Suffering What, good for me!

You are just being relocated Jones, it’s not that we are getting rid of you, see it our way, you are being moved, an even better job opportunity, won’t you feel great, you will be thanking us afterwards, she smiles through her bleached teeth, her half moon smiles runs as far as her ears, and those nauseating glasses, frame less, all Mr Jones can do is sit there, bite his lip, they are giving him an extra 10% severance, there is nothing he can do, it’s the ultimate breakup, he is going to suffer regardless. Good for me he howls, his arms surround his office bits, pictures of the children, what will he tell the wife, there is a mortgage to pay, and the health cover they have currently is essential, one of the children has permanent bad health, good for me he howls, as he dumps the cardboard box on the back seat and gets into his ford. Suffering is good for me, he slams the car into gear, will I run a red light, too much too much, he calms down. The car is stopped at the corner, waiting for the light to turn green, Jones is all over the place, an old man comes out of a shop, so what, Jones watches him go to the alley, there is a trolley full of his stuff, the old man begins to push it, lame as well, looks like he needs a good nights sleep. Could be me, the lights change, the mood eases, it’s only anger now, cooling as he goes, suffering is good for me, what was she saying, probably had someone to clean her ass all her life…

No good comes out of suffering, well, many would disagree, how many lives have changed in such circumstances. Solomon sighed, what did the early believers feel, when they saw their Leader on the cross, helpless for awhile. Then the signs came, remain patient, and two thousand years later, He is still the one they pray to, how about that! , use my Name he said, the Holy Spirit will come, you just have to believe…the rest is history…

 

 

Advertisements

Don’t Laugh At Donald!!

The Golden hair do is having a bad hair do day, in TV rooms in exclusive places, there

are those laughing loudly, feeling that they have been vindicated, there is a sense of poetic justice about, and american liberals are feeling hopeful again. World leaders are getting their short term thrill. This is the end they feel, of ” The Donald “.

I am a believer in the great mystery of the Lord, and how every opportunity is used, to teach, pass on wisdom, enlighten.

Don’t laugh at Donald, while he has united many in the opinion others have of him, why not think of this!…

While all the talk is going on, and the anger mounts, the recriminations, the sexy stories, and the delirium of some, apart from the efforts to shame people, there is a famine going on in Africa, children, men, women, can’t find a piece of food, while the tabloids write like addicts on sexual activities that took place thirty years ago, who is fooling who.

Solomon encountered the cloud, the Heavenly powers were watching the games too.

50 cents

He spots her from afar, she stands on the corner, she has for days, her appeal a very meek one, pretty and young she is trying to make a living, the paper she offers, a token but a dignified one. Subject to the control of others, her life is one of hardship, no valentine boyfriend, more likely, someone who will abuse you too, this is her lot. Her eyes are tired, they used to sparkle once, as a little child she used to be so bright, little did she know the the difficulties ahead of her. Solomon has noticed her many times, he has his fifty cents, their eyes meet, I wish it could be different he sighs, then walks on.

Flash lawyer, his lifestyle the envy of colleagues, how can he afford it, he is no smarter than the others, and his client list isn’t that special, the underhand payments, the deals, the gaps he found, the gratitude of clients, most preoccupied with poisoning the mind, their gains, theft, nothing to get worked up about, the fifty cent girl is just a toe rag, disposable, and as replaceable, nothing to get worked up about, there are more where they came from.

late night club, the lads are on vacation, they want some R and R, they call to a late night shebeen, from the big city, they want to action before the return to their big town. fifty cent is woken, it’s late in the evening, we have a job for you, she gets up and dress’s quickly, if she doesn’t she will be beaten, and dress in your sexy gear the older man says, his two bucks wait outside, the car is running, the opportunity won’t be around for long. She hopes it won’t be violent. Flash lawyer is joined by his friends, their wives are not that energetic these days, and they don’t want to upset the rhythm of the home, children need a steady mother, and successful men need a good home routine. We are doing it for the kids they tell everyone, when anyone asks, but… fifty cents we haven’t forgot you!

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

Don’t talk to Strangers

Good parental advice, the world is full of deviants, now follow my advice, don’t talk to strangers, the four year old’s are listening, why asks one child, a little more spirited than the others, well, the teacher has a check list, well, they might kidnap you, steal you away and bury you in a forest, steal all your Christmas presents, and… The child is smart, wonders what is in the head of the teacher, paranoia.

Child tells himself, it doesn’t make sense, is everyone really going to kidnap him. Who pollutes the mind he wonders. His friends share their stuff online, weird he thinks. His older brother and sister are always talking to stranger’s online, and no one has kidnapped them yet. paranoia.

Prop them up with fear, well, can you really get away with slapping your child mentally everyday, there is bound to be a reaction sooner or later, children are not stupid. How silly of you, says the head of school, did you not hear of the boy who was grabbed off the street, he was never heard of again, terror.

Feeding the fear, and paying for it later, Solomon sighed, they said the same of Jesus, all those years ago, he was considered a danger to society all those years ago, by society and it’s rulers, an upstart with opinions who challenged them all. Don’t talk to strangers, engage with like minds instead, Solomon sighed, the ghetto mentality has proved worthless, created borders, fired all sorts of hatred, encouraged bias, fueled envy, no.

Enlightenment, amen.

The Baggage Handler

Your going to have to pay extra for that suitcase Sir!, what, mean, more charges. The young attendant stares at the older man, he is young in body, but old in wisdom terms, the attendant, the old man is pure grumpy, used to getting it his own way, a reminder that’s all. In the guise of a helper, the attendant

is trying to get the message across, the troubles you carry and the load you bear, all on account of being unable to forgive. The baggage is memories, good or bad, then again, what is baggage you say. The news story the night before, a bunch of banner of waving enthusiast’s, who want to remind the world, we have baggage, so do you, just in case you forget.

How the human race loves to put itself under stress, Solomon sighed, the stuff they fill the heads with, a continuous stream of all that is wrong, the story of the screaming child, the bigger the noise the more it hurts your ears. Baggage was the same, you could use it for good, or it could drag you to the bottom of the river, the choice was yours, free will.

When travelling, all you need is the overhead, amen.

Why should you write…

It was a valid question, he wrote after all, she was a successful doctor, she was trying to understand him, he sighs, she is his type of woman, she actually listens. He gives her his answer..

“when I wake in the morning, it’s a new day, it’s not a case of the same repeating itself, it’s new each and every time, they eyes may tire, but the scene is a new one, no often how often I see it, a bit like your patients I suppose”

She pauses, trying to get her head around it, she nods.

“I get it, we need to be both listeners and observers at the same time!”

he smiles

“when we write about it, it becomes part of history, written with clear eyes, not fogged, as they say”