Head Change

Empty, re load, begin again, a new day, reload begin again, the night comes, the rest, the day begins again, we start the process over, along with the baggage we collected, trying to sift through the debris, because debris is what it is, we just sift it, for the sake of change.

Solomon was reminded, was daily reminded, about the power of Great Spirit, and why the words of the Eternal Prophet would never fail: don’t collect the baggage, sift and get rid of the junk, same as said all those years ago. The teaching of old had been misused and abused, with ceremony created to make sense of the misunderstanding; it was the same as putting an extra tire on a four wheel car, what is the fifth one for, it is not supposed to be on the car, it is just a helper in the case of a break down.

For years they have been trying to understand the true meaning of the words, why were the words spoken in the first place; forgiveness and access to

Love was the same thing, you don’t give demons a leg to hold onto, let the baggage go and watch the life soar. Demons had to feed on the excess of human kind, while love needed love to survive.

Solomon read the miracle work carried out by an outsider to the established churches, at a time when the major churches had admitted the era of the miraculous had ceased. Solomon encountered that healing Spirit, his only question was, where did that Spirit go for all those years. It was time for head change, and for the truth to be known; God is inside you, thereby, don’t fill the head with useless filler that keeps you busy, head change required.

Advertisements

Older Persons

Oh Golly, he looks at the desk, he has to get up, in his hand the calendar, how do i fit them in, it’s impossible, he wonders about it, the new year, looks at the calendar, can’t fit it in their either, when was the birthday, realizes he missed it cause he can’t even remember it, so long since they

celebrated one, oh what a chore, visiting the older ones at such a busy time of year. His Father sits by the bed, the air is sterile clean, smells hospital, instead, it’s one of those ultra clean hygiene marketed nursing homes for the very nearly fully aged, the last resting place before the big departure at they say, where you fletter your last days among the weakest, where you hear the late night screams of the tormented. His Father is close on eighty five, has been in the facility three years, two years more than expected. The financing of it, the mortgage on his sons house and the small pension he draws from his days in the public service.

It’s high maintenance, the running costs going up annually, demand for retiree spaces is huge, the elderly generation living longer, the rest of the generations only now realizing it, they will be elderly one day too, the cost of all these programs, re opening the old arguments for euthanasia.

Solomon was listening to the woes of an old friend. He didn’t want to install his Mother in an old folks home, her ability to move about severely curtailed by a degraded hip, that doctors can only treat with pain medicine. Older persons, they cost a lot to maintain, 2,000 a week, 1500 a week, depending.  Solomon listened to the figures, was shocked, it would be cheaper to stay in a good hotel. His own thoughts of retirement, whatever surprise the boss had for him, had worked for ever.

Seriously

Once upon a time there was a woman, who ability to heal outshone all the stars of the New Hollywood, remarkably, she was the worlds first female evangelist. The testimonies, readily available in the archives of all the major U.S. dailies, recall healing on a Jesus scale. Medical evidence exists, the facts are real, and this was the revival movement at it’s infancy. The belief was, that the second coming of Jesus was imminent, and a revival in faith was instituted. The temple where she held her gatherings, in Los Angeles, evidenced so much healing, it made clear the words of Jesus, i will send the Holy Spirit, he will be your helper. Less than eighty years ago, this was all going on. Famously, via the words of Augustine, it was claimed centuries before that the era of miracles and healing was over. However, having encountered Great Spirit myself, I often wondered where the Holy Spirit had gone, it has to live in the heart, how we encourage that Spirit is my favorite hobby.

In a nutshell, what we fill our heads with becomes a traffic jam as sure as junk food becomes a health problem. We might get away with it in the beginning, but it always catches up with you. On a side note, a person who claimed to know me well, claimed, he was lying of course, well I was on my way to the “office”, when he pulls up, he has the actors pose, distraught, upset, reads my concern, I listen, he adds a few tears, has a story, he needs money, he has cheated me before. Would you lend him a couple of dollars, I did. He assumes the Holy Spirit is no cheese to worry about, how will the story end?

One day is all we need, to prepare the right prayer, may God Most High in mercy, pour out the healing spirit, and fill us with the right frame of mind today and everyday. For those who want to research the evangelist mentioned above, her name is Aimee Semple Mcpherson. Her son, is Rolf Mcpherson.

Aimee Mcpherson

A woman is filled with the Spirit, an energy that comes from afar, it has the power to heal, word spreads everywhere, Her name is Sister Aimee McPherson, she lived in the early parts of the 1920’s, started the revival movement, a woman, and this at a time when women had few rights, just imagine it. They came to her in droves, they even built the great Theater in Los Angeles, what was the history of this woman, and more importantly, where did that Spirit go. If it was around once it will be around again.

Solomon was reading the story of the pioneering spirit, who filled meeting halls and temples to over flowing capacity, while delivering the healing help, what happened to this great energy. It was an insight to to today, when preachers had lost that initial zeal, tied down by too many burdening rules, as if the impressionists themselves were under threat as they painted their great masterpieces. Who was Aimee McPherson.

 

 

Hear my Voice….

She runs up the stairs, admires her slim figure in the wall length mirror at the top, the transformation, six months earlier she was anybody, she was now the chair person of a local charity, and local was New York. She left her make up bag in the shower room, an essential, given that she’d be meeting people for the next three hours. The world of Good intention she sighed, imagining herself meeting the Pope, the Dali lama was too far out for her, but she’d meet him too, if she had to, or as she termed it, while doing my civic duty dear. The horn honks, she takes a deep breath.

“don’t chauffeurs know their station anymore” she quips. It comes with the appointment, a driver and car for official functions, she calls him her chauffeur.

The world of good intention, or the intention of the idea. From a distance it sounded too easy, and there were many who were glad to have it easy, as nobody wanted to be challenged, only then would their be real solutions. You have to accept it she heard a confidant say, friends were now confidants, she had acquired power. You have to accept a certain level of homelessness, even at Christmas time. When she heard it said the first time it bothered her, well, she lived very comfortably, and poverty wasn’t easy on the eye, it didn’t sit well with the chesterfield suite either. She was adamant, she would change it all, she was different, she had an education, she wasn’t a home trophy either.

Six months later she is rushing down the stairs, when her high heel sticks in a wood split, (all the floors are natural wood, more organic and good for the soles of her feet), As she moves forward, her ankle twists, does she fall or.

I told you for the hundred time, I’m homeless, and i don’t do house share, did you not see my Vietnam war record. The counter assistant is beginning to panic, he mentioned Vietnam, a trigger word, so the specialists said, the behind the scenes advisers. She moves a curl from her face, she is too young to be doing what she is doing, but volunteers are in short supply, they also mean more money for services provided and admin.

At the world charity center, they are having their annual review. They are a group that meets twice yearly, the way

every industry does, the heads of organisations meet, discuss the thrills of the year, and the outlook going forward. In the previous five years, personal injury charities have been thriving, the demand for services doubling year in year out, a real boom area for the charity industry. If society is getting smarter, should it not be going the other way, hear my voice, amen.

Malala~by Paul Lenzi — OUR POETRY CORNER

Malala Malala Yousafzai (For Malala Yousafzai) five times shot by medieval misogyny bullets of brittle belief aimed by ancient assassins at innocent dreams fifty million young girls take to second-class beds every third world night but this one slender flower empowered by sisterhood shared at the roots flush with uncommon courage caught […]

via Malala~by Paul Lenzi — OUR POETRY CORNER

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!