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.

 

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Old Man Christmas

The days close in on the main event, and the visitors are on their way, friends and relatives we haven’t seen for a while, including the “old man”, will be showing up. Last preparations, runs to the store, the gathering of wood, it is all getting prepared. I have met many, and many had met him, but it was the “old man”, who told the best stories. Every night over the Christmas period, he used to read us stories, from his head, the story of the turkey with the three heads, the most entertaining one of all. He had problems with his eyesight, didn’t know where to look!

What was the reason I remember the “old man”. why did others slip from memory, it was one of those questions that is not easy to answer, I suppose when you are small, it’s the great tales you recall as you get older, and the “old man”, well, he loved telling them. I realize now, many years older, and hopefully wiser, he was just passing the tradition on, a bit like Christmas itself, a reminder of other things, amen.

“and there was a slice of bacon for dinner and gravy if we were lucky!”

“did they do dessert?” asked siobhan, her face down

We would always fall asleep before the end. Isn’t that the great thing about a good story, it just lives on, with the help of the “old man”, of course.

The Great Flood

What’s great about a flood, every ancient and not so ancient generation, have experienced one, Solomon was being vague. You speak in riddles some say, he sighs, sometimes it easier than saying it straight, it’s less offensive for starters, but talk of floods, he experienced a few himself, and learned. The talk across the world was of the sexual disease that seemed to attack almost anyone with a semblance of power. A new story, another victim, another story, another and than another, to a point when it is all they can think of, sexual crimes. The last thing the world needed to hear, another victim, another big name hits the dirt, the press is foaming at the mouth, in newsrooms they glance at each other, what about bob, what about john, what about the 300,000,000 under tens with access to the adult web, the real flood they all ignored. It was simple math, the Spirit is a living heart, real living heart, and the young hearts carry the hope, they have soul, meanwhile, while the adults rage and tell their stories, this flood is ignored, as if it wasn’t happening. It is easy get distracted, and human nature was forgetful. 50 million die in the last great war, all of them victims, a flood of evil forgotten.

The demon and his ilk were glad to have the focus on the current imbalance, while the real flood continued unabated, as if there was nothing the could do about it. Solomon sighs, he wrote is a long time before, the simplest of solutions. Then a friend shows him the dark web as it it called, a zone off the main internet alley, where security allows anything to be traded, and it’s all legal, someone was fooling an awful lot of people. Say the prayer he sighed, it usually worked to halt the evil threat.

Don’t Blame Donald

The easy target, the big smile, the wealth, the power, the outspoken, the trouble with North Korea, the sexualization of the world, the permanence of God, where do we stand. We do not agree with what our parents tell us, we learn from experience, but one thing you can’t ignore, the lump under the carpet became a mountain, and now we have to deal with all of it. Some call it unfortunate, some call it a disgrace, tell that to the fish that swims in the dirty ocean, things have to change, don’t blame Donald, listen instead. 24 trillion off shore, banks using software to steal legally, one day is has to end, amen.

My Interest

My interests he asked, it wasn’t the question she was prepared for, my interests, she didn’t want to be evasive, it was not the question you hear on a first date. Why is he asking me, she makes for the bathroom, her I –

phone is with her. She texts a girlfriend while sitting on the loo, he asked me this what am i supposed to say to him, he’s cute. Between the piddle and the text she gets a few suggestions back. Being honest she didn’t know her own interests, tended to follow the herd, what most did in fact, the road of least resistance. It was now answer time, she comes back smiling, her lipstick is done up, she pouts a fiery smile, hoping it will distract and point him to the late night entertainment, my interests, he sounds as if he wants to get to know me, what was i thinking. She orders them a double sambuca, and another, soon they will stagger from the restaurant, …..but you still haven’t answered my question, what are your interests, he poses the question dressed in her bathrobe, while they discuss the coffee on the table.

Solomon sighed, God knows you from what you practice, amen.

Spirit

there are two types, that that comes from above, and that that comes from men, the Spirit above brings with it, a bounty, eternal life, it is everlasting, goes on and on. What’s the difference asked the child, it was confusing, the spirit was the spirit, what was this other “Spirit”. The power of God lived in Holy Spirit He said, it could heal, make the impossible possible, it protected and guided, it was what the old prophets wrote about. It was the lasting kind, and it was gathering in strength, as love grew stronger. The boy nodded his head, it was the answer to his prayers, a simple explanation. He was experiencing strange things, he could see angels, he was aware of old spirits, was he going crazy like his sister, she was still in the asylum. Now he realized what he had was a gift.

Solomon encountered Holy Spirit, and more, and it all pointed to a reforming world, a change, and the results in the time period, make it clear, this is ordained from above, how wonderful was that, awesome.