1. “Angels do not play this harp*”
2. “…this is the saddest joy and the happiest sorrow.”
3. “The tragedy of God”

1. ‘Haarp* not to be confused with ‘Harp’ actually, Tesla.1995 &
2. The return of hostages that have a wrecking kind of relief. Never in history have we been this tossed in each others’ histories/ borders/ hurt. My 1.4 kg brain is wired to only all I can carry, but These phrases met me mid air with the result that am staring at how visible our invisibility is getting. If that makes sense, This Unsettling Emotion, this new normal, this No- Peace on Earth.

Believers in zero Supernaturality spread their faith thick. Some pray to ourself or rivers, trees, sun, moon. Or to good people & hymns handing down faith like Habits worn at the altar, at incense fires and bronze- hand-held manageable cross,

in gentle Stained- glass lit Shepherd with some pastel white sheep. Cathedral microphones may or may not work. We kneel, sip, sigh, leave.

Awkward detail: the Original Messiah lived dangerously, died an ungentle death, then rose. We made relatable traditions: cake, Santa & mistletoe. Other details were disturbing;

today I woke to a 6 am: pungent with some of our nice trees being electric-sawed by local authority. This and 2 not nice exchanges that happened on other unrelated topic.

What confuses me is God’s response to my sulking!

Oswald Chambers calls it, The tragedy of God ergh. My God is not with me asking ‘Godly vengeance’. The ‘ Tragedy’ of This, is that He loves my brother who hates me;

here at the rugged Cross, I see a Human Shield, His Arms spread out wide, protecting, against my fiery darts…. whaaat?!

“If you’ve followed me, you’d know what Divine is…” He says, in Still Small Voice driving me up the wall I’ve constructed against any form of opposition: meaning the bloodied Cross is bloodied because “..if I make my bed in hell, there You’d follow me…”

Tragedy , to some of white-washed graveyards, yes? We would like God to be at least a little more respectable than that;

this is the mess of True Love: His maddening Eternal Perspective. It disorders our disorder.

We thought Prayer meant asking for nice house in pasture with Biblical lilies that sung psalms in King James English.

But here I’m to pray for Aunt Hahanabi and Didi Lamo our local dacoit queens & Baba Segu, Honbo Vinbo and ShakaBukka – in their dedicated evils.

He says, “Yes‘. (I try different translations, in case one Bible translation didn’t quite get it).

All these above, going on in dawn mist; oh humans aren’t wired to take on more than we chew, see, hear, taste, breathe?

Ask our local pet swiss-shepherd, named Ivory- Helen Keller: she’s a smart blind girl-canine who reads us like news headlines. She smells out love, hate, thief & angels. Howls like wolf when worried, grins like a beaver when we play. IHK doesn’t speak Human, but does innerdialects out loud. Good Angels do not play warped harps.

I have a tooth ache just chewing on all the headlines we buy each morning for the net price of morning meditation.

Then there’s the Bible on Friendly-neighbour-goodness according to God, and to go by Him, I must bless haters. If that is not Love, then the sun is an illusion and we all like sheep are artificial generations going astray.

But Something that talks Love no matter the Hate, has my hostage heart running for Shelter of One I cannot resist anymore. It is the saddest joy, the happiest sadness, these Times. I’m crushing inside, just thinking how hard it can be for an Offender to get Love from the ones they offend.

FMFWriters

The Focal Point of Spiritual Power

Daily prompt -2123

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