Fires and Pilgrims

Fire men head in one direction, from the other side of the fence, the freedom train moves, well, it’s the promised land, and there is no turning back, it’s quite a conundrum, what is there to go back to, a troop of soldiers are sent to desist them, billionaires who claim a godly connection, talk up all sorts of harm, one day they will be at heavens door, mercy they will ask, what do you suppose the response will be, did you feed me when I was hungry, did you abuse the gifts I gave you, what did you do for my creation, you use the book to convince others your one of mine, but your actions don’t add up, all you can do is balance the cash, do you think that is good enough.

He Gets a heart attack. is rushed to the Hospital, the family gather, they are going to pray, he was so merciful they say, well, they say that about themselves all the time, Mother Nature has a world view they would never accept, whatever, they only listen when they are in trouble, no less.

Solomon sighed, there were millions of migrants on the move, wasn’t it telling, so few controlled so much of the resources and what did they do, it was very plain to see, if only they were considerate and were wise, what a difference it would be. The rain stops, the sun comes out, the financial barons, worry day and night, the market is not moving as it’s supposed to, if they were wise, they might look up and see that the stars have moved too, that’s far more problematical, that’s real. Meanwhile troops man the border, while they are needed in other places, just to do what exactly, the center of hope for migrants once, but not anymore, the dream is over, the spin they put on it.

 

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Talent

Make sweet noise, all you need, a good producer, someone good with sound, a decadent lifestyle, late night brawls, paparazzi, an agent, and a steely determination, a reliable drug dealer, it wont help, but it helps to have one still alive, they both laugh, and a doctor who will prescribe. The young artist, the latest new bee, is listening to the ageing rocker, on his third liver, and on a waiting list for a kidney, which won’t be too long, there is one being flown in from Pakistan later in the week. The kid is mesmerized by the gold rings on the thick fingers, is that spoon really gold, it’s better than meeting the Pope. Want to try some, he spots the kid eyeing his Oreo’s, just one, i don’t normally.

The kid leaves the den, an out of town estate, he rides a taxi back to the city, a little high. So that’s what I can expect, a refrigerator full of replacement organs, a doctor who does the illegal, and friends who hang around while the drugs are free. Not a good way to use your talent, amen.

The Golden Child

They need a few words, the King asks, where is the poet, he must write the lines. The pages are before him, he wants to fill them with words, it’s the story of the inner child, the secret place where angels dwell, the mountains of bias and ego don’t exist yet, there is nothing to blind the little one. Everywhere he goes, he can see them, Spirits, only eyes that young can see them, eyes that have not been burdened.

Solomon read the paper over his coffee, the usual, the weekend games, the pundits and their fury, the fate of another manager, by the next day, it would all be forgotten, same way the car park fills and empties, we take new places, and we rarely remember where we parked the day before, unless it’s reserved of course, and we are made to feel important.

A baby sits before the music man, too young to be a fan, can’t spell his name, can’t recall the lyrics, he just bobs his head and listens, the rhythm gets him, and so it gets the angels, who he see’s floating about, cause he is not blinded by things yet, but can see what seems eternal, the way faith is, you can’t see it, you can’t hold it, all you can do is

pass it on. The baby nods, listens with his friends, amen.

To be part of the Kingdom, as Jesus would say, you have to be just like that child. Solomon sighed, it’s amazing what you learn from a simple picture, amen.

Blocked

no new ideas, stuck, nothing fresh going on, got a habit that I hate, got a cat that shits a lot, man does that need cleaning up, blocked, I hope you don’t upset the cat. He pressed the button, the machine, it produced a rhythm, a beat, he put a few lyrics over it, adjusted the volume, played them low played them high, a bit like a lotto player, fancy word for a gamble, how he frame words, sounds better, compulsive deniers, when we don’t like the news, we turn it off, the head can only hold so much. Imagine it, the stuff the head has to hoard, the so called important stuff, the stuff going back years. Unless it’s the heart, why would it be important?

Ezra Revisited….

Gather as much as you can, run home, store in on the shelf, look at it, put a price on it, polish it, dust it, those ornaments, re arrange them, stand at the side, they might look better over there, no, you change your mind, the way you part your hair after it’s been a certain way, you change it back again, that’s better, it looks familiar, you feel safer in the surrounds, same friends, well, you know each other, same habits, cause your friends, then as you get risque, you tell them of your experiences, the stuff you never told them, the weird dreams, the visions, you ask them what they mean, then they tell you, they had dreams too, and the story unfolds, and the wow moment, you had the same dreams, and maybe that’s why you’ve been friends.

Your sitting in the waiting room, it’s the doctor’s surgery, there is news you have to get, it will predict the future, well, will you be running marathons again or going for treatment, the life changing moments, the moment you feel real, and you know the news your about to receive, is going to alter your life, there is no way it can’t. Every thought comes to mind, the anxieties of old, when you had similar moments, the emotional gloom, then the high you got, when it all worked out. You let out a sigh when your name is called, you rise from your seat, you check the expression on the doctor’s face, and the tell tale signs.

Life can change in an instant. It wasn’t the tsunami earlier in the week Solomon was thinking about, but a memory long past’ He is walking across the busy city street, traffic is moving in all directions, the lunch hour has arrived, workers are in a hurry, they want to get to the early seats, some rush in and out of traffic. From the corner of his eye, he spots a girl, swerving between cars, out pulls a bus, she disappears under it, she might have slipped, she was in a hurry. That night he reads in the paper, young woman dies on busy city street, he is not a rubber neck type, doesn’t gawk, just reads the story, another life lost, probably changed the lives of many, parents, friends, husband maybe, boyfriend, work colleagues, and left a hole in the lives of many, that had to be filled somehow.

Why does it remind him of Ezra, the ancient prophet, he wasn’t sure. But there had been a few great moments of change going on, and for some reason, he knew they referred to Ezra, so he reminds himself. A lot of what he said, had in the main, occurred, maybe coincidence, but it was no coincidence, That he had encountered the Spirit himself, as he found the words that needed saying, any time he sought.  Leave the great legacy behind you, amen, that’s what Ezra did, 2,700 years ago.

You’ve Got Me All Wrong 6 – You Are The Creator Of Your Own Reality — Erika Kind…. knowing yourself is a good start, a re blog…

Quote

A few weeks ago I picked up one of Walsch’s books and began to read the first pages. After I read the short list of the 25 core messages to explain the main message (in the title) I stopped reading. It was so inspiring and I my mind started spinning. Before I am reading on […]

via You’ve Got Me All Wrong 6 – You Are The Creator Of Your Own Reality — Erika Kind

Opened Eyes

They didn’t see it coming, straight into the storm, the human storm, not the weather forecast, satellites, they should invent one for the human race that isn’t powered by money, feck it, when it’s a snow storm of cash, it blinds everyone, well, those things you could never do, suddenly your world brightens up, I can really be like that, how the eyes open up. Parents, their nightmares begin, it was fun in the beginning, now they realize that any sod can befriend their child, and there is nothing they seem to be able to do about it, apart from read of the despair elsewhere, those distracting headlines, as if they can recall them twenty four hours later, a distraction, while the nightmare returns, their child addicted to the machine, and if it isn’t that, well, the dealer can provide the rest.

Solomon sighed, it was the story of the wise bird, looking for love, a mate, someone to play around with. When in the zone, bird can do the dance, flash the feathers, do all sorts of things, to impress the mate, bingo, we got a connection. Then the nest building commences, the future is being created, and they need to supply the foundations, not any old tree, somewhere safe, they don’t want to be blown away. Then bit by bit, they gather, the new life arrives, the work continues. If the bird knows all this, and they all do, how come the human type never seems to get it right, always distracted, eyes wide shut as stanley would put it.

The old words come to mind, He sent the prophets, they partied while Noah built the ark, amen.