee, it had been a tiring day, the usual suspects were at it again, selling fear and anxiety, as if trying to unhinge him, selling him their habits, as if trying to be helpful. He goes through the day, it was exciting in parts, he enjoyed the banter, the way a smart politician enjoys a debate, he was listening, adding bits and pieces, not trying to over indulge. The bathroom is busy, two no hopers sniffing their heads off, well, they started behind everyone else, education poor and their parents alcoholics, feeling sorry.

On the street, he is there, it’s been a rough life, over reacting to the abuse passed on, the sentence a long one, we’ll make an example shouts the judge, the domineering father, church sponsored most of it if the religious would only admit it, his bags with him, all his possessions, slept with those just as unfortunate, while 25 trillion rests off short, and five times that elsewhere; the old man smiles, Solomon asks for a light, he needs is buzz too, we are all in this together, walks on. Feeling sorry, no shower, no bed, no place to put your things, right in front of you, how many just pass and say nothing at all, afraid of contagion. Then the woman taking over the duties of the priest cause the priest did an elvis and never showed up, how things change so quickly, feeling sorry, do something about it, for someone else, amen, your deeds determine who you are, amen. when three meet in my Name, the Father is there with you, words of Jesus, you are not alone. Solomon sighed, the nights he spent on Knock hill with the two old boys, the stuff you remember, and all the big talk shit that means nothing at all, just as the Father said.

The Older Generation

How can they cope she said, it’s all credit, the two friends were sitting in a cafe, retirees, their usual afternoon chat, one of the grand children was immersed in debt, so the friend shared. He sighed, the older of the two, I don’t know what has them this way. He recalls the odd jobs he did in college to survive, he goes on, he is a retired doctor. She nods, instant everything these days, she nods, a woman crosses the street, the boob job, they can’t be real, he smiles, I noticed a few all right, the older generation.

Example, was the same as it ever was, followed. Solomon wondered did they notice the signals they were giving out. It wasn’t anything personal, it never is, till it reaches your door, then the great wish I thought differently moment. He was recalling the chat with the old friend, they talked a few yards as they strolled, about the energy of certain places, why there was a depth of sadness in certain towns and places, depression sighed Solomon, not like the old days, when they used to talk. Listening to the older generation was wisdom in action.

if only they listened to Mosses and hadn’t worshiped the golden calf, maybe that was a future lesson, and a warning to all of us, from the older generation, amen.

orwell einstein

Orwell Einstein was a rather clever man, when all around were chasing goals, Orwell watched
and say what was going on. one day he tasted meat from the local butcher, it wasn’t real smooth
it was fatty not lean not a good looker, he took it home, splashed it on the pan even turned it
over, brown around the edges onions stacked on top, Orwell smiled as he opened his mouth wide
and took a large bite out, well he tried to drag his teeth away but instead they fall out, no more
meat for Orwell Einstein, a fish lover he became, then one day he tried the farmed version, looked red
and all that stuff, but it didn’t have the smell or flavour, of the wild version he was used to, Orwell
became a vegetarian, have you tried a tomato or an egg lately, or do you get used to it like all the
others. many years later, Orwell Einstein became a professor, spent his life examining matter and
how it would work out, and his conclusions were one and the same. us, when the bee’s go we go after.
at least we have the vision of Orwell EinsteinIMG_5756 to get us thinking again, perhaps as 1, like when you
love, you don’t measure