Give Me Shelter from my fears…

What was there to hang on to, what was there to worry about, she was being moved on again, the lady in the old gray coat. Her dreams were years ago she can hardly remember, but she held on as long as she was made to, then decided to throw it all out. The bags are stuffed full, she pushes the trolley, her sleeves rolled up, its not that cold, besides you get used to it, she sighs. Those arms were so smooth once she remembers, then again, so they, did any of her friends remember, hardly.

Passed on the street, she snarls under her breath, they are looking at me, she would she says to herself, as if her life was all that mattered, and it did, but that was part of the disease, she walks up the steps of the great cathedral, there is always comfort there, and all of a sudden she wakes up, reaches out her hand, and feels him beside her; just a dream he sighs as he holds her close to his side. He gave her shelter from her fears, she remembers,

amen.

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Endurance and Love

 

Start at the end, she lies on the bed, holds a memory of him in her hands, a chain. each time she touches it she feels his strength. To this day she mourns for him, it was the heart she admired, it was her spirit he cherished. Solomon was remarking on the strength of love, and what it could achieve. The times they had endured; he was walking through the remnants of the human graveyard, once a city, it was now a memorial. He saw the thin figures scattered about, he had the photo’s on the wall to remind him, this actually happened; the gas chambers, the false teeth, the bones, the crematoriums. What proof did you need; what he saw devastated the human heart, a reminder what it could do, when it all went wrong.

The number is a tattoo on her arm, her memory, their memory. It was a difficult time, but their love endured; fifty years later he still makes her smiles; She tells her visitors; he always shared his ration with me, but he was a man when he died a young boy, amen.

There are those Dear Father in Heaven, of extreme views, trying in work their way into he thoughts and minds of all who are good, trying to sell them fear, pass on all that is wrong. remind them

for ever more, that their schemes will only fall on those that attempt to harm and no one else, amen.

Getting Married, or where did all the years go!

marriage, they were drinking in a downtown bar, an early house. Seven in the morning, the heads were drowsy, the hangover affect, the brain slow to engage, the words just a mutter, a sigh, a fart, what a life.

“Life is a marriage!”

What do you Mean jack?

Well, the day your born your into it, and the day you die you dissolve it, isn’t that a marriage. His friends looked at him, maybe that was it. Divorce was akin to a breakdown, a RETREAT. They shake their heads, his companions. You got it wrong they say. Marriage is a relationship bond, the promise to hang together not alone on the journey. When we get carried away, children arrive and we settle down.

The same way life is a marriage, the older you get, the more becalmed you become.

That Hurts!

On time she wakes, presses the button on the side table, the news. My pills, where are they, her first thought, can’t do anything without them, so see thinks. She is hiding demons; not demons inside, but the demons she is actively fighting. Her Spirit is strong, has been known to confront, no one mess’s with her, one strong woman they all say. In the morning no one can see her, the struggle, the weakness, the admitted failure; she drops two morning pills, they will put her on a calm cloud; she is ready to think.

She squeezes her hand, balls it, is the pain gone. She was playing guitar the night before; after there was a long ache, worse than a tooth ache; she wasn’t a talker, she played guitar instead. Her leather trousers are on a heap on the floor; she looks around for another pair of shoes; least she didn’t take home someone. It’s like the mind thing, when you forget, some things she wish she could forget it all; yeah, she had those thoughts, but they never went far, she numbed the demon first. That hurts, it’s her knee, she needs to sleep with it straight, her memory is vague; one thing she knows for sure, Her Spirit must remain strong, and that hurts sometime.

She had it all, another life lost, another star gone. So the pages said, the talent lost. But was it really; didn’t the events give an added energy to her works, as a new generation became aware of her artistic output, and would be influenced accordingly.

Jesus and His Friends….

He’s not supposed to hang out with women, they should be at home, women, what do they need to hear, they don’t make decisions, we do. The apostles are having a few beers in the tavern, Jesus is after heading out of town, they are doing his head in complaining, could they not just relax. Why are they anxious in the company of women, what do they fear. Jesus is seeking a place to relax, sit still, enjoy nature, listen as they say, undisturbed, he likes Martha, Mary, Elizabeth, even Lazarus’s sister, a pretty cool person; she listens better than the men, and they have no difficulty thinking the options through; always with the well being of children in mind; they are not planning on global domination, they think of the world to come, and how it will be for children. They are tired of the constant wars, and the talk of revenge; It’s doing his head in, they have to forgive, but first he has to forgive them, so he seeks solace. Lying on a blanket in the middle of a field, he asks wisdom to come to him, listen he says, this is not an easy situation, i need your advice, what will I do…Jesus and his friends, Men and women were always equal, they just had different skills in a world that was slow paced, that’s all….

The Connector

They are not soldiers you train and put into action archbishop. The young curate was risking his career, trying to explain the difficulty, the shortage of new entrants, and why it had happened. Old men don’t want to listen, unless it’s the doctor they are talking with.

In the fifties, there were processions of young men, that ran the length of a football field, men who had offered to serve the higher calling, “called” by the Spirit, the Spirit the religious orders cared for and minded as if life itself depended on it. It was years ago, the parade was now a trickle, a drip drip of water compared to the full flow; same way the Spirit had been depleted due to a whole set of factors too long to mention. The basic rule according to Solomon; you nurture the Spirit and the results will deliver. Sadly, that Spirit was squeezed out of existence almost; too many interfering influences, and too little forgiveness, just as happened to so many things, as the new takes over from the old.  Would they ever learn sighed Solomon?.

One day, was that too much to expect, one day they would get it right. The Spirit is the Holy Messenger, the one who reminds of the life to come, brings blessings, it was spoken of many times in the ancient scripture, it was told in the ancient tales, how many of us had invited angels into our homes, and the blessings they would bring with them. Today, fear rules he sighed, and it’s not unreasonable either, the threat of violence on those who suffered it, is devastating. Solomon wrote the story so often, a thousand times, get the Spirit part right, the rest is made easy. Spirit connects us, amen.

The Vocation

He is lying across the bed, in his PJ’s, a side table, on it a new Glock, the equalizer as he calls it, since he took up his vocation,  a hit man for the mafia. He is pondering, it’s a few hours before the assignment; it shouldn’t a difficult, the target has no protection; he is just another noisy environmentalist, a planning artist, he objected to a new development that threatened the water supply in his town, a bit like JFK when he was slow to embrace war, he was in the way. Room service he sighs as he swings off the bed, and pats his way to the en suite. Professional, he always likes to look good, it also helps. Well dressed types rarely arouse suspicion till it’s too late. Over the years he has liquidated a few, his vocation as he calls it, the only spirit he needs, the cash fountain that gushes the same way the blood gushes from his victim, that’s his thrill, money.

The world of God, the times of Jesus all those years ago, spell a different thrill, and a bounty at the end, that is simply beyond belief, a world based on love empathy and sharing, where there is plenty, it requires Spirit of the loving kind, intangible, you can never own it, you have to pass it on, your responsible for it, a minder.

Solomon looked at the empty church; it was over a hundred years old. He wondered how many knees had knelt at the pews, the knees, the prayers said. Years before he saw the pictures, full houses everywhere, fifty years later, they are close to despair, half empty even on the busy days, vocation. What happened in the intervening period, to cause such a flow in the other direction; they forgot about the Spirit he supposed, and thought they were running a business.  He sighed, that is easy to fix, amen.