How Many Victims do you Need?

Solomon sighed, the dream, the frenzy, the fear, the blood hatred in the eyes of those seeking justice, the lengths they were willing to go, they wanted their victim, they sought blood. Was this a re telling of the Great Play, by William, The Merchant of Venice, how our desire for so called justice blinds the light inside us.  It was dream time, and he was sharing the worries of another, a young relation of a war victim, as everyone who partakes in war are victims, the winners and the losers, what are they left with; the fields of Vietnam, the concentration camps of world war two, so many victims. Solomon reflected on how the values of an older generation were side lined, as a more modern minded, justice now mind set, took over the leadership of many flocks, and how they used past hatreds to corral the flock into action. None of them held memorials for the millions of children, abused indirectly over the internet, having to digest what few of us could escape unharmed from. How many lives had ended, when the posse was in pursuit, Jesus among them, the thirst for justice becoming a drug as the mob got larger and larger. Revelation sighed Solomon, they might not listen to the words of the Prophets, but they did react to revelation, knowing their day for their judgement could arrive any given day.

Solomon smiled, he caught the dream, listened, saw the spotlight shine on the so called refugee, villain, the light shone for a minute, perhaps less, the mob now has a thirst, the chase over this time, they headed off in search of another. Father, Teach them he prayed. They try to raise the fears in others to justify themselves; and the harm they cause grows like a virus. Solomon say the signs, saw the Spirit, what a sight, and every day since, he was writing rescue remedies, with a lot of success.

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Thinking Tough

Putting on your  shoes, reaching over the bed, damn, it’s a long way down there, putting on your shoes, what a dream. How simple a thought how impossible the dream, he looks at the shoes, the day is an anniversary. Twelve months since the accident, it seems like yesterday. The waiting is the worst part. He pulled the bell ten minutes earlier, still no response. It’s a busy unit. He stares at the shoes, thinking all the time, the petty issues we worry over, nothing really. The soup is cold, does it matter, the meat is over cooked, was the chef drinking again, the wry comments. He left the restaurant, his memory is fuzzy, it’s never the same after a great trauma. He tries to recall the events, but it gets to the point when it goes blank. He was three days in a coma.

The door opens, she opens her mouth, a cheery sound escapes. Ready for the day, any plans she says. He looks at the shoes, she catches his gaze, knows what he is thinking. One day, they are making great strides medically she says. Nineteen years of age, unable to move from the chest down, and you think it’s tough he says, thinking to himself.

Solomon sighed; there is a Spirit you can ignite inside you, but it requires effort, a step in the dark, but you have to trust. What was it Jesus said; you have to have faith, that’s where the power of Spirit lies. Once you did, you could ask for anything. Imagine the wonder, the feelings in the feet, pins and needles feeling, a grief to some, the greatest of reliefs to others.

The Gift

“Imagine it, your thoughts can be used to remedy, heal, improve, restrict demons, curtail extremism, and an awful lot more, while being still able to enjoy a nice glass of wine, not forgetting the simple things, the peace of mind that good sleep brings, imagine, those demons of the night, they can do nothing, simply aware, of the future that awaits them, and being merciful, at least they get the opportunity to amend, and it’s all real.”

“Are you for real she says”, interrupting his flow. I only asked him about the book he was reading, she didn’t expect a thesis.

They are sitting side by side on the Jet, they are both flying across the ocean, strangers, she had asked a question about a book he was reading, “the imitation of life according to Jesus”. It’s a five hour flight, and he reminds her of someone from her past. She does not fear asking questions. Well, if he is reading a book about “Jesus”, he has to be friendly and easy to open a dialogue with, she hopes. Her own trust in the world is on a downer, divorced, discarded, dumped, thrown overboard, at a loose end, she is looking for the light. She’s been in this frame of mind all day, the journey she is making, a rest and escape from it all.

You don’t believe he says with a smile. Her eyes rise in her head, she looks at the ceiling, if only he knew she thinks. Dumping her stuff on a stranger, who wants to hear about other peoples woes. She purses her lips, half looks at the book cover, then begins to speak.

“If he was so right way back then, it seems he has disappeared don’t you think,” she lowers her eyes to the book.

Jesus she says again. He smiles, it’s catching isn’t it he smiles. The more you think of the Holy Name, the memories and feelings that are created. Well she says, you seem confident about it, can you explain it simply for me. He hums and haws. No one want’s to be a bad teacher, and not every question can be answered as if it’s coming from a machine or robot.

His tongue swirls around his mouth, he catches the scent of her perfume, it makes his nose itchy, he reaches up and rubs his nose.

“Spirit he says, it’s inside you, and there is the Spirit of God, that stuff you call the soul. If you imagine your soul as a new computer, without scratches, then years later, used, with a few cuts and smears, after years of usage, when you are prepared to put it in the rubbish, you might call it a journey. Life is like that disc. What condition is it in at the end of the journey when it’s returned to the original vendor, do you get me he says.”

She is confused, she is trying to get her head around it. Who wants a philosophy lesson on a mid Atlantic flight. Computer discs, souls, the condition at the end, she is thinking all these bits. He looks at her, can see that she is digesting what he has said, waits.

Confusing he says, she pauses, well, it’s not what I expected. The air hostess is passing with the trolley. Can I have a gin and tonic he says, and yourself he says. Non drinker she says.

She listens to the crackle of the ice, as the liquid flows over the ice. He listens and talks well, she wonders how long the flight is, there are many questions she wants answers to. Being an achiever all her life, this conversation is something she does not want to miss. Her Heart feels lighter, that name she sighs, Jesus.

Olden Times Men and Girls

Two wives, or three, it was the custom of those times, no outrage, no cries of despair, no call for rights, no culling, no extreme thoughts, this was how they lived, the blessings, the children your love renewed, gifts, Spirits that your love provided space for, how simple, no guru, no extreme master or mistress, awareness of God, the center of the Universe.

Solomon read the story of Hannah, an old Jewish tale, recounts the woes of a young married woman, a descendant of Abraham, as so many of the Universe are. She appeals to God, her prayer is answered, she keeps her word, she calls her son Samuel, dedicates his life to God, three thousand odd years, we remember him.

So the streams of understanding spread out, different groups or cults, new religions, all with the same God, just a matter of understanding, pride and power is very hard to overcome though, have you seen the fashion these days, who with no money needs reminding, how many children worry, they don’t want to appear poor, the poor everywhere treated appallingly, get real. Throw away those rose colored seeing glasses, open your eyes, are you afraid to stare, don’t look that way chuck, what she says, that guy looks like he will rob you. How fear is so easily passed.

She puts on her make up, the babysitter is late, checks her phone, hurry up molly, she has to be on the floor by eight, otherwise they will dock her fifty bucks, with another fifty for the sitter, that will cut her wages a hundred bucks. She runs down the street, hopes it wont rain, gets to the club on time.

The floor manager gives her a feel of the ass, nice dress Marcy, she hates that, how he feels up the girls, some so young, she hopes they will escape the joint. The belly is over his belt, many dinners and too much good living, has taken one of those upper pills for the lower region, wants value for money. She looks at the wedding finger ring he wears, what woman married that lump of blubber. Old men and young girls, you wonder if there is an angel or two among them?. You just have to hope.

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.

The Tramp, The Limo and The Healer

Charlie walks the sidewalk, he is dressed as usual, poor, a limo pulls alongside. Inside, dressed to the nines, some folks he used to know, is that Charlie Brown, damn has he changed. Charlie, he recognises the voice, it’s from another time, one of those. They tried to lord it over everyone, played the markets, robbed from pension funds, and laughed all day long, this is so easy, just put your man in the position and he will pay and pay. Charlie refused to play their game, he left them years ago. Charlie smells the expensive perfume, she is as thin as a rake, is that the fashion these days, Charlie is thin cause he can’t eat often enough. They invite him into the limo, Charlie come on dude, is this meant to be real. He is on his way to see a friend, they are on their way to a party. Choices sighed Charlie who loved to drink. Got an appointment he says, walks on. The car pulls away from the kerb, what a dumb ass the thin rake says. Charlie makes the friend’s house, he is doing a little healing, has a great relationship with God, he just has to ask. Politics and God does not mix, money never has loved anyone yet, and the Holy Spirit doesn’t come around too often.

Solomon sighed, the dream he had the night before, the three men in suits, had a boy with them, a very sick one, frail and thin, only divine help would help him, so they travelled with the child, they hear about the power of Jesus and the Spirit, could it be real. The Father loves the child, and the young boy urges them, he has had the dream too

. It’s the story of old, how they travelled to see Jesus, the power of the Spirit was in him, so they went the distance to see him, made the effort, we only have to touch him they felt. The child is brought back to health before their eyes, then the three wise men, star-struck, this is better than Lazarus, they see it with their own eyes, Solomon smiled. He saw the men in the dream, this is the Power of Heaven. We only have to raise the Spirit, Amen.

Love 1907 Style — The Müscleheaded Blog

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Hey gang! I found a very appealing and fascinating set of postcards from 1907 , featuring newlyweds off on their first adventure together : – their honeymoon. These cards were published by the Julius Bien & Co. Lithographic firm, which was in business between 1850-1915 in New York City. Bien himself was originally an immigrant […]

via Love 1907 Style — The Müscleheaded Blog