The stream of wisdom, a garden grows, reacts to sunshine, is automatic, it grows, sun, rain, moon, stars, the time of year, the cold, the frost, the fourseasons, the days go on for ever, add in the only additive that has a mind of it’s own, the image of man, and the great rhythm is altered. Imagine it, paradise in it’s early form, the animals, birds, everything as it should be, then the actions of the man and woman, it’s all yours says God, but I ask you not to eat from that tree, it has a special function. The enquiring child, the stubborn mind, out of sight, satiated, well it’s a dare almost, love is already toxic, it has to be shared, then the descent, till we get back to the basics, and try it again. It’s easy upset the rhythm.
In the world there were mind gamers; those who played with the minds, it was one time, a love game, then it becomes twisted, then it becomes corporation games, then the changes we would rather not think about. He imagines the garden, the addition of the chemical fertiliser, the death of the small insect, the distress of the bee, and how what once was beautiful, was slowly destroyed. Having encountered demonic minds, who play with minds, Solomon was sending up a prayer to his Heavenly Father, curb their intincts and plans, and let their schemes fall on top them. Enough words, that should do the trick, amen.
Prayers said in the Name of Jesus, the Holy One, are heard in the heavens above. Solomon had seen it so often, it was as if he was watching Jesus do it live, amen.