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!

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Village Meltdown

You wont believe it, druggies on every corner, I was propositioned by a young woman, beautiful, she is injecting herself, you probably know her from school, the towns people are afraid, it’s madness over there, even the cops are afraid to go near the place. Solomon looked at the expression on the face, the one doing the talking, he was the listener. Foils on every alley, needles too, he listened to the voice, it was the run up to the election, and the speakers party was the strong arm of hope, Solomon listened on. How the masters of misery try to create the worst thoughts, frightening the sheep, a tried and trusted method of getting your attention, so listen..

You have to listen in the context of the times, same way politicians and poll shakers do a test before they announce the real news, they gauge your reaction. Everyone from Islam is dangerous, every Mexican is a rapist, every Irish man is a drunk, every white man a saint. The boy cried wolf sighed Solomon, when the danger is real no one will believe him. It was a mute point, there were many signs in the Sky, results, polls, national intrigues, unstable leaders, trumpet calls, as Ezra said in the book he wrote 2,7000 years before, before the coming of the new world. Solomon hoped those who were trying to divide opinion had been reading the signs, it applied to them as well, the village meltdown.

Focused Resentment

Elections cause and affects, how those dark energies get organised, translated into votes, giving energy to dark thoughts, and the howling supporters, jumping up and down like complete idiots as if they achieved something, while all they did was create great harm. One’s resentment another’s opportunity, the road to hell and all those so called good intentions. Nature is changed. too many chemicals in the water, too many hurts never forgiven, too  many born with inner resentments, same way a nervy horse passes on the trait to off spring, it’s hard to get over, a good trainer knows all about it. Demons, or the darkness as we call it, the stuff we try to get over but hide from, those emotional moments, a failed love affair, a child you did not want to have, then watching a mother father and child walking down the street years later, how it could have been, she heads for the off licence, it’s a memory she has never gotten over. Who is in your top ten of resentments, did you marry too late, did your career become more important than your children, the stuff you store inside, it’s a mix, ammunition for later use.

Solomon sighed, the garbage or the baggage, why bring it with you. A therapist gave this advice to a friend of his, she passed it on, maybe Solomon reminded her of past failings, in that case the therapist was a failure, a light head. Jesus was uncompromising; you have to set it aside, the hurts, your Father In Heaven takes it all into account, he settles all debts, amen, don’t worry.

He sits over his coffee, the restaurant is a haven, there is peace, apart from the time a few demons tried to muscle in, but they soon got lost. The news was good too, there was healing going on, and this was putting pressure on those who used the resentments of others to create bad energy. They were looking down the proverbial barrel, about time.

Space Wars

Movie titles, credit lists, the long list of names that took part in the production, it wasn’t a one man game, collective, the world, same as all those species fighting to hang on, each bit playing a part in the life of another, some might call it space wars. Solomon sighed, the world was addicted to the image driven world, where outside beauty mattered over everything else, which of course can be easily manipulated, and has. Jesus reminds us, it’s your heart where all your beauty is stored, and so we have idols who try to grab our attention, and those you try to open our hearts, in the hope that we can see, it’s a real space war. Solomon sighed, it’s not hard to work out what matters when your old and wrinkly and lying on the bed, your hair is grey, perhaps falling out, your teeth no longer bleach, and your ability to do the basic toiletries, to say the least, a bit inhibited. Boy, don’t you wish your heart was full of good deeds to reflect on, rather than the state of your decaying body, what the difference a smile makes, amen. Can you imagine the God of Jesus residing inside a rubbish dump of a life, with a big smile on His Face.

The Bird Stopped Singing

Silence in the street, the familiar hum is gone, the beat that used to fill your head, the side to side rhythm, the bird is silent, but his memory lives on.  How we take it for granted, the sound of music, birds and their tweets, the friendly smile that used to lend you a cigarette, and those conversations that went anywhere but always had meaning. There is no economic value in a bird song, there is no money in music on the street, well, you can press the button and have it automatically, why would live music matter. Solomon heard of the passing on of a good soul and friend of his, a member of the James gang, an outlaw type.  Mornings spent listening for a half hour, the requests he played, Neil Young and more, thanks he says, I’m sure your entertaining elsewhere now.

Good leaders, how the business minded only value money and nothing more, amen. There had to be a loading given to wisdom in the days ahead, the danger to the environment, the abuse of communities, the madness of celebrity culture, there are artists who inspire. Solomon reflected on the many times he heard the banjo play as he rounded the corner, and the smile it would put you his face, and the few requests he could make. It wasn’t economic the activity, but it was wisdom to support it. He had in times past, and now he could as God Most High, and expect to get a hearing, even when he wasn’t right. You never stop listening to music, thanks John.

Crisis In Numbers

Not enough votes to unite us, and too many votes that divide us. Numbers, the way we weigh things up, you don’t have enough numbers, you can’t get that, we wont get elected, you can’t afford that, numbers, little wonder there is a book of numbers in the ancient scriptures. The more you have in numbers, the safer you appear. The so called wisdom, and in our rush to get the numbers right, we ignored the other numbers, that apply to the health of the planet.

Crisis in numbers, not enough men and women to fill the roles and preach. Church in crisis, the numbers, how can it last. Crisis in Spirit, how do you increase it, the power to change the entire.

Children will shame you, and if you are intending getting into the higher love, a child you must be, a young person, not necessarily, it’s an appreciation you are supposed to show for the world and it’s creator, The Great God Most High. You are all children of a higher love, none of us are the boss. When the numbers reach the tipping point, the changes begin to take place, and we reach the critical level, so it seems.

Crisis in numbers, so much of the world already extinct, a number worth worrying about.

Those Old Wars

A lot of bloodshed, a lot of heart break, does anyone remember their names, hardly, Amo nods in the bed, still a teacher, he listens, it’s all that He can do these days, listen. You are not feeling well he says, his visitor is an old friend, they were in college together, that is sixty years or more, over a hundred and twenty years between them, come to think of it, a lot of living time on the planet, a couple of major wars, the great one in 1939, do they all remember that, ration cards, doing without petrol, driving the car twice a week, if you were lucky enough to have one.

I’m getting old Amo, says the friend, not unlike yourself, they share a smile. They went on the odd holiday together, when travel was a huge experience, not the twenty four seven event it is now, when tickets to anywhere can be bought within hours of flying, and half the price when you do. Amo sighs, everything moves on, in the end we leave behind what, memories, that are hopefully, a legacy of a sort. The old friend, nods. Will anyone remember us, the thought is on his visitors mind, Amo has no such fears.

Immune to the news, Solomon sighed, when we hear too much of it we switch off. There is another appeal, another famine zone, another disaster, another social meltdown, the car moves along, the radio is changed, music, an awful lot happier, positive. Immune are we, to news and all that we don’t want to hear. Solomon pursed his lips, an observer, he watched it all. It must have been the same at the time of the ancient prophets, the news no one listened to, the descent into pleasure, this is going to last forever. Time tells us, it never lasts, maybe that’s what we need to recall, it is all passed on, your habits, good bad or indifferent.