Innerdialects

it is The Secret Place. 5 am. Not meant for the faint hearted.

My glacier melts like old ice into summer. The Grim Reaper sizzles, overtaken by the Lord of the Harvest!

You’ve been to the original Garden of Gethsemane? – by Olive garden, & Vine -press Gatshemonem, by the Kidron valley ravine, under where an underground Brook flows into Bethesda’s Healing springs – I am right?

My dream of going there gets remote, but I ask Abba, to send me a dream, a vision of it? And every now and then, and more recently, every day, I trip in a Venue,

– allegory ~ Vineyard, not exactly pretty – the original garden at Gethsemane : long dry walks to it- you get thirsty, you are struck by a Silence –

Listen close- you hear a Voice, not all human, He’s saying your name and mine, over and over, still praying, our names, billions of us, transacting a deal: His blood for ours. All those years ago, the Cross where a Man slayed hell.

Gethsemane’s cup is flavored with Seasons stripped of adult- fig leaf – cover, (however that sounds).

My secret Vineyard is no child’s play and yet I enter as a child, young again, young enough again to run up to Him, stick tongue out at serpent in the bush. No need to need any Tree of Knowledge. I have my own personal Tree,

on Which Yeshua died for me, and lives to let His dark eyes lead me up the trail, to a rock at Gethsemane’s yards, where He thought of us, by name, address, nationality, color, creed, ugh -!caste, legal monsters, broken hearts, all…

a Vine full of us. A vineyard full of Soul. Souls.

Think of this, really take that in, sip on sip: pause, take a break from the bushes full of tempting other deals.

Break clean from the brew within. Allow our inside out to be renewed, sealed, taken by the Power that raised Jesu from the dead.

Sure it is dark, 5 am. But watch little tendrils of Day wipe shadows clean. Watch the floor around our bare feet – warm with a radiance no man created. Allow the Spirit – not stored in man made casks, hear His Heart ? It is the Beat of a Father waiting.

_{“Rise beloved, the Winter is past. Hear the Turtle Dove? Spring lilies grow off thorn bushes- no more forgotten, forsaken. You are my Delight, the Jewel in my Crown, the spring in my step as I leap across the dread mountain* ravines between us…*(despair, division, discouragement)}“

_{(Selections from the Song of Songs, Zechariah, Isaiah, adapted. Ref Mathew,Henry Comment on the leaping Hart *@ song of songs)}

Why did He talk of wine, ‘Spirit’ as in drink? The illustration would be understood. Its what we crave: quenching our thirst.

We may survive without food, but not without a drink. A good friend said, ‘alcohol is a gift, from nature.’ This isn’t that.

This is that Thirst, Affecting humanity, a bloodthirsty compelling need for satisfaction that we wish, for forever. Everything local is insatiable. An energy that won’t outlast our clock.

prayer : Affect me Oh God Lord. Be my one pure state.