Head

All that grey matter, what is inside it, how do you store it, what does it entail, does it encourage you to be a good Samaritan, help you think of others, does it fill you with fear, there is a bang outside, we assume the worst, we see a head scarf, the face covered up, we feel strange, what is hidden frightens us. Jesus spoke the words of Life, light that fills you inside, not the dread, the dread we worry about. Imagine it, it was said all those years ago, still holds true, and there are changes in the atmosphere, as if our worries are being lifted from us, as we realize, there is a God Most High, and demons are afraid of the Spiritual power that springs from HIM. Now the bullies are in shock instead.

Little wonder sighed Solomon, when our heads are filled with all sorts of wants, we forget the One want that overcomes all our worries, amen.

Can You Hear The Voice….

Beauty hides in the most strangest places, the stuff we surround the head with, the mental picture of the vision we see, the other stuff you learned, well, you thought you knew, the idea of that face producing a sound like that, isn’t that the same way we see a bird, we don’t consider the feathers or how green red or blue it looks, those thoughts are not in your head, your looking at nature, your not trying to analyse it, it’s there, it exists, it’s something you want to listen to, just the voice, it catches our ear, connects with a peace inside us.

The picture in our heads, how we zone in with the eyes, can it be for real, the sweet noise, the picture, what, the voice and sight does not register, it’s the way we see it, the stuff we learned, so this is what we think. Solomon was listening to the voice, the noise was sweet, but the presentation wasn’t exactly great, not what he was used to. The simplicity, it was as if another lesson was learned, how we assume that which we do not understand, can produce such a noise. He recalled the news of the singer on stage, the voice, then the source of the noise, out of reach mentally, not the picture we had of the voice. Is this how those with sight loss see it, with a different sense, or was that How God inside us saw it, amen. We seem so regulated internally, as if we don’t believe it, where did the voice come from after all…

Is it possible….

Dante writes, he saw turmoil in the fourteenth century, when men of the organised religion lived like prince’s, sided with wealth, and often condemned innocent men and women, to all sorts of horrible existences, sometimes death, under the cover of the cloak of God they wore, which they used as a tool to control fortunes and  lives, when they were supposed to promote peace and goodwill. Not all, but those who sought position, in other words, those of the Ego.

He wrote of Venice under a flood, and today I am reading the words Dante wrote, his epic poem, translated of course, and Venice this day is under the most serious of flooding ever.  Oddly enough, this flooding, is reminding us of our neglect of the living environment, same as the signs that are appearing, reminding us of our divine inheritance, amen.

Solomon  sighed, we are being directed towards the Father of all creation, and while that Spirit flows it’s time ourselves, we too, are in the vineyard, and as in Venice, a major clean up is required, amen.

 

You Measure Me…

What do you see she asks, her face is covered by a mask, she has only heard his voice. She didn’t want to meet him, the dream might then end, she is afraid of being rejected, and it’s a feeling her heart cannot bear. The mobile phone, the connection, her words will never be rejected. Her fears are based on what she reads and what the media produces. The President is surrounded by blondes, rich men, and powerful friends, what good am I.

Her Father is anxious, her mother distraught, their sixteen year old daughter is anorexic, and close to death, her bones show through her flesh, she resembles a concentration camp survivor, it would be hard to tell them alike. What are we going to do, what are we going to do, we are going to lose our baby her mother cries. …

Solomon listened to the words of ancient scripture, a habit of his. Listen to the words of God, there is life in them, and many warnings.

“Those in authority will be dealt with severely when the time comes!”

Solomon is on the street, minding his business, he hears the angry words of a demon, he stops, thinks for a few seconds, says a prayer. The noisy demon runs for cover. So you are unwell, imagine David as he faced Goliath, no one gave him a chance, except himself and God, the rest is history.

 

Days of Gratitude

How many of us have life changing experiences, Solomon listens, the preacher speaks, he retells the story of the ten lepers, healed, and how one in ten returned to give thanks, to God, so Jesus tells. Solomon listened, gratitude meant a lot to him, the day more poignant than most, his own recall a little blurred, his memory of events poor, but the results, never doubted. It was the anniversary of the perfect intervention in his own life.

 

To encounter the perfect intervention, where all that is seems lost, and all from then on is new, is rare indeed. The tingle in the feet, your still connected, the feet will move again, the lower body functions, how you got there, you have a faint recall, this must be the feeling you get, when you are born, how did I get there, and since so many do it the same way, you think nothing of it, it just happens.

So much we regard as a right, so the mob tells us, this is what your entitled to, and if you don’t get it, you ought to sue some one, there are lawyers on every corner, complain. So, there is the gardener, the flowers are sad, they have lost their luster, they don’t grow so strong, who does he complain to, probably himself, I didn’t use the right fertilizer. Then recall the mindset of the One who set the style of the flowers, the colors, their size, the smell; he does not get the same scent, the senses are not moved, the garden is plainly not that healthy, who does HE complain to.

Gratitude, how we respect the gifts we are given, and how we pass it on, it’s that simple, amen.

 

My Afternoon

First question you hear, he or she comes in the door, the first words out of the mouth, how was your day,, then the story is told, it begins with the same question, same with friends who haven’t met for awhile, what are you up to. The question has many answers, and can cause a return to a moment or period in time, then we talk of those days, the recall, that’s how we used to spend the afternoon; your young, it’s Sunday or Saturday, you have your friends over, if your lucky enough, there is a show on the TV, maybe a movie, there is engagement, everyone understands what the others are doing, you are all together for a purpose, to enjoy each others company. So this is what you did during the afternoon, as you get older, play time is later, the activities a little freer, as you become a little more surer. Step to step, the tree house first, the neighbors, friends, the local mall, the city, the overseas vacation, each step an extension in your life.

Solomon was reflecting on experiences, how we arrive at different places, why we stop outside a church, why we think of others while were inside there, how we feel a different way when we are outside, how we react to people we don’t know, how we continue to build as we go. So from your simple question, how was your afternoon, you have by the time you get to the end of the afternoon, the opportunity to reflect on what you did during your afternoon, and what was it that made it.

A busy woman, on her way to a meeting, she is in a hurry, wants to make time, rushes across the road, misses the bus, and stops on the pavement, the exertion having triggered a murmur in her chest, she is doubly anxious, and out of breath, she puts the gym on her to do list, her profile of herself has grown. There are so many ways our lives twist and turn, a sign  in the window, I need a pair of shoes, the color of her dress, and the party you recall wearing it at.

There are so many influences in our lives sighed Solomon, some productive, some down right destructive. So how was your afternoon he asked himself, what was it that stood out as the preacher used to say, telling us in this way, that we had choices, and choices led to decision, then to actions, good bad or indifferent, it all adds up, same as this afternoon.

More Than Life Itself….

How often we hear those words, I love you more than life itself, it’s depth of meaning, words that every mother has written in her heart, her love for her children, is greater than all the other love she has. The work begins after the honey moon ends. This week is an anniversary for many reasons, the ending of the first great war, and the lives given, in order to prevent the same happening again. In a world of conflict, where common ground is rare, we all want to be successful, your religion differs from mine, you pray Sundays, we do it everyday, Saturday is better for us, well, I do it every other day, as they say, there are many areas of contention, and when it comes to choosing sides, it’s easy to get dragged into issues, just because we are made aware of all these differences. I don’t think Jesus would have shared our differences, and when His life is examined closely, and all religions lay claim to his Being, he made a point of meeting and dining with all, for Him, it was a question of passing on the Spirit, regardless of your faith or circumstance. 2,000 years later, there are signs appearing on a daily basis, all saying the same thing, reform. So if we Love as we claim to do, and if we have Faith, as billions claim to do, it’s time to regard our differences, the same way we regard flowers in the garden; well, we all love flowers, amen.