Category: heart, treasure, gratitude, word, humanity,

Say

I write for a group of writers :Five minute Friday and this week we ‘Say‘ in five minutes, what’s between our fingers, asking to be said. I’m thinking of Ghezu a local Dancer and she was good to feature on a video shoot for my daughter, but

net pic

we got the feeling she was holding back,

though every word she said was affirmative. Yes she’d be there, she said – terrace shoot, or field, wherever.

Ghezu moves like a swan, she’s a worshipper, a leaner on the Everlasting One. And yet the arms fall a fraction too late, the toe moves a step behind, as if her conversation with movement is being reined by another emotion.

We spoke again, and in person. No, her dates did not coincide with ours. She blended and took my movement to the next level, this was sheer genius.

We’d planned a five second of a Lazarus rising, and one with the woman leaning to touch the Hem of Jesus’ garment. Ghezu worked it like a vision in slashed jean and frayed white Tee. She had more to say than I could even visualize for her. She’s not camera shy, she and the lens meet eye to eye and there’s a story happening that Jesu Himself must’ve designed for her. And yet, she’s not ready yet.

Maybe later I say. My daughter is disappointed, Ghezu herself is. We have a quick limesoda and leave with a prayer….

then I know Ghezu needed that more than any work.She’s tired and worn out with schedules. She’s asking Time and the space to do nothing for a bit.

I start to say something but the words sit down in my tongue. Yea, we all need the Pause;

the space to say nothing at all, before we really speak.

We, look for You

Like sunflowers to the sun:

You lookin for me to look for You.

Who’d’ve thought Creation forever stalks its

Creator: even in our vilest cuss, we Address You:

We know that we look for You, to blame, or occasionally bless:

like a moon to the sun, we watch/ orb Your orbit

a whirl to Your Pool

twilight to Your Dawn

salt to Your seas; oh maybe we don’t know

that we know :

we look for You.

You, lookin for me

2024 : Year of Release!

Mid War & rumors of more, our girl Vihan asks, “Ma, could you do my Video?”

Whaaat?

Single: ‘ JESUS’ Co- written By Grammy winning Songwriter SethMosley & Vihan, Producer X O’Connor, of Full Circle Music.

VIHAN “I was nothing before the Word of God touched me, when Jesus moved intoy heart. Everything changed. I found meaning, purpose. The world suddenly looked so beautiful. A shy find girl found strength and courage in the One who gave His life for her.Now I give my life for Him. He’s the only One Who did what He did! (in Description )

Soft spoken, ‘introvert’ but this girl can set a stage on fire with her gentle words of Faith in God, in her love for humanity, and even us, this gang at home.

The sheer grace of God worked footage in highways & temple lane, cornfield, mid December ’23, the fabulous NoelJeff there to make Sound, Light & Action better! ..via graffitti walk, rain, lake sun, traffic wail, under cathedral bell, looking up tree & double rainbow,

Blessed 2024

This Single is 3 min 16 seconds, from the heart of a kid who dares all, for ‘Jesu‘- ‘Who else‘?!

I must’ve heard this Offering a thousand times, and each time, my storms are chased by the one and only Jesu who makes “new life out of dead ones...”

& each time, I wait for the rhythm of our Indian drum in it, along with the pulse of Jesu Himself in the hum of everyday life: “His Word my Hiding Place“. If John 3:16 were a Psalm, this is it.

Phew.

Blessed candid, 😃off Coorg fields

Warm regards from us all & Vihan who inspires me 24×7 x n with her 500+ songs, near 600 Christian Lifestyle videos, and undiluted devotion to the One Who gave her to us after 8 years.

Do listen watch🌾Be set free from everything holding you back from True Joy!

Be blessed (lyric Video)

https://www.instagram.com/stories/vihan_damaris/3274382205836427145?utm_source=ig_story_item_share&igsh=ZDBjMWI0ZjMxOQ==
The Power of a Bruise

The Power of a Bruise

it lets go of visual comfort;

returning us, to when we were little enough

to sip the Sun

in clouds

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.Clouds: (not misunderstand these beauties) even when scarred with dusk: 

Clouds that are moon-drunk or

burnt

with night

oh bruised by dawn

& pregnant with Delivery: read Redemption

🌱

a River racing us back to Yeshu Friend of Sinners, (kissed by 4Opieces of silver: trading, weaving, grafting our Destinies together), here

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am offered a Cup that drinks

my wilderness:

Here I am

Held by What never lets go

till I

hold on.

…

with the Vine Whisperer

WORD FALL



Vinepress3

my bloodshadows are thick with a thousand generations of man,

but Your Vine saps me to the Word

~like swords strip my thorn

Oh Vibe of Heaven

in my branch, awoken, rising

startled.

🧤

Impression

from* Marks Gospel 2

Sapling from wilderness grafted into Christ. “Sap” His Word . His wound , as from the Cross is location for New Birth. Here new Graft finds Freedom to be Its purpose in the Kingdom of God (Vineyard) ‘I am the Vine, you the branches‘.

🧤

edited


https://vinewhisperer.wordpress.com/2024/01/02/word-fall/

Hem of Heaven

Vinepress

Wash me with the nakedness of the Cross

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wipe my eyes with Your blood tears

stripped of human cover

open me to see You;

🌾

You

waiting

to cover all my Self

with You-

You, drenched in global rejection: cover me

into Your Fabric;

🌾

seam my senses with Your acceptance: Your laughter in my smile, Your forgiveness in my repentance, Your Love in all indifference, Your ways, Yahweh

not mine, not ever mine,

🌾

Clothe me with the Cross

Its garments spun with true Love

spun with Your breath whisper

of Paradise gained, hell arrested, Restoration resurrected, a scarlet earth dyed in Deliverance.

🌾

Wrap me with this Freedom

to serve, not be served,

to give, not take

to wear You like a robe of compassion:

Ironed from pride; tethered/ tied away social sweetnesses

🌾

Wrap me

Wrap me with the Cross.

🖌

VineWhispers

://wp.me/pbrucm-1M

December Dare!

Narnia Lights, at a wee holiday; who knows what we will see if we crash thru’ wardrobes of our own limitations? @PalmMeadows

Toja has eyes that were amber gold, now they fill with hate; but it is this kind of month: gorgeous sacred emotions. We are descendants of blessings or what? I cannot hate you back Toja, its too late.

There was a killer double rainbow last evening 4pm, in chilly drizzle. We ran to the terrace tried to take great pics and staying warm. There are rainbows and there are rainbows; this one spread over our 360° like a double Statement, a strong Arm in the sky, a mixed message: a Storm of Grace.

We get Comfort from our habits: then fear looking at what turns us to clay. Our spirit must continue – we choose where

Dad once said,

“There will be reasons why some hate others. In this life you will never know maybe. We feel lesser than others. Some are taller, stronger, some are wise, some are clever. All these people cannot get along. You’ve got to manage hatred. With Time you will.”

What did he know back then of what would be Now? How do we manage Hate, without letting it manage Us?

Let there be Light. Let. Like a Tenant. Rent the sky forever, or even whenever. Get it inside. Watch Showers Fall : like meteors in the dark. Let our original essence return to us. This day was made for its hours: create not curse.

This 1st of the month am challenged to:

  1. Be still
  2. Shed hurt, like oldfeathers, (even the shifting shadow of a navigating bruise). Refuse to linger on cruelty; pursue kindness.
  3. Know my own self, be true there. Find the wings in my heels, shoulder blades.
  4. Go Roller-blade away emotions flung from a darkness with no legit name
  5. Remember we are not warring each other: flesh and blood but rebel powers of a dimension we are too blinded by visibility to decode
  6. Be still and know He is God. Relish the Presence of that Still voice, sans pride
  7. Do not react in rage. Haters love rage. Respond to HIS Stimuli. Ask for the Mind of Christ. Beats me how but this is a dare
The Burden of Love, is Light. It pursues darkness, baring Itself, stopplessly.

We might speak with the syllables of angels and tout our sweetness, but look in His Words and know you are loved.

I’m asking nothing in return Toja. Except your / my peace with God. Peace with God.

am praying the Resurrection power of Him, to detox Us from discontenttment. Peace is misunderstood. It can severe satan from my hater: just by me continuing to be me with Christ..
We were born to love, defend each other, share meals, run together, wipe each others’ tears, mend each others bones, go with hinds feet in the very mountains that now divide even the children after us .
(Art Kitsy Ruth my lovely child)

I pray dear Toja, not that you will love me back, cuz that cannot be demanded. There is a Thing greater than human bonding, crimes of de-humanization : It is Peace with God.

I wish us Peace with God.

☘️

Innerdialects

My Friend & Hiding Place

Pic: Milada Vigerova

To my horror I realized my growing addiction to Thrillers.

Exorcist though was ugly- boring. Omen more aethestically thrilling, clever. Sure I was nose-deep – in Love for the Sacred, but just about nose deep. Like a deep sea diver that flip flops with mere sand crab.

One noon, my 7 months pregnant self, watching a thriller, when sudden high volume- killer -bgm thwacked ear drum; our lil one inside kicked, like in fright.

Here we were: in our modest apartment: post-lunch, home chappals … yet visiting intimate angles with paid actors, ‘villians’, sfx, editors, cameras, soundtracks all chin- close with unborn babe and I,

for want of better words, this was a Getogether of privacies stripped, throat slit, blood darkening in bullet-plucked carpet of movie set: naked corpse & neat house constructed to be smashed in choreographed rage. What if like passive smokers, babe and I passively inhaled that, only to spill it out somewhere sometime??

This, my Sacred Friend began to convey back then and now as I write this Post:

“What makes you really tremble, Ray?” the Sacred Nudge nudges.

Trembly spirit feels lesser self – possessed, then stares outside Self, into unseen influence. It can sort Fakes from Friend.

A good Friend will call out the Bully, its mouth with hell cursing me to consume Its screams. Before I fully got the impact of Grace (God’s love and pardon for the undeserving like I):

Christ was from heaven ofcourse, but could we engage 24x7x n ?? What were sacred emotions? Its taken me years to get these next two words:

Eternal perspective: that’s the Emotion I share with my Sacred Friend. He’s no seasonal Block buster, or rented redeemer. The Blood here is real, the punches taken for me, ( 4D, ah 7D super virtuality?) No one else died for me, not like that: not cussing but blessing, not dead, but alive. Ay my soul ‘trembles’ here alone, like new leaf in a storm, unshooken.

3 phrases I saw yesterday that’s shooken me

  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

i meet You here

Here You always wrote Letters to me, in the Grab of my total attention: these Notes, I understand best when there are no demands, no selfish prayer, no request, just Us;

We’ve lived in little and larger cities, villages, mountain, desert, coast, chatty spring, rowdy river to the sea, and bustling town..

& now in a concrete jungle, I meet You here, pre- Dawn. The light is low: no other voice, no memory as strong as You. Dawn: this Still Rush-

You are larger than the sum total of all I’ve been, am or will be. Here, it unsettles my earth, here there is no gravity, only You. Wider than all the horizons I’ve ever known, than all fragility, advantage or disadvantage, our sins of manipulation, blame, ignorance, narrowness, our essential appetites, and acquired loneliness, our assorted pain, our gains of greed & cultured intolerance, our pet rage, our rituals of consumption/ obsession with bias, blinding dark deafening differences, our partying with pop hate, our truce with war, our naked Crucifixion of the Love of God: we have married murder, we have raped human courtesy. We are Adam &Eve eating the palm of the serpent, we have turned our back on the last sips of free dew,

all we have sinned- who is there that is left standing on two sweet feet? All we have fallen short of the basic code of morality. Spell bound in bloodthirst, we gouge each other out, we amputate each other till all that’ll be left, be just one seeping wound –

that’ll sweep the earth into a corner It cannot hide from You. At Dawn, my darkness breaks. Here I open me, and hear You-“Rest. Abide in Me. Choose Life, not death. Breathe, inhale Love: look ! Watch the Light scatter night. Describe to Me anything man can do to annihilate death? Yes, little one, rest assured, abide in Me. All else will soon fade. The skies will scroll, and all the boasts of nations will be as a drop in a bucket. This too shall pass, in a very short while, the Day is at hand. You weep for white flags of men made of clay, now choose Supernaturality. Close your eyes to the visible. In the Stillness, here, Find me. Abide with Me. “

Chapters of Us

Dawn light shocks my drowsy cup of herbal tea, It fills my dregs, my emptiness,

It trails down my throat, my skin, finger tips, my pale blue sock,

It falls my floor;

Its Dew sips my trees, @ interstellar pace  186,000 miles (300,000 kilometers) per second 5.88 trillion miles (9.46 trillion kilometers) per year, zips the dark,

seeps my tiny potted Ivy: It makes Daylight from the very shadow that spells hell; no rock hides any crevice from Its search.

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Bold as noon treading water: It finds me. You, Me:

These Chapters spinning our universe, with Its Armour of Light:

It breaks, falls, fires, rises, shines, warms, my chill. Then It reads me.

🌿

More in this Site: ARRESTED BY REST , PRAY FOR YOUR COUNTRY? innerdialects

Invisible Instincts?

more than a thousand prints

our instincts can be blinded by visibility?

I am the Aftermath* of zillion family types we never saw; the map of them is in me.

We acquire our Environment’s smiles, streets: these we inherit / disinherit, this is what we instinctively fear, or dance with.

We hold what makes us feel less vulnerable. In pursuit of Social Safety we wear our hat how neighbour wears hat. We tut-tut any talk that ‘spirit never dies’ …what? Our spirit will not need Gucci?!

We build towers of Babel, and speak tongues of difference. We color the black & white Truth that stalks our nights & days : that all this will not pass the last sunset. Our mind is cucooned in Pop Intelligence:

Popular Instinct told our daddies that the earth was flat till they dared follow trail and then they knew its a globe spinning in a space we all still cannot decipher enough. Instincts of gravity told them man could not fly, we are not sparrows.

Basic human instinct makes us thieve, molest, dismember Ourself from the secret code that honours each other? Yes/No?

Our fundamental instinct is to bless and not curse: give not take, but we learn how to double lock our front door and not trust strangers. Our dearest Instinct begs us to smile, but we were taken for a ride, for that very quality:

now we fear our core belief that humans are good. We know we will eat each other to survive ‘better’. We hullahoop crimes, in circuses of our mind.

All This we subscribe to, but our most basic instinct is our need for that higher Code crucified fr our evil. We smoke, drink, drug, consume entertainment/ food/forms of human contact & some painkillers ….

to party with a form of a higher sense of goodness. We wish a dream, that we are beloved children of an Invisible Safety Lock. Through the riot we raise against that Longing, we glimpse a glimpse of the Trust that slipped through our fingerprints in this Aftermath* :

what Instinct do I trust:

this Secret stashed even in the shoulder blades of me, that there’s more in there than basic bones. Or curses. Bad DNA, these & Those Tags, or Borders. We are not School science Chapter #1– we are no furry paw and wolverine moonlit darkness: except on Halloween and twilight zones in a hell we play costumes at. Careful when you howl, watch your teeth, know Instincts can grow. And mortals lose birthright for a Love we hate.

It gives our best scientists a cosmic headache: This Reckless Love of God that hears our scream.

I heard It last evening in the eyes of a woman at Nexus Mall. A woman with jaw like an axe edge. He said, “Tell her I love her.”

I shivered.

“Tell her I love her,”

The woman was now glaring at me looking at her.

My Inside tipped: I became that woman in this deadly war for peace that takes our everything.

So I told her and saw hard : how we were sisters of broods of saints, vipers & kings, at how our Dna runs blanks to human perception,

but that we are watched, pursued by Superior Intelligence, towards Whom our core turns, like Chrysalis morphing into What we’ve had within, all along

winging it to the Light: against every stroke that tries to still crucify Him, over and over. This awareness of our own resurrection in Christ, is my most trusted instinct.

–

innerdialects

Definitely November

last night after a long day, our son leaned his eyes in my arm.

Spot our Kingfisher?

If you’ve seen him, you know he cannot see, so the sensories are numbed in eye sockets. That’s a weird thing to say, but my tears & heart filled in a way it hasn’t: with no sensible words. I sat there, as long as we could, till he got up for dinner. It is November, thanksgiving. The air is chilly mist & pine. Dawns are thick with gold, with new bird visiting the trees outside- a kingfisher, a peacock family with chicks, crow pheasant, basic crow, sun birds, a visiting squirrel, myna, & bulbul going crazy with some new discovery. November has always filled my throat with tears – gratitude grows like an unruly garden. Negativity is asked to leave. The older I get, the less I care what negativity thinks.

What a year its been/ is. My prayers grow silent. There’s blind Hate today, worse than any pandemic we’ve seen. Till yesterday we were Gurus of religious decor, now we’ve spilt into people groups with nuclear tongues. How little we as a human race even know about each other, or care. How quickly we rape innocence, and murder sanity.

Am gagging at the choreography of Hatred, how it sweeps aside every blessing we’ve had from each other; at how quick our sweet lips can curse. We are hostage, the whole of Us, Hostage to envy & greed. Stript of the last garments of decency, we exhale venom enough for hell’s storehouses of the future;

but November still rises and sets each day; promising a new year soon. Here I sit, stare, whisper a need, a plead for Us each, a perhaps Last Chance at Peace with the God we exterminate.

And This!

Nothing impacts me like the historic Cross of Jesus, Whose blood alone redeems Life.

Though I pursue power & possession, though even, give all my wealth to the poor, or speak with tongues of angels, if I have not the love of God in me, I am nothing but a clanging cymbal, a falling drop of rain that will not wash away tears of hate; Abba, before it is too late, touch me with what marks human centuries with the “Before and After” of Redeeming Love.

greet a total stranger..

…fearless (is that safe at all? Never mind tell them anyway, to please have a good day?/ is that condescending? Tell them we are preciously made (uh old school?)

What I’d love to be is unselfconsciously publicly friendly, giving, caring. (But uh uh! We are self righteous around beggars, judgemental around the suffering, careless with each other)…

As the world talks daggers, revenge, hate….how much time is there left to do what humans do, esp be nice to each other: even our own families. Reflect the Love of Christ, self less, eternal.

Daily writing prompt
What could you try for the first time?
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Yelling out loud, “Peace, please!”

We wait for it, but anticipating sweetness in bitters, is an acquired taste? Yes I can put of, for long enough, my own sense of Peacefulness!

Looking for white flags, or better still, making them, is what we don’t do very well? Humans try. And we pray, some. It gives me a peace that surpasses all death of joy. We will each die one day. No surprise. But while there’s breath, go away hatred. I’m not looking for you. There’s this mindset that pursues me. The mind of Christ: its Unshakeable Kingdom within, stained with Blood that reconciles man to God.

Daily writing prompt
What have you been putting off doing? Why?
View all responses

https://fresh.inlinkz.com/party/4ba88b3d043a4544a7b22db72d5f8c14

FMF Writing Prompt Link-up :: Anticipate

Yelling out loud, “Peace, please!”

Strains from not- so- distant borders

Three of my Fav artists, not just today: their voice can break hearts of stone, if Humanity would pause a moment in our strife, to allow healing.

Shilo Ben Hod, Song: Before, Album “Once Again“; Lil Boy Nethaniel & Abraham Fried, “Abba”

Lil boy healed, name: Netaniel

“Abba” by Abraham Fried

https://youtube.com/clip/UgkxyPbKds3oGHHZ1SsyhmiDoDlOH_GAtHwg?si=pL0H5M7NDLINvUXI

https://youtube.com/clip/UgkxCJSXw6y3mN-SQGk39neGqqFUipT6zymP?si=wRLlDWKK2rYryO_t

https://youtube.com/clip/UgkxPH2C4_y0Sc-SVPIxSjY0RUnp0Dv5yCd7?si=FESK4oxu_NVc6o7G

Daily writing prompt
Who are your favorite artists?
View all responses

Hunting His Fingerprint

My Mexican sunflower creeper snuck in door as we got back from farm last week: look it up, this baby has anti cancer powers. A wild creeper, scrambling high though & Untameable (to our fences); like the Finger prints of God.

We “..is living in ver ver bad times!”Abu would say; I was a kid and thought older folks didn’t have much to do but collect bad news like I once collected feathers. After School years, there was aunt Chera praying for rains 24×7, so that our farmers and we get good crop.

Daily writing prompt
What is your favorite hobby or pastime?
View all responses

So yes, everyone seemed to have a way of passing Time, everyone paid that price of Time either well spent or lost;

along this route, I got me a Hobby that turned Life hack:

Passionate about wild plants orphans: messengers of peace.

Anxiety-inspired-hobbies are still Worry- mills, aren’t they?

I became an artist, a self appointed poet and good-will hunter; a mutterer of Good news, a singer of psalms at leaves and wild flowers;

so yes I’m @ chronic war with worry, but at the feet of God. That is a choice all Hobbyists make.

Mine though, will make us glare at the fact of His existence vs His acts. (All human deeds/ misdeeds, are ofcourse laid square on His shoulders, with while all the while He saying, “Be kind, be loving..” )

We can harvest hell and reap its weeds, ya?🤔)

My growing hobby:

(slaying bad news at His feet, instead of all by myself),

being Collector of His footprints in storm, in wave, and wind. These Searches set fire to an Energy we cannot create on our own,

like Fire mills they storm our madness into an activity that unlocks our within.

Here we re-visit miracles unexplained, like seasoning vats with ageing wine, we inhale the aroma of acres of vineyards –

our very own Inner yards, our shut up internal miles we did, while we were hurting, or otherwise.

Here we grew, we shed, we died and lived again to see this day, here – now.

Hobby, pass time…? Every activity humans do, will contribute to the Churning of our inner Windmill;

Windmill of the Mind:

I can choose to let them turn my Wilder-ness into fresh pasture, or more wilderness.

Here, my Times & I, cud-chew- on Things seen, inhaled, said, done, edited, left, revived,

here, watch the One Whose Love trailed/ pursued me like none else can.

Here, I’ve met the Cross which bore my name:

Its’ blood shed, transacted me with a untameable passion for more of the Christ. Yes,

🌿🕊🌿

Attempt & Change

All my attempts at friendship did nothing to change Lil Hedgehog’s opinion that the world outside his spike-ball is ‘ugh‘. (In our visit to a Farm yesterday).

How have I changed recently ?

Am staring more at Creation & our Creator; at how disabilities fine tune our hearing :

am attempting to put into words: this growing shock that we different species have a heatt beat, have Affinities/or fear of each other….

Later last evening, we met a Kashmiri with kind, hesitant eyes;

I saw how our earth gets smaller but We are seasoning as travellers: we are getting more prone to war, noise and withdrawal. (Conflict is a Sacred attempt to make self obsessed mortals start to just plain think?)

If I’ve changed in my mind, I understand a more today, that Trouble makes us see things we never could’ve elsewhere;

that Loss can turn into a truly positive attempt at seeing Gain, (look close at the acres of New-ness that Change can bring).

Notice white pony in background? ‘Surrendered Pony’ the Guide said. She walks with limp, cannot do speed; here at the Farm, its a new life.
Daily writing prompt
What’s a topic or issue about which you’ve changed your mind?
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A surrendered life is a good thing, yes. Today am more surrendered to God than I’ve ever dared be. Change & Trial will do that. It re-routes us, thru our wilder-nesses.

I’m less Shy of telling even myself, that we are loved by Christ; precious to Him, more precious than we allow our selves to allow.

Wild Mexican sunflower from Farm
FMF Writing Prompt Link-up :: Attempt

Pray

..uncombed, raw from the heart meditations! This was done for a friend, battered by circumstance, and inspired by a couple that asked if I could record a ‘devotional’ – uh not easy, but here it is,

6-ish am., with two images from last evening, birds in trees nearby and this detail thats been asking to say – pray more.

Daily writing prompt
What details of your life could you pay more attention to?
View all responses

Super-naturality

Super-naturality

Looking at the permanent – Love of God in Christ. Because I can’t look away:

Its Him or hell. Nothing in between. Like wheat & tares, goat & sheep, gold & clay. I’m staring at eternity. Not tomorrow, but now, today, here: its all that will remain. Here I pray for blind eyes to see the Light of the World, and dead ears to hear His voice. I pray for India.

Daily writing prompt
What’s your #1 priority tomorrow?
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Pain Management

My friend Jamil recovered from an auto–immune disease then went back into it. We met two years ago at a restaurant: her eyes like twin lighthouses. How dyou do this Jamil? I want to ask, but words turn to noodles in my throat.

Davidsonluna: photograph.

She has lil narratives of new meds that work briefly before other symptoms kick in. “There’s some long nights, you sweat it out, you cry, but in the morning a miracle happens. You’ve got thru another dark place. You have new energy, sometimes. But other days, you search the mind for images, of Hope, of Strength. I find tremendous strength in Joy. Not just random positivity but the peace of God that passes human understanding..that Joy is the Strength of Christ, displayed right thru His life, death and resurrection….”

we go silent a bit. The soup is still warm, like us, two different humans in a time of Change. Jamil has put on the weight she lost, her feet hurt, the wrists are covered with long cotton sleeves. This woman has no space for mourning.

I’m dizzy with her funny bones- her stories of children and husband. You’d think she didn’t have one jolt of pain. Jamil has small and larger seizures, she swells, her joints scream, scream. I’ve been with her in ER. We both remember us in days for better, for worse!

The hour goes in the next. Our silences are rich. She loves ice cream but can’t have much. We share a scoop, then some. I’m supposed to be on a diet too. I have my share of pain management to work thru’; am allergic to pain killers, yeowww.

So, today I remembered Jamil, especially after last week, after a wee tablet for tummy ache: who knew it would kick in like angry mice in my skin?! Sunday morning I have unruly blisters in the lip, temple,

Dear Lord God, I can’t ask you why – but here I am. Sure there’s far better folks out there, going thru worse. This morning am making this List I need, to combat painful encounters of any kind; (this will not go well with human rights activists, but might help some of us with Irreversibles) :

J.Mark for Photography
  1. Never feel entitled to a life free of intrusions.
  2. Pain can be like an overstaying guest, but I’m the host of me. So I’m rethinking this one:
  3. Pain can be my Travel Agent, taking me places we get to, when we leave confort.
  4. Pain is a Friend, my Associate . Once I think that thru, my muscles relax. (They teach this at Lamaze classes!)
  5. ( I don’t think y’all will like this list, so am shortening); my partner:Pain is a shared emotion, not just with scores of precious ppl, but with One Whose very Resurrection, pulls my decay to life.
  6. Pain is a type of death: when you come out of each contract, (you once were in neutral gear), now you’re an eagle. Everything we knew, is re-defined. Here we free-fall in skies. This is not gravity – the pull has Shifted. Here you’re seeing with eyes shut wide; you’re staring at Eternal Perspective; you touch soul. The spirit rises on wings with no, no recoil. It is your 206-bone – marrow being sifted like wheat. The blood type you once had doesn’t matter: you’re gazing into the Unseen with eyes that cannot flinch at the sun. You’re no longer scared of heights of ignorance or depths of newness; of certain types of discussions on immortality that once made you cringe. You’re afraid and yelling but you see that things are more …more …more than what we confess. You’re transfused, if willing, by the Blood of Jesus shed on a Cross: transacting our hell for a life free of even emotional bondage, already. Eventually we will all die: but where is my spirit headed? That Q becomes central, beyond survival skills.
  7. Last one: Pain is physical, but It is a visa to a new Term, a Terminal with one gate. A narrow Gate. The only baggage allowed is your spirit. You watch your remains shrivel and go. You arrive when you leave. You are light, lighter, Light. The first whispers of Pain? They are just the introduction to this passage. Now we gaze thru’a glass darkly,but oneday, face to face with the One Who killed death for us. So yes, like it or not, humans will master a certain degree of pain, in our trip into Freedom from gravity. We get to choose our Response to It.

Blesseday🌿🕊🌿

Speak Life!

...e’en on our grass growing sudden off vase in table.

Such surprise (Life) stacked in our teeth, if we believe, if we believe. This morning I hung out the window, the sun yelling down via a few September rain cloud- Speak Life! Ah Lord God, You made the heavens & the earth, What is hard for you, except I turn into a mule with no clue, but even they ( the mule) know you…

every leaf & grass and wind returns to You, where’d they come from; Who / what made ’em?! Let me too speak You, You. You.

What d’you say @the first rainbow?

Opinion: tag

The child had no clue how to respond to information being given her: whats – ‘they, she, he’? – why is the rainbow now six colors ? ‘

Via Zoom, I’m asked suitable reply to this kid; who’s kindergarten friend solemnly announces that a boy can now marry a boy.

I made this vid., …ues theres new words from gender fluid and ‘cat identitities‘, with baby wardrobes following suit; things I say might make an ass of me, so in case we forgot, here goes: the Story of the first rainbow:

FMF Writing Prompt Link-up :: Opinion