Oil King…

We make decisions based on wrong and right, it’s black and white, the words sound good, the others in the room nod their heads, well said sir, we don’t make decisions based on the wealth we are entitled to, Solomon sighed, the boss see’s it rather different, what was your responsibility sir. How often they went to war to enrich the few, their sidekicks in place, preparing the contracts before the war even begun, sad but true, nothing escapes the boss you see.

The rhetoric was well rehearsed, the spin doctors well paid, the feel good, that was all that mattered, the blue shirt worker nods his head as he sips his beer, has seen so many jobs disappear to overseas lands, someone has to put an end to it, the rhetoric he hears goes down well, the PR guy smiles, this is working Bob, great cheers, they hide their ill gotten gain overseas, in places few ever heard about, the oil company president is in a great mood, we have to give those spin doctors something extra, he doubles their bonus’s.

At the gates of heaven, the financial elite arrive, they push their way to the top, we have special passes they say, Saint Peter is not impressed. He has the inside story, the reasons they tried to justify war, and how they sold it to the public, no can do he says, but they insist, they show their passes, forgeries mutters Peter.

How many sold out, for the money they were about to make, no can do, there are strict rules to entry, into the house of God, it’s this simple: what did you do for love?

In the furnace, the heat is searing, no relief, a glass of water please, the oil baron calls out to saint Peter, could you send them a warning, please he begs, Peter sighs ,it’s the same as global warming, they only listen when it’s the end.

 

 

Lazarus overhears the conversation, i told you so he says to his real friends…..

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Peculiar Interests

Group of men caught, their interest in small children alarming, women involved too, media goes into graphic detail, meanwhile you can buy this stuff online, Interpol says it is worth billions in cash, this vile industry, peculiar interests, yet society is interesting children by the hour, in all things perverse, the future seeds, the picture is grey, it’s a nasty outcome, where is this interested being created, who get’s it.

Jesus said, you have to forgive and heal, otherwise you pass on the harm, it becomes your DNA, you absorb it. Wisdom few have ever followed. If people are ill, and it’s a pandemic, 60% of all internet traffic is adult themed and sex, it’s time we put up some road signs, and directed those getting on the super highway, witch hunts don’t work, a new system of internet is called for, the same laws we apply to the road, it’s about time.

Me Too Hungry….

Me Too, Me Too, what are you saying Liz, your not making sense, Me Too, what’s wrong with you, we are all hungry, give us this me too rubbish. The weathered woman looks up at the overhead satellite, keeping on eye on them, while they starve to death, Me Too, hunger, who isn’t. Her Friend is stirring the mash they call food, a ladle in one hand, a mobile phone in the other, a modern smart one. She is reading about the Me Too revolution going on, she wonders if it’s a game show, many famous people are involved. Me Too she shouts, her friend sitting in the shade turns around, will you give up this Me Too rubbish or we will send you to the asylum. At least they will feed me there she replies, with a laugh.

The old lady gets up, wonders over to her friend, what is this Me Too business. Sitting in the middle of the desert, they are reading all about the new social media thing, what is it about, they don’t understand it. They press the right button, they go to an information section and donations, the younger one reads, she nods, Me Too she says, who hasn’t suffered in this world.

Suffering says the old woman, I haven’t not known it, amen, Me Too.

Fill the Shoes Chaps….

Over the top the first man goes, only to be eaten by a lion, over the top, the trench, they all stand up, in the meantime, those in the background, giving the orders, change their position, hoping something will work. Next, the woman hears voices, she is suddenly a prophet, we will use her as an example, till her prophecy becomes a conflict, when she doesn’t co-operate with those in the background, they tie her to the funeral pyre and light her up, and so it goes, again and again, they lift them, support them, and when they grow tired of them, they give them the chop, and they wonder why they can’t get anyone to fill the shoes. Years later, fro mall views, the groups in conflict, morph into one, the only thing they have in common, money and power.

Solomon was reflecting, reality, not the rose tinted expressions of a few optimists. In certain parts of the world, there was devout worship of God Most High, and adhered to strictly. In the other part of the world, those who tainted those who held beliefs in the world above, what are you bothering for, they are all saying. Solomon was watching the play from the middle, extremism had many friends in all sorts of places, he prayed accordingly, that God Most High silence the extreme opinion, especially at a time, when there were those making concentrated efforts to increase wisdom and understanding of their view of God. Love is color blind, amen .

It is easy to reflect on why so few over the years, ever stood up, or stood up, only when hidden in a large group. Did the world want the Peace of Jesus or business as usual, he could see the critics to that one, amen.

Run Run Run

Shrieking, screaming, shattered emotional woman runs down her long drive, her petunias have been stolen and her life has been destroyed. Mobile in hand she phones the police, they are private, they arrive in minutes.

Mrs B, what is wrong, one of them asks. He puts an arm on her shoulders, comforts the lady, “so what is the matter Mam,”

my petunias, my petunias she points, to the hole in the ground, they are gone. Her award winning flowers, the ones she was going to enter in the show (be dramatic).

Five minutes away, a child lies hungry in the Ghetto. so much for Mrs B’s petunias, amen.

Turkey’s for Eternity

TFT, they read the sign, Eternity this way, they followed the signs. First you must drink loads, upset your family, your neighbors and your friends, having accomplished this, they send you to platform One, there is a train for turkey’s heading for Eternity, they have been selected. They are fat and over fed, they are weighed down with matters, that won’t have any meaning at all, how do my feathers look dear.

Turkey’s for eternity this way, the porter carries their luggage, the train hiss’s on the platform, steam is rising. Behind barbed wire a small robin looks on, all he can see, hoards of turkey’s heading for Eternity, it’s something he’s seen before, it was just that he was too young to notice, the spectacle is all he can see. The days have passed he is years older, it has more significance for him today.

Turkeys for Eternity, yes, you will be fed once you get there, they continue to mount the train; in the background all you can see are turkeys, all heading the same way, for eternity. The robin flies home to his nest, mentions the turkey sight to his mother. Where are they heading Mother, do they ever come back, she thinks a little, then answers, Son, they are the turkey’s for Eternity, amen.

Eternity Restaurant, we serve for ever!

Question: When George Harrison was singing, “My Sweet Lord,” who was he singing to?

Answer: No one Yesterday, I wrote about the Hindu god, Ganesha, being worshiped in a Roman Catholic church. See here. Really strange stuff. That got me to thinking a bit more about Hinduism. Readers of this blog know I was a big fan of The Byrds rock and roll band way back in the day. […]

via Question: When George Harrison was singing, “My Sweet Lord,” who was he singing to? — excatholic4christ