Journal
Category: #discovery, #
An earth, arrested by her own love for all her species. A Love nothing can destroy: not every last sting of hate, not every last sword – it just keeps her alive: Love:
It mutates, re-surrects what all else might kill, for True Love kindles Hope kindles her billion billion pieces of dying Prayers with living maddening Hope.
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.
Every Midnight tells the Dawn – you’re dead gone.
The Dawn says nothing just Rises.
Mid War & rumors of more, our girl Vihan asks, “Ma, could you do my Video?”
Whaaat?
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,
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.
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!
it lets go of visual comfort;
returning us, to when we were little enough
to sip the Sun
in clouds
.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
am offered a Cup that drinks
my wilderness:
Here I am
Held by What never lets go
till I
hold on.
…
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
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. “
last night after a long day, our son leaned his eyes in my arm.
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.
nestling where we’d least find it, in the eye of a storm; hated by hell, coveted by those who know Its power; yes This is the best possession I have now, maintained like a cherished Garden.
This I’d keep forever and not let go: that secret place where we meet the immortal
It burns between Rock and Hard place: with leaves of Fire. I can’t look away nor crumble. The Burning Bush gives no apology for Its Fire: Its Voice burns my wilderness, then roots me into seasons of Red seas.
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.
…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.
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.
https://fresh.inlinkz.com/party/4ba88b3d043a4544a7b22db72d5f8c14
Yelling out loud, “Peace, please!”
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).
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.
..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.
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.
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.
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) :
Blesseday🌿🕊🌿
...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.
Close your eyes to every other sound, taste the touch of gravity from skies we see, with minds we inhale sans pride/ strength;
here we deny escape from feet of Wings in the Prodigals’ Father’s ears listening for their son, & daughter to just say how steep that Prayer matters.
🌍
It is that kind of Time. The Arrival of Departures. From Norms. From Peace. From Treaties & Truce. We do think on prayer. We’ve seen miracles. No one who saw their child graduate into wellness is even thinking that that was Coincidence.
This week we went for jugular: praying Healing of Us. Do listen and send a prayer for even one of the 195 nations mentioned first 8 mins/ listen too, to the 60 musical Entries from Ukraine, Paris, UK – to Togo, India, U.S, Brazil. Contemporary Jazz, some Rustic. One Spoken Word, some you want to hear on repeat. Music & Prayer, these never leave.
You want more evidence of Superior Intelligence? I just had it and am reeling, at how quick my Stonehenge (mental state!) turns to a personal Eden; all with a Deadly Prayer :
a prayer that answers the Prayerer.
So this happened, few weeks ago:
🌀
The woman glared from across the table; in a minute our meeting would wrap. Her eyes had hate but the Whisper went louder in my ear: bless her, pray for those who curse you. It took a Superhuman shove from Heaven Himself, for me to consent to that Voice! My core began to soften: soften past frontiers I’d stacked, past rigid rule of self preservation. Uh.
The Sacred Whisperer demanded Kindness, then He lip synced Joy in. I watched Him trade Swords of Peace for my hurt: (it was me that needed help as well).
You want evidence of SuperExistence: I just had it and am reeling, at how quick my Stonehenge turned to a personal Eden: in a Prayer that Answers the Prayerer.
Will I return to stone? Easy.
Or just park here and choose a Life Sentence that blesses curses.
All this can only be my choice. Your/ our choice. No middle path*.
If you ever want evidence of God, this was it for me: Christ’s Gentleness in my rage :it took my stones and gave me a Tree – planted by streams of Living waters: an art that’ll take at least 70+ years to try to perfect – is what my dad once said.
How.
I’m no expert on human affairs, but this below Piece, came off my convo with a suicidal kid yesterday. It is as old-school as Light.
“..I press on to lay hold of that for which Christ laid hold of me.” Phil3:12.
My Reflection on above verse.
It was the worst storm ever, the wind wailed thru trees ripping off roofs! By the 3rd day we needed food, then dad went out. We watched him bend45° into that wind with upturned umbrella, just to get us a meal.
🌀
You & I have designer storms meant to uproot us. We have two choices:
Am praying that nothing stops the precious call on our life. May the world around be blest by what you run for, in Jesus name,
So be it.
Art in this Post generated BingAiCreator@innerdialects
Have a Blessed day
Actually! Did this on a few minutes’ impulse:
Our second daughter, Kitsy & I, and 2 water creatures, ‘Tangerine‘ & ‘Fanta‘ our house fish🐬🐋
As we grow older we might lose that child-like trust in the Goodness of God given us, fr free. I’d be as nothing as hell without Him. So, go glow, shine with His Majesty, have a blessed week!
“Your retina is fine! The spot in your macula area is a healed scar..” His words sink in as they drape my face for surgery. I’m sipping at relief, fearless. There was fear last night: had a prescription Restyl. Now my left visual field is like under blue water looking up via luminescence at two small rectangles of light to my right. The renowned Surgeon Dr Ravindra MS is calm. His voice like a ray of light.
I exhale. It is the moment that will prescribe my vision forever. Am stepping out of clouds, into new territory, total unprepared for what followed(to be contd @ KarthikNethralaya
It is still dawn last night, the fire will not dim. often I’m looking for discouragement to be my paying guest, but the Light shines thru. The older I get the more the knowledge of how close to death we each are, more now than yesterday.
Politically & more, days seem to smudge grey. Interpersonally, we are more remote, isolating. We are pages of history being re-written by fingers that will change how we must think, in the name of freedom. And yet, the Light bounces off every smudge, as if that too were fulfilling a certain decree. And am staring at how tiny I am in the volume of eternity.
pic: ChristinaSkoreva.
walk fearless on smokn’ serpents,
lean breaking hearts on Unseen Wings, reach for Beauty in ashes, dream with unshuttable eyes – declare war on war – love deep; afraid often? yea but holding on.
My March Bouquet
These I learned esp few Decembers ago when a girl child was rescued : she was the fourth girl baby, they were too poor to feed her they said. Later the child found legal home, though I will never forget that mother’s vacant eyes, the father’s cold decision to give away his baby mewling for momma. It was a dark few hours before oxygen really returned to me. Couldn’t breathe. There were things we heard from hospital authorities about certain root that could quickly kill an infant, and how easy it was to bundle away a little person in the wide garbage area –
– the deadly still before a saving moment: how close we are to hell, how near heaven, even in its gateways. Now am thinking we’ve learnt some secrets of heaven in the very pits of hell, cuz God makes a way where there is none…(yesterday was anniversary of the original red sea crossing? ) ..
chances are, we going to choose one of these, or both – fear/faith –
wishing you fearless rioting joyous confidence in Christ, please y’all🌷🌾💜
sometime last week
..the Wind I cannot see;
..Fire who can touch?
Dont give me rituals & rules, no ‘religion’ to follow, just You, Yeshua You...like the Silence of the Sun.
when it arrived it ran like a river fulla blossoms, a tsunami of psalms. A tomb unwrapt. Am staring at Christ: how does He do it, every single time, every single time
each petal peals the Light in my dying eyes: this is worth it. Here, meet immortality, here there is no reference to materialism & associates., here, I meet You, Yeshua.
I met You as a child, and then it was hard. You died in the tombstones we constructed. You waited in the shreds of my dawns; in the garden of vacant prayers we prayed to our own greed. But here, like this, I see You, my eyes shut wide to defense. And am taken, all over again,by the greatest Light. Right in the apple of my eye. Resurrecting my core, like a tree, planted by streams of Living Waters. Healing me with Your wounds. Peace-ing me with Your storms. Binding me with Your Tears. You’re breaking my heart, in all the right places. Abba. Gratitude.
Photograph: Bozhin Karaivanov
The man has purple smudges punched in his jaw, he is wide eyed with guilt. Try telling him he is loved, he’d probably spit in my face.
I hold my heart in my teeth, but he sees me: sees my need to tell him of true love, of the One Who went to hell for him. I am owned by this Love; and can’t convince him? Why should I convince anyone, except that this guy is bruised deep, his life ebbing. I turn to leave but he coughs. This time it is blood. We begin to speak: as the Sacred story weaves our names in Its reasons. Then It owns us. Grace does that every time.
Am sitting here still staring at how nothing else owns me.
Innerdialects 
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