And Yet!

How much longer must I hold my breath my dear sweet love? How buoyant do You think my feeble heart really is? Why must I shiver the night through in the absence of Your warm embrace? I'm told Your very near, but so am I---the breaking point that is. And yet to whom can I go. You have the words of eternal life. O God come to my assistance. O Lord make haste to help me.

Family-Assisted-Freedom

Faceless fathers, greedy mothers, spoiled-rotten baby-folk, one great big family. Lots of love when time is shared but sharing time is nickel and dime, so love when you can :) if your money can buy enough time :(
If it can't don't fuss, a wink ; and a nod will raise them up fine to find a family of love in a large glass of wine. A drink to dear Pa who relinquished the helm to agenda setting Ma. A drink to dear ole Ma who secretly wanted to be me dear ole Pa for believing it better to be not what she was for fear dear ole Pa might actually wear the pants as if that were an incurable travesty for her to wear a skirt. A drink to me spoiled-rotten self, what's left of it at least, for growing up young in a house of neglected roles and blurred desires tends to leave one arguing that what's white is pink and what's white is gray where a woman's scorn is the only higher truth a cultured man need ever obey except for when she lets him wear his God-given pants and that on the condition that he keep his fathering to a faceless minimum.
Ah! What's one more drink. Here's to the siblings I never had siblings me poor ole parents patted themselves on the back for not having as if freedom were more advantageous to a child then the love that depends upon the ties that bind. I'd have just one more drink to finish off the night but I surely won't do it but not because I haven't got the right but simply because the bottle is empty of friendship as regards this night. Good night Johnny Walker. You can stumble by anytime for a drink as long me ole folks don't find out about the blind eye you got. For they canst stand a blind eye. Because the two of them didst their best to give me two, one from each of them. Now who couldn't love such dear old parents as mine even if I do have'em locked up in the care home under the auspices of "me back is to bad to lift father, and mother is bent over from a life time of trying to put me fathers trousers on." Poor ole things, if I were a little more culturally sensitive I would have voted more mercifully for an end to old age pensions and wrinkles. Who needs cosmetics anyway when we can vote youthfulness in to being the law of the land. Wrinkles I'm sure will be reckoned as indecent exposure in 30-40 years for which the death penalty will be the only attractive solution. I never harbored any ill will toward my parents, I just got sick of waiting for them to get ill so that I could collect the will. Visiting the folks? Yes occasionally when the guilt resurfaces but Johnny Walker's blind eye usually pacifies those archaic feelings of a religious nature, which gladly enough are not reinforced these days and if so by muffled voices that are bandied about so much that you'd swear they had been drinking wine at the price of two can dine.

One Valley and One Tear at a time

Willing the Will of God from within this Valley of Tears is an insurmountable climb to the mind darkened by forfeited light. Toiling a land that once easily unfolded fruitfully its harvest of abundance is, in this our exile, a burden heavy upon one’s brow. Facing the gale-force winds, we march off in hope of a little sunshine to soften the blow of this hedge-less terrain where can be heard in the wind-swept moments the memory and echoes of a day long past when a walk in the cool of the day was a sheaf that satisfied the weary travellers hungry heart. How pleasant was the summons to will His Will back then before we wedged a tear between His Seamless gaze and our naked innocence. Willing now the Will of God without the garments of innocence that once clothed us has become for us a struggle that cannot be hid. We appear unseemly to one another and rightfully so for we seem not to appear aright in our own sight. How is it that willing has become so toilsome? To will back the days of His unforgettable Seamless gaze has become the brow bending burden that time after time results in thistles and weeds. I cannot will back those days anymore then I can erase their memory. Yet where there is a will there is a way and this Way is the Truth and the Life who wills from atop the burden-board the strength to harvest hope amidst a valley known for its tears. We may still have to face the gale-force winds for a time but as we now march out we march not alone for we’ve found the ‘little’ bit of sunshine that softens the blow through the gift of the golden sheaf of wheat that strengthens us to will the impossible, one valley and one tear at a time. Are we naked without shame yet? No! But naked with hope. As the summons to will His Will dawns daily upon us the only tear that separates His Seamless gaze and our nakedness is the ‘Tear’ in His Son’s Burden-Bent-Body from which flows the coveted golden sheaf that strengthens our ‘I do’ to His summons to ‘live’ forever.

Have mercy on me O Willingly Afflicted Lamb. Amen

I’ve been living with the enemy since conception. I’ve been ‘Washed’ but the enemy’s chokehold has remained firm and although I’ve been equipped with a 'Soldier’s Seal’ the misery of combat follows me like a humiliating shadow. I’ve been ‘Nourished weekly’ to head back to the battlefield only to find myself so easily famished that having barely left the Nurturing Table I am well willing  to ingest whatever may tantalize the palate. So I reveal the enemy-within to the Light who is want to come in and dine only to discover that the enemy-within seems to refract the rays of Light thereby lessening His radiance in my guerrilla warfare like soul. How is it that the enemy-within is allowed to remain when evening draws nigh so suddenly? The enemy-within makes everything seem so pleasant to one’s darkened understanding that the feeble will of Man learns to love its pleasantries  with little persuasion.

Face down in a losing trench I cannot help but wonder where the backup artillery is that has been promised. To what avail is the face down side of life? Does the trench reveal a secret to confound the enemy-within that is only learned while face down in its smothering grip?

I’ve been taught to believe and esteem the ‘Washing’, the ‘Seal’, the ‘Table’, and ‘the revealing to the Light’, but when experience shows them to be no match in appearance at least for the enemy-within’s staggering feet what is one to do. I know not what to do. I am lost in the dark it seems with no comfort except from the enemy-within. Where O Lord is the grace that is sufficient for my need? Where is the power that is manifested in my weakness? Have mercy on me O Willingly Afflicted Lamb. Amen