Aimee Mcpherson

A woman is filled with the Spirit, an energy that comes from afar, it has the power to heal, word spreads everywhere, Her name is Sister Aimee McPherson, she lived in the early parts of the 1920’s, started the revival movement, a woman, and this at a time when women had few rights, just imagine it. They came to her in droves, they even built the great Theater in Los Angeles, what was the history of this woman, and more importantly, where did that Spirit go. If it was around once it will be around again.

Solomon was reading the story of the pioneering spirit, who filled meeting halls and temples to over flowing capacity, while delivering the healing help, what happened to this great energy. It was an insight to to today, when preachers had lost that initial zeal, tied down by too many burdening rules, as if the impressionists themselves were under threat as they painted their great masterpieces. Who was Aimee McPherson.

 

 

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Is that enough!

Advice, all he heard was advice, advice, from his teachers, from his parents, just about everyone, wanted to give him advice. His parents, who argued daily, advising him, teachers who wanted to see the back of him, advising him, as if he hadn’t enough, he was getting more advice, advice on what to do, advice on how to escape, his upbringing. Had enough, he had enough, the doctor wants to put me on medication, medication, for what, for being honest. The day he tried to throw his father off the balcony, he meant it, he had enough.

Ten years later he waits for the therapist, his fourth in six months, for more advice. Waiting he picks up a magazine, the good parent guide book, he looks at it, dismiss’s it, ten years too late. His young years were lost, his parents being hippies, didn’t approve of Christmas. Imagine it, they smiling at him, their friends, discussing the great philosophers, the wisdom of old, the way Rousseau wanted children to have real life experience when young, like visiting prisons, hospitals, these things they could discuss, as for Christmas, it was a capitalist plot to relieve you of your money. That was the argument they used, we are different, we are not like the other lot. Saved them from giving up the booze or rearing us. Perhaps Rousseau might be impressed with the real education we endured. I just want to enjoy Christmas like all the other children, is that enough?.

Solomon sighed, why couldn’t all the religious tribes enjoy the season, and put the interests of their children’s future first. Allowing them to make friends was the start, is that enough.

If you take four of these a day, they should begin to affect you in about a week, if you feel squeamish that is normal, if you get sick i wouldn’t worry, but if it continues for a day or more, come see me. Same time next week smiles the doctor, I have had enough, amen.

Me

He loves himself so much he puts himself on answerphone and listens to himself, while imposing a reality on himself that is so far removed from reality to make it real, well, they say he is crazy, how about you. The sound of his own voice soothes, so he records himself all day, then late at night he replays the whole thing again. Amazingly, people donate half a weekly wage packet to hear him sing, and they do it regularly, who am I?

It was late after Christmas dinner, they had been playing charades for over an hour, and it was beginning to get to much, even for, Me. Blame the turkey me sighed, there was something strange about it. Strange, birds eat creepy crawlies, we eat birds, strange that we don’t like creepy crawlies. Solomon sighed, he was doing the thinking. Imagine it, all those angry demons, imagine all those factory reared birds, imagine the match of all matches, matching demon spirits with those about to be decapitated for our Christmas dinner, imagine that. Disposal was a problem, even in the time of Jesus, amen.

The Soul Train

You mean all that stuff is true he asked, the soul train is a connection of working souls, joined together in common purpose, they accept the wisdom of God smiled the old man. The young boy looked at the old man, haggard and worn, the night was cold and the dark was closing in. On his way back from the store, he encountered this lively man with the light eyes. The boy stopped, the old man was seated on a bench, was shivering from the conditions, another long night and the hope of tomorrow, a maybe.

Where you going to stay for the night he asked? The old man smiled, i’ll find a place, on the soul train replied the boy. They made their way down the street, there was a shed out the back of the house, neat and free from the chill, it won’t matter spoke the boy, who told the old man it was going to be fine, he might even be getting a bowl of soup. A blanket, a pillow, a space for the night, the soul train continued that evening, in the heart of the boy that cared. When did you meet me Lord, it was the question that would be on the lips of everyone who asked him

, amen.

The Great Flood

What’s great about a flood, every ancient and not so ancient generation, have experienced one, Solomon was being vague. You speak in riddles some say, he sighs, sometimes it easier than saying it straight, it’s less offensive for starters, but talk of floods, he experienced a few himself, and learned. The talk across the world was of the sexual disease that seemed to attack almost anyone with a semblance of power. A new story, another victim, another story, another and than another, to a point when it is all they can think of, sexual crimes. The last thing the world needed to hear, another victim, another big name hits the dirt, the press is foaming at the mouth, in newsrooms they glance at each other, what about bob, what about john, what about the 300,000,000 under tens with access to the adult web, the real flood they all ignored. It was simple math, the Spirit is a living heart, real living heart, and the young hearts carry the hope, they have soul, meanwhile, while the adults rage and tell their stories, this flood is ignored, as if it wasn’t happening. It is easy get distracted, and human nature was forgetful. 50 million die in the last great war, all of them victims, a flood of evil forgotten.

The demon and his ilk were glad to have the focus on the current imbalance, while the real flood continued unabated, as if there was nothing the could do about it. Solomon sighs, he wrote is a long time before, the simplest of solutions. Then a friend shows him the dark web as it it called, a zone off the main internet alley, where security allows anything to be traded, and it’s all legal, someone was fooling an awful lot of people. Say the prayer he sighed, it usually worked to halt the evil threat.

Can’t Afford it !

We can’t take him in, she was adamant. James comes home with an elderly man, he’s ragged in appearance, has done it once before. Jane is not sympathetic, she looks the old man over, wonders where they would be safe, where the locks of the inside door are. Her eyes rise up to meet James full on, what are you doing to me, we can’t afford this.

If you let me stay I’ll clean the place, Jack is not impressed by the token words, well meant, but Tony can’t look after himself, he’s got the ageing disease, and friends are few, why me wonders Jack, as he heads for the kitchen, coffee on his mind for his elderly friend, and hopefully some peace of mind for himself.

She screams at the boy, alcohol moves the emotions, he cowers, the five year old, covers his head, is worried about a blow he might receive. The friends look away, it’s a party after all, besides the child should be in bed, but the music woke him, so he comes down, weary eyed, and worried, Mammy didn’t want her possible new boyfriend to see him.

Witness, witness, put a line through it and forget you saw it. The report is another call to the arms, the youth of the district are being assaulted in every way there is. The local dealer has a hold with the police that

Edgar hoover would have been proud of. The pay off will be a few days peace, if they ever decide to act on the intelligence anyway.

Witness, witness, did the birds know something we didn’t. Solomon recalled the dream, he was above the bed, looking down, he see’s a shell break open and then a body emerge, are we all birds, are we born again. A wry smile, he’d experienced that already, amen. Can’t afford to know the truth, you can say that again.

The Habit

No. damn it, the hobbit you mean, no he says, the habit, where do they come from? You are sounding old dada, I am old he replies, I’m passing on wisdom. He rattles his dentures, sighs. Trying to impart wisdom is like trying to extract teeth with a hammer, a lot of blood and nothing worth remembering just pain. He reaches for the glass, his throat is dry, the nurse is being patient, but can’t stay too long. She has others to see. The habit damn you, that’s what all of you are passing on. She ignores him, changes the sheets while he mutters on.

Harvey, Donald, and the entire bunch, men and women, selfies, facebook, our desire for violence

, it turns them on, the damaging habits we pass on. Jesus warned them, forgive and you can stop it all, why not give it a try, amen.