The power of the prophets, the foundations of every great relationship, True Love. Solomon sighed, the Heavenly Father never lets down his own, he might rebuke them, teach them, spoil them occasionally, but he always acts out of love.
it’s so full of drama, confusion in many places, millions running to escape, others travelling thousands of miles to find a home, meanwhile, a young girl is telling all what to do, see how they threaten that young opinion, were our leaders not supposed to encourage questions, no more agree with it, your job is too precious to risk, does it not remind you of the time of Jesus, the similarities and the threats, the effort to rubbish the simple logic of a young girl, we heard it all before, and the best the commentators can do, is try to drown the message, cause it shows up their incompetence these last twenty years.
Solomon was reading some of the choice comments from supposedly clever people, who made less than flattering comments about the young Swedish girl Greta, was it not very hypocritical, the very things she was stating, was on the minds of millions, makes you think what the many millions thought, stand up, create space for loving Spirit to dwell in you, you will be delighted when you do, and more importantly, you are never alone.
She sits in the chair, a little subdued, the medication, she sits while she waits, she is not so sturdy, they gave her a diagnosis, the memory disease, well, it’s an age thing. The limbs don’t have the same stretch, your energy isn’t what it was, the eyes not a clear as they used to be, the appetite too, not as appealing, getting old they said, Mable sighs, I am on a journey, I’m not giving up, I am growing up. A mind of her own, her own ideas, she didn’t beleive the blarney of men in charge, thanks rubbish, who filled them with such stuff, who. She fought her life seeking equality, now the journey has brought her to the care home, at the mercy of those she railed against, those that followed the rules. A nurse approaches, Mabel frowns, the pills, the last time she refused it, they sedated her a whole day, and gave her god knows what. I was just forgetting stuff, doesn’t everybody do that. How much do so many hide inside their heads. How those playing games would change the topic once the questions got testy. No one is allowed question the experts.
Solomon smiled, the story he heard on the radio, the lady with the mind disease, all she wanted, treated me as I am, it’s not your pity I want. Getting old sighed Solomon, we just want to be accepted. The story is never ending, it’s just a change in circumstances, one day you breath, the next your a bird, flying somewhere. Do birds worry when they wake, do they reach for the medication. Mabel, she is a living being in a fast changing world, so fast, the time to look after her is no longer left to relatives, the world so busy, it can hardly look after itself.
The weather, warm and sunny, no one rushing, the only que at the ice cream van, mabel recalls the days of old, how everything that a mother could do was done, same as it always was, by mothers across the world. There is a bitter taste in Mabels mouth, its’ not the tablets, its the story in the paper. The role of women, whitewashed from all circles of importance from the beginning of christianity, then copied by other religions, framing the mind set, bastards she sighs to herself.
The wings rise in union, the small creature is carrying a message, destiny calls, obstacles in the sky, the usual predators and obstacles, and the latest threats, the magnified air, the invisible microwaves, can send the radar spinning, little dove is one of many, that have set off before, it’s a journey across the world. Little heart, she recalls the day she was born, the shell cracked open, it wasn’t easy, she had to move around until it fell away. Interesting, you noticed everything around you, the beginning, your first breath of fresh air. Never did you imagine you’d be flying high up there, even if you were made for the journey, it’s a surprise every time, the lift and you’re airborne, no jet or exhaust fumes. Sally flaps her wings, a little slower than before, her tempo is slowing, it will soon be time to rest. Rather than cross the ocean at the widest point, when the others didn’t return, it was decided you’d cross as much land, in case it was the water that caused their demise. You are trying to follow the map, but you found out early, that even the landmarks had changed, cities where there were towns, but some are still there. A church steeple or another holy place, the only places where you can find safe nights rest, clouds on the horizon too, rain, it only adds weight, normally it wouldn’t matter, but this was not a normal journey, the message you carry, has the key that will open the gates of Heaven. A couple is getting married, and your arrival at a certain perch will be a sign, then the book is revealed, the holy men and women will unite.
The rise in electronic masts, the waves, the frequencies they interfere with, is putting your navigation skills to the test, but your one of the last ones, they said you did not fly that fast, lucky for you, it is giving you time to circle problems rather than immerse in them. The wings are heavy, you have been flying a Lindbergh, non-stop for five hours, you need a rest. It’s essential, put the wings down and have a good eat.
There is no need to carry anything, otherwise, you don’t fly, one of the great secrets, you and your kind know too well. The way humans worry, there you are waiting to gather a few crumbs, the conversations you hear, when they are troubled help is sent to them, an army of flying helpers, everyone has a specific purpose. The mind is tired, and you need to stay focused, the old teachers words, the reason you and all you feathery creatures were created, at the time, perhaps too young, you thought it was an exaggeration, now, in this time of stress, what you thought was an excess, it holding you in shape, strange words you sigh, the ache on the wing is forgotten, you could fly for hours if you stayed in this frame of mind.
Haven’t been home in a year, what is taking so long, when you get there you will be on time, what sort of timetable is this, that’s what they said to you at the beginning, what planning, you can never lose, then you remember the month you spent in the sun, unplanned, but you were having doubts, and the company was great. Fresh homegrown bread with lots of grains every morning, berries and all sorts of fruit, some you only heard of, served to you every morning by the gentle mullah, while there was a war going on in all directions, maybe it was wise to stay when you did. Two weeks at the monastery, they treated you as if you were a royal guest, boy did you live it up that fortnight and put on a couple of ounces you had to shed before you were able to take flight. There, you spot the steeple, the head changes, you turn the flaps on your wing, you do a recognisance, there could be a hidden mast, and that’s an experience you don’t want to repeat, sent you off course for five hundred miles, your lower in the sky, you do a second pass, nothing dangerous, it’s a real monastery, not one of those private homes, it’s safe to land. Some damn map you say.
She wakes from her dream, her first interview today, a young aspiring actor, she has a big heart, wants to play those roles that inspire, give heart, if only she can overcome those obstacles. Her bedroom door opens, her breakfast, eggs benedict, her eyes lift, just the start I needed……what a dream, imagine being a little white dove, do you know what that means….
The attention, free love, the extras, lots of friends, everything she wished for, but there is still a hole inside her, that nothing material can fill, why can’t it be normal. She envies her friends, they’re normal, the boring partners, the routines they have, he leaves the bowl down, never washes the dishes, is always giving Margot their child treats, he shouldn’t spoil them that much, everyone nods and smiles, inside her heart is longing, but she knows, you can’t bring children into the world without foundations. Her friends recommend the child in a box scenario, the artificial thing, you get a list of prospects, and do it yourself. It’s not what she wanted. She retreats inside, it has to be there, the original feelings, where did they go, how do you decide. Everything she wants, it’s already inside her.
The eyes are giveaways, there is an emptiness, she is replaying the lives of old glamour queens and actors, every time she see’s them on the screen, not me hopefully she says. when i get older, i will be surrounded by those who grow with me, those who really love, is it the price of fame, well it comes with risk. I’ll get through it. The next day she decides to slow down, three months later she is on a beach, away from the attention, and herself, the way she used to be, all she ever wanted.
They meet in the desert, the tents are busy, the hangers on hover around, wondering what they are saying inside. The light of God Most High shines, inside the wise men of old meet in Spirit, (They carry Holy Spirit inside), they discuss the meaning of love, and what it means in the modern world, has it changed.
Jesus stands up, he has memories, but they are not hurtful, even if they left deep scars inside and out, he has an understanding of the Father’s wish, that everyone be saved. The Great eastern prophet listens, his head to the side, the church leaders look fearful, their past connects with them when in the divine presence, it unsettles them. Moses rushes into the tent in a sweat; he apologizes for his sudden entrance, Jesus nods, haven’t seen you in awhile. Dressed in formal desert robes, old habits die hard, he has had a revelation from on high, the proverbial reminder of Heaven’s will.
We were just discussing the meaning of Love says Jesus, Moses smiles, it’s why I was summoned here.
“it’s up to us to rewrite it if that is what it takes!” Suleyman says. Jesus raises his eyebrows, he recalls the day they deserted him, left him, how often did they try to move him on, what a journey.
The prophet from the east, is listening, everyone is listening in the tent, the wisdom rolls out, actions are being mined in their heads. They decide on a first base principle;
Never take advantage of the vulnerable says Suleyman. Jesus sighs, this is going to be a long day indeed.
He has something to say, you should listen to him, she has a new voice, listen, artists, the small child has words he wants to say, he’s a child no one listens, why. Artists, the great global consciousness, well that was the way it was supposed to be, the collective thoughts contained in their works, be it sculpting, writing poetry, long stories, canvas, all filled with need, their heads and the hearts, pouring into the world their thoughts; man, I wanted to hear those words, they mean something, artists, and what happens, or more important, what is it that this all means. Consciousness, awareness, the need to show, the necessity to open hearts to new pathways.
What in affect happens; down through the centuries, anyone who harboured thoughts that conflicted with the dogma of the ruling class of the day, usually thwarted, unless they had the patronage of the same people, and when some made a break through, difficulty is what they found, resentment caused, labels applied, unwell, not one of us and so on, unless the general populace loved them and defended them.
Solomon was reflecting, there were so many issues, so many you’d be lost in the haze. He read about the difficulties the traditional sources of comfort were having; loss of personnel, message not being absorbed, loss of connection, and so on. In relation to divine enthusiasm, if you based your “art” or “vocation in life”, on the connection overhead (Solomon encountered Holy Spirit, the real one, was saved a few times), a power that hit the peaks at the time of Jesus, you would assume you’d hang onto the connection, not by cheating, but by incorporating the principles in your life. If talent dries up, maybe it’s time for a career change, rather than go fishing for others talents, those less organised as they say; otherwise their divine connection blurs then dies.
Solomon was comparing the times of Jesus Christ, the threats that he had to overcome, the weakness of the believers in the face of miracles, and the regular threat, same today as then, of the already organised machine that controls so many lives. At a time when there has been so many signs, and they are on the way, everyday in fact, the danger of speaking up, saying it as it needs to be said, simply, be brave.
Artists, avenues for thoughts to disperse; there has never been a more needy time for them. Your job won’t matter if the toxic dump leaks into your water supply; and the environment for your children won’t change into positive territory, until you make the effort to improve things; leaving it to your leadership, is the same as waiting for Godot.