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.

Advertisements

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.

 

 

Me

He loves himself so much he puts himself on answerphone and listens to himself, while imposing a reality on himself that is so far removed from reality to make it real, well, they say he is crazy, how about you. The sound of his own voice soothes, so he records himself all day, then late at night he replays the whole thing again. Amazingly, people donate half a weekly wage packet to hear him sing, and they do it regularly, who am I?

It was late after Christmas dinner, they had been playing charades for over an hour, and it was beginning to get to much, even for, Me. Blame the turkey me sighed, there was something strange about it. Strange, birds eat creepy crawlies, we eat birds, strange that we don’t like creepy crawlies. Solomon sighed, he was doing the thinking. Imagine it, all those angry demons, imagine all those factory reared birds, imagine the match of all matches, matching demon spirits with those about to be decapitated for our Christmas dinner, imagine that. Disposal was a problem, even in the time of Jesus, 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

Can’t Afford it !

We can’t take him in, she was adamant. James comes home with an elderly man, he’s ragged in appearance, has done it once before. Jane is not sympathetic, she looks the old man over, wonders where they would be safe, where the locks of the inside door are. Her eyes rise up to meet James full on, what are you doing to me, we can’t afford this.

If you let me stay I’ll clean the place, Jack is not impressed by the token words, well meant, but Tony can’t look after himself, he’s got the ageing disease, and friends are few, why me wonders Jack, as he heads for the kitchen, coffee on his mind for his elderly friend, and hopefully some peace of mind for himself.

She screams at the boy, alcohol moves the emotions, he cowers, the five year old, covers his head, is worried about a blow he might receive. The friends look away, it’s a party after all, besides the child should be in bed, but the music woke him, so he comes down, weary eyed, and worried, Mammy didn’t want her possible new boyfriend to see him.

Witness, witness, put a line through it and forget you saw it. The report is another call to the arms, the youth of the district are being assaulted in every way there is. The local dealer has a hold with the police that

Edgar hoover would have been proud of. The pay off will be a few days peace, if they ever decide to act on the intelligence anyway.

Witness, witness, did the birds know something we didn’t. Solomon recalled the dream, he was above the bed, looking down, he see’s a shell break open and then a body emerge, are we all birds, are we born again. A wry smile, he’d experienced that already, amen. Can’t afford to know the truth, you can say that again.

Are you worth it!

seriously, you can’t be, you don’t mean what you say, nobody could, am I worth it, do you think your buying me dear, he has a fierce gaze, she is looking for a slave, another to add to the thousands she already owns. The eyes are intense, the captured, the bounty of war, is being sold off with all the other possessions of victory, the mercenaries wont fight again unless they are paid, and a young man is worth ten years free labor, should make a price, I’ll take she says, while jabbing him with a spiked stick, he reacts, but the chain around his neck holds him in check. I’ll train you she says to herself. She has broken the spirit of many strong men, not forgetting the women and children she bought down through the years. Rome, you got to be joking, this is downtown Manhattan.

Thank you for calling our help desk, please hold, a sales assistant will be with you shortly, slaves waiting, the whole darn world, waiting. Solomon sighed, he wrote the story of the Holy Spirit so often, and then changes, divine, it was not the usual way to spend a life, should have been fleecing them online, selling all sorts, whatever, but then again, who could he complain to, if it all went pear shaped, only the One who sent the Great Spirit, and there was no escaping that, are you worth it.

Our thoughts maintain the world, but turning them into wise actions is the one essential, Solomon recalled the words of Jesus, 2,000 years old, but alive, God resides inside you, are you a good neighbor, amen.

Assault in Los Vegas

disheartened gambler and age was not on his side, in the cauldron of fire he fills his heart with hate, like an abusive soul whoever was nearest got it, he simmers under the surface his real intention never far away, one day it is going to burst and then explode, his friends laugh at his weird remarks, seriously you don’t expect us to believe it, then the news and the horror that he created, what was he expecting when he took the last bullet himself, questions on the minds of many how one could hate so much. Mother father children friends and relatives now steeped in sadness, the useless carnage proved nothing, just an assault on the defenceless, when they were least expecting it, amen.

was there any meaning to the horror, Solomon sighed. In the heartland of the dollar, the Christians are martyred, the signs of old control all around, memories of kingdoms that had risen up and died. There was a lot of symbolism, was it

another warning, amen.