Those Old Wars

A lot of bloodshed, a lot of heart break, does anyone remember their names, hardly, Amo nods in the bed, still a teacher, he listens, it’s all that He can do these days, listen. You are not feeling well he says, his visitor is an old friend, they were in college together, that is sixty years or more, over a hundred and twenty years between them, come to think of it, a lot of living time on the planet, a couple of major wars, the great one in 1939, do they all remember that, ration cards, doing without petrol, driving the car twice a week, if you were lucky enough to have one.

I’m getting old Amo, says the friend, not unlike yourself, they share a smile. They went on the odd holiday together, when travel was a huge experience, not the twenty four seven event it is now, when tickets to anywhere can be bought within hours of flying, and half the price when you do. Amo sighs, everything moves on, in the end we leave behind what, memories, that are hopefully, a legacy of a sort. The old friend, nods. Will anyone remember us, the thought is on his visitors mind, Amo has no such fears.

Immune to the news, Solomon sighed, when we hear too much of it we switch off. There is another appeal, another famine zone, another disaster, another social meltdown, the car moves along, the radio is changed, music, an awful lot happier, positive. Immune are we, to news and all that we don’t want to hear. Solomon pursed his lips, an observer, he watched it all. It must have been the same at the time of the ancient prophets, the news no one listened to, the descent into pleasure, this is going to last forever. Time tells us, it never lasts, maybe that’s what we need to recall, it is all passed on, your habits, good bad or indifferent.

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Dancing Girl

What is the purpose of my life, the dancing queen is tired, the rehearsals are tedious, getting ready for another show, life is getting her down, her ankle hurts and the chorus of dancers are out of rhythm, is it her calm, she is stressed, is it for the money, or is there a greater purpose, why am I doing this, it’s a question all the great artists ask themselves, am I relevant anymore.

She shouts stop, they all become statues, what is wrong, they are afraid to look her in the eye, is that the reaction you wants she says to herself, is it because I’m a tyrant, a bully in charge, or am I loosing my self. Do I need a new direction, something fresh to encourage me along. They look at her, seeking guidance, she could be having a breakdown, perhaps I AM DOING TOO MUCH, and need to take a rest, she does not think it, it’s what is on their mind.

Solomon sighed, many lives suffer the burn out, and when they don’t take a seat, they end up getting into all sorts of ugly stuff. He has seen it happen to those who over work, a good nights sleep without medication, a miracle for some, he smiles, the duvet and the pillow has always been his friend. He learned young, to have energy and verve, you need to pace yourself, rest in between the moments and you will be grand. Don’t let the mind fool you, there are demons who will tell you what you want to hear. Even the Greatest Spiritual leader of all time, teacher, Jesus, had to get away from the disciples regularly, the body needs rest and the minds needs to put down all it has inside it.

Solomon learned the lesson a long time ago, a close friend, the afternoon rest, the energy that seemed everlasting to well into the eighties, all because she knew how to rest. In the busy world, so many had to go full throttle, afraid of loosing their position, living in fear, while in positions of authority even. The Spirit needs rest, and space to regroup, and in a busy world, that was becoming more difficult. Put it in words he smiled, and it will become a tool for someone else, amen. Turn the extremists into babbling fools Dear Father, and when they try to make life difficult for your people, remind them, the love is in charge, amen.

Harry the Potter

Amo, what does He mean when he uses words such as potter, and stuff, it’s rather confusing, the request of a small child. Amo drifts back to his school days, he is having a recall while lying in bed in his care home. The thoughts on his mind when he faces the divine one, it’s like preparing for an exam, and Amo has high expectations.. A teacher all his life. He tries to remember the answer he gave that day. The child had one of the harry potter books in his hands, was there a connection he could make.

Amo thinks, don’t pretend if you don’t know the answer, and if it’s an educated guess admit it. Amo is tired of the so called global experts, and their expert opinions, it hasn’t worked, caused huge global problems, these so called expert opinions. A bit like Brexit and the United Kingdom, a huge bonus for every country but the United Kingdom, so much for expert opinion.

The potter fashions the clay, creates the vessel that holds liquids or foods, enables us to sit down and eat together. Without a vessel to hold water, think how difficult it would be. The Child nods, easy to understand that. So when it goes wrong sighs Amo, what does the potter do, say when it begins to leak. The child nods, that’s easy the little boy says. He makes a new one. Amo’s face widens into a grin, a wise little vessel this one is. Amo continues.

The clay can be refashioned too, when it gets out of shape he says and needs to be adjusted. You mean when it’s been made asks the Child. Amo sighs, God does not make mistakes, he wants to get it right. How about this he says smiling. The times when you know you done wrong and allow someone else to take the blame, how do you feel about it after, The child sighs, tears in it’s eyes, you feel bad, and you try to avoid them, don’t you, he says.

Amo is trying to connect the thinking of the Child to wisdom, there is no one solution. In his mind he recalls the teaching of Jesus, the faults that are passed on when we can’t forgive, and the resentment it causes later, and the harm passed on.  That would be one reason for refashioning the clay, apart from the destruction of the message it was supposed to carry… One way of putting it, enough for one day he sighs, the class is over, he is back in his bed in the care home, but smiles at the memory of long ago, seeds well sown, he’ll pass that test all right.

 

Wisdom

Rules, we were made to break them, improve on them if you like, so the young assistant listens to the old man, rules, it was her middle name, the fear of getting it wrong, and the paralysis it creates. She was trying to appease the old man, they get diddery don’t they. She mixes the drink with the clotting agent, his swallow is difficult, the muscles don’t have the same dexterity, she assumes he doesn’t want to choke. Where are you from he asks, then he said, I like your accent.

I come far from here she says, her accent east European. She spoons in the thickening agent, and passes him the cup of tea.  He sips with difficulty. Her hand takes his shoulder, leans him forward, makes it easier. He swallows easier. I like your accent madame he says with a smile, so you have traveled too she imagines. You didn’t tell me where you are from, he says, he is smiling at her. why would anyone be interested in where she came from. She remembers her mother, her father, those left behind, inside she sighs, thinking of them, and the struggle they made in order to give her the freedom to travel. Wisdom he smiles, as if he could read her mind. Don’t be afraid to ask he says, with a smile.

The Dream

An institution, large, with it’s own civil service, where Men of Power roam the corridors, giving orders, their way the only way, a form of extremism, there to protect the Church of God, into this, pour a little known South American Spirit, A man of God, chosen from the end of the world, the clean job he is given, impossible in the eyes of so many, the dream. Extremism is not on the to do list, getting rid of it is his main chore. I am surrounded by demons he says, makes it clear from the beginning, Help Me, his words are a call for help. Fear, so damaging, curtails so much thinking, Francis has his problems, made choices at times, some that are hard to support, but admits he is human, is willing and seeking advice.

Solomon had the dream, he woke in the night, there was a darkness that was trying to corrode him, fill him with fear, demonic. He gets up and writes a few words, asks in the Holy Name, the fear disappears. How difficult it is, when those so young suffer such fear that it makes them shrink. No set of words can cure this, only a regaining of trust. actions.

There are many demons hiding in Holy Places, gaining refuge unknown to those around them. Solomon was sending up the prayer; reveal what is hidden, and expose the extremists everywhere, there is a great healing required, amen.

Use music to help you pray..

The Living Spirit

You don’t put in a box and take it out Sundays, it’s not a darn car, the Living Spirit, how often had it been said, you don’t put if off and leave it for special occasions and celebrations, it’s a daily thing. it’s not a woman either, or a date on a Friday night, dressing up, extra face paint or a clean shirt, it’s none of that either. They looked at him, Solomon sighed, I would be looking too if you only knew, the Spirit was alive inside him, and it came with reminders, There is a God, how often do we forget that, he sighs, why do we cart all that baggage with us, a memory he sighed. He was trying to explain the meaning of Spirit, how active and powerful it is, and the respect it demands.

It’s the people you meet along the way, the other souls you meet, how do you treat them, do you look away and ignore them, or do you give them a lift. They looked at him, their heads shaking, who is this man, Solomon did too. All he needed to know, there is a Heavenly Power, you raise the Spirit and get a track record, and they will never forget you.

The Season of lent, what was he giving up, he had so little he could hardly pay the rent. Did they remember the vows they swore the day before, same as those action movies, you forget the story and remember the celebrities. Supposed to be the other way around, the darn story, not the celebrity. The old scriptures, fast from being mean and resentful, there is enough bias in the world to fill the darn Atlantic ocean. So many things they want to know, no wonder Jesus gave out to the apostles, they even complained when he was nice to women, amen.

Solomon sighed, the desert, where he found space, he was far from that, get away and free the Spirit, he pressed the button, and let the voice in, sweet soul music. a half hour of inner peace, the cheapest form of therapy on earth, good music….such as Ray…

 

Men and Women, who else is there to blame!

Ma, why are they always fighting, they claim to believe in Jesus, God, The angels, and they hold bibles and holy books in their hands, I don’t understand it, Ma is at the table making a cake, she is taking a fistful of white dusty stuff, flour I suppose, she puts her hand into a big bag and extracts a white load, white stuff spatters everywhere. Ma, why don’t you use a measuring scales, how do you know there is enough?. Ma smiles, what a bright child, always asking children, just as she reared them. If you don’t know something, open your mouth and say it, wise advice for any mother or father.

Ma is a dab hand at baking, she can do it in her sleep, and she always gets them right, her cakes famous all over the world, even some leading members of the country have enjoyed her cooking. Ma, why are they always fighting, I don’t understand it says the little girl, who is reading her book at a side table, while watching her Ma put the ingredients together. She wonders how ma gets it right, she doesn’t use scales, dips her finger in the baking powder, a pinch of salt, a splatter of eggs, a whisk around, a grease proof sheet, a flat pan, and an hour later, a Swiss roll, so darn easy. How does Ma do it. she listens to her Ma, always has.

Ma bends, slides the baking tray into the hot over, then begins the clean up. You want me to help, asks the little girl. Put on an apron first says Ma,

I don’t want you messing yourself. The little girl takes the drying cloth, ready for the wets ma will soon supply.

Why are they always fighting Ma?. Ma sighs, she has let the question sink in, as she dips her hands into her own sink of dirty dishes. It’s important not to sell propaganda to Children. Ma knows the little girl will believe her when she answers her. Ma has seen the religious networks favor their own, has seen the harm they caused, by not listening to each other, always ready to believe the very worst, then passing it on, poisoning children and minds, creating division, when reaching out and listening, as Jesus said, was the answer.

Little girl she says, you are young, there is a lot to learn. I haven’t got the answer to your question, but I fully understand. The little girl is surprised at Ma, she usually has the answer to everything, she is also in awe of her own questioning attitude, this she has just learned. The little girl continues to dry the dishes, thinking to herself, Ma doesn’t have the answer to everything, somethings she has to learn for herself, amen.

The dishes are washed and put away, the kitchen counter is clean, as it was before they started, ready for the evening meal. Ma, the little girl asks, she is in a very inquisitive mood, are there other questions Ma doesn’t know. Children love to learn. Getting addicted to machines and online stuff is not the stuff they were born with. Ma, why is there so much of the man and woman stuff on the internet, you know, the child lowers her eyes, you know what I am saying, the mother coughs, this is not the question she expected. How do you explain to the child, the interest in all things adult, how do you answer that.

You will have to ask men and women is what she wants to say, but she defers, the little girl is too young for that.