Write or Listen

The anxious writer is frustrated, like a junkie seeking the hit, the dealer is late, and he is getting upset as hell. He moans in front on the machine, darn, where is my inspiration, the stuff sends him into another dimension; allows a fertile imagination to go places, some light, mostly dark, where is the dealer, his nerves are at him, in frustration he thumps the table, I need my fix, shit, I will get a new supplier, frustration, he teeth chatter, he is feeling the withdrawal, he has to produce some words, he is a writer after all. Where do you go, he refuses to put words on the page, he is waiting, words, me, me, me.

To listen these days sighed Solomon, is so rare. So many want the attention, can they ever listen, the big man with the power, a junkie for attention, demands, takes what he wants, and worse than that, expects to get away with it. Where is this humility these believers are supposed to have, it is written in the books of old, a little respect. The husband who bosses the wife, sits, where is my meal, darn good cook though.

Write or listen, Solomon smiled, he heard a voice call out the Holy Name, he was heading home, to his temp abode, he laughed inside, the words of old were on many lips, and people were listening. To imagine, a gathering of folks, all sorts, listening to the prophets, wondering what Jesus was going to do next, while all Jesus did through his life, was encourage the kingdom of God, on earth. Listening is good too.

The junkie writer gets the hit, he launches into words, that will impress them he thinks. Jesus, just told the truth, amen.

Advertisements

It Couldn’t Happen to Me….9/11

How often we look at others, our eyes turn down, for a moment or two, as we try to digest what it feels like, or how lucky we feel, it wont happen to me, they don’t seem too well, how could they cope with it, their loss our escape, lucky us, how long do we read the news from afar, the casualty list, the numbers, do we think of families or is it our luck we are sizing up, lucky me. How lives can change with dramatic affect, for all time. Solomon recalled the morning news, all those years before, the seeming animated picture, this could not be real, not live on TV, it has to be a computer generation, then the reality a minute later, that’s real people, that was real jet fuel, that is real life and it’s before the eyes of the world. How one day can alter so much. History teaches us, anything can happen, and old scripture reminds us, there is another life.

Solomon listened to the news, the anniversary, the where were you moment as it were, and the decisions made afterwards, to start a war, and the results thereafter, when the call for a great peace was lost in the big talk, we’ll get even, regardless of the cost, the soldiers return home years later, shell shocked, the desire for guns increasing daily, the nationalistic calls, revenge and security, we have the power. The Roman empire wanted to dominate the world through force, or fear, God had other plans, the memorials still exist, to remind us, war does not work, it only leads to worse.

Mothers, fathers brothers sisters, when did revenge do it for you, or what did revenge do for you; usualy caused more need for guns, and the mentality that using force brings, hatred usually, amen. Jesus pleaded forgiveness, knew how our thoughts are formed, the baggage that destroys, those bitter memorires that you save up, for that great moment, same as the viagra hidden in the shaving bag, for use when you could not do it yourself, but there in the bag, in order to save your pride. Well, in a world thar that wants immediate satisfaction, there are no buffer zones, or patience. Amen

How Many Victims do you Need?

Solomon sighed, the dream, the frenzy, the fear, the blood hatred in the eyes of those seeking justice, the lengths they were willing to go, they wanted their victim, they sought blood. Was this a re telling of the Great Play, by William, The Merchant of Venice, how our desire for so called justice blinds the light inside us.  It was dream time, and he was sharing the worries of another, a young relation of a war victim, as everyone who partakes in war are victims, the winners and the losers, what are they left with; the fields of Vietnam, the concentration camps of world war two, so many victims. Solomon reflected on how the values of an older generation were side lined, as a more modern minded, justice now mind set, took over the leadership of many flocks, and how they used past hatreds to corral the flock into action. None of them held memorials for the millions of children, abused indirectly over the internet, having to digest what few of us could escape unharmed from. How many lives had ended, when the posse was in pursuit, Jesus among them, the thirst for justice becoming a drug as the mob got larger and larger. Revelation sighed Solomon, they might not listen to the words of the Prophets, but they did react to revelation, knowing their day for their judgement could arrive any given day.

Solomon smiled, he caught the dream, listened, saw the spotlight shine on the so called refugee, villain, the light shone for a minute, perhaps less, the mob now has a thirst, the chase over this time, they headed off in search of another. Father, Teach them he prayed. They try to raise the fears in others to justify themselves; and the harm they cause grows like a virus. Solomon say the signs, saw the Spirit, what a sight, and every day since, he was writing rescue remedies, with a lot of success.

Uncertain Times Today

Extremists are being rounded up, their schemes are falling apart, and while there are some who still encourage hate, they can never succeed, it’s as simple as that. Amo was listening to the news, a plane falls from the Sky, a hundred and fifty seven die, a mad man storms a holy place in New Zealand, Christchurch, 49 souls die, how pointed was that he sighed, demons, when will they give up. A good prayer was called for, the usual suspects hope for the worst of reactions, those on the side of good, pray for compassion and understanding, those of evil mind, want resentment and hatred to grow, it was a table tennis match, if such could describe things. Amo sighed, remain calm, it will all work out.

Why do things go wrong, why do good people die, why did I lose my Father when I was young, why why why, there are so many questions that many sought the answers too. The emotions are torn and twisted, why, the heart is sighing, how will I get over this. Amo smiled, it’s not too difficult, sometimes we don’t understand why we exist at all. Some on us in constant state of pain, while others just float across the sky, effortless. It’s about Spirit sighed Amo, there is light and dark, and the story of the talents, think about it.

What did Jesus spend his life doing, in a nutshell, raising the Holy Spirit, reminding us, that God is inside us, you just have to make room, as if you are expecting a visitor to call, it’s not too hard, until this world addicts you, amen. Why did he get rid of demons, why, he came to teach us about our potential, not to let our bad habits overcome us.

Everything she ever wanted…

The attention, free love, the extras, lots of friends, everything she wished for, but there is still a hole inside her, that nothing material can fill, why can’t it be normal. She envies her friends, they’re normal, the boring partners, the routines they have, he leaves the bowl down, never washes the dishes, is always giving Margot their child treats, he shouldn’t spoil them that much, everyone nods and smiles, inside her heart is longing, but she knows, you can’t bring children into the world without foundations. Her friends recommend the child in a box scenario, the artificial thing, you get a list of prospects, and do it yourself. It’s not what she wanted. She retreats inside, it has to be there, the original feelings, where did they go, how do you decide. Everything she wants, it’s already inside her.

The eyes are giveaways, there is an emptiness, she is replaying the lives of old glamour queens and actors, every time she see’s them on the screen, not me hopefully she says. when i get older, i will be surrounded by those who grow with me, those who really love, is it the price of fame, well it comes with risk. I’ll get through it. The next day she decides to slow down, three months later she is on a beach, away from the attention, and herself, the way she used to be, all she ever wanted.

The Golden Child

They need a few words, the King asks, where is the poet, he must write the lines. The pages are before him, he wants to fill them with words, it’s the story of the inner child, the secret place where angels dwell, the mountains of bias and ego don’t exist yet, there is nothing to blind the little one. Everywhere he goes, he can see them, Spirits, only eyes that young can see them, eyes that have not been burdened.

Solomon read the paper over his coffee, the usual, the weekend games, the pundits and their fury, the fate of another manager, by the next day, it would all be forgotten, same way the car park fills and empties, we take new places, and we rarely remember where we parked the day before, unless it’s reserved of course, and we are made to feel important.

A baby sits before the music man, too young to be a fan, can’t spell his name, can’t recall the lyrics, he just bobs his head and listens, the rhythm gets him, and so it gets the angels, who he see’s floating about, cause he is not blinded by things yet, but can see what seems eternal, the way faith is, you can’t see it, you can’t hold it, all you can do is

pass it on. The baby nods, listens with his friends, amen.

To be part of the Kingdom, as Jesus would say, you have to be just like that child. Solomon sighed, it’s amazing what you learn from a simple picture, amen.

The Older Generation

How can they cope she said, it’s all credit, the two friends were sitting in a cafe, retirees, their usual afternoon chat, one of the grand children was immersed in debt, so the friend shared. He sighed, the older of the two, I don’t know what has them this way. He recalls the odd jobs he did in college to survive, he goes on, he is a retired doctor. She nods, instant everything these days, she nods, a woman crosses the street, the boob job, they can’t be real, he smiles, I noticed a few all right, the older generation.

Example, was the same as it ever was, followed. Solomon wondered did they notice the signals they were giving out. It wasn’t anything personal, it never is, till it reaches your door, then the great wish I thought differently moment. He was recalling the chat with the old friend, they talked a few yards as they strolled, about the energy of certain places, why there was a depth of sadness in certain towns and places, depression sighed Solomon, not like the old days, when they used to talk. Listening to the older generation was wisdom in action.

if only they listened to Mosses and hadn’t worshiped the golden calf, maybe that was a future lesson, and a warning to all of us, from the older generation, amen.