December 20 2014 Thank Thee For These Angels Thank Thee for - TopicsExpress



          

December 20 2014 Thank Thee For These Angels Thank Thee for These Gifts Protect Them in Thy Embrace Her love is as the fathomless night opening the incomprehensible beauty of the infinite Womb from which all have and will emerge. Blinded by the endless fields of glimmering memories of distances unimaginable the mundane of the familiar retreats behind the cool veil of rustling creatures of brutish nature. Woman is mans companion in this expanding landscape in the same manner as the luscious moon travels with the resplendent dot of the morning star. The vision of that fabulous Light leading the flickering dot through the nocturnal darkness returns the human mind there to build billions upon billions of allegories for this vision of Lights traversing in Communion through the Darkness as that sojourn is but the prophecy of the Resurrection that is the Dawning Day... Here is my mornings beginning: But I through the abundance of thy steadfast love will enter thy house, I will worship toward thy holy temple in the fear of thee Just as the companions of night call to us of the dawn, so too does the nature of male and female prophesy to the afterlife that is the replication of the species. Life begins in the His Temple; whether it is the clot of clay awakened by His breath; or if it is the stench covered pond scum arising from the remains of some cosmic feces; the heart and mind reels in the awesomely miraculous improbability of the process. Equally amazing is the human journey from children of god to sons of apes dreaming of becoming as the machines that now tyrannize our souls. And, for some, the ineffable yearning of woman is as the morning birds call to awaken to the lilac fresh scent of her garden into which man forever returns to again foster the miracle of the Child. Surely, the prophecy that is the child wildly reflecting the heart of its mothers love so that the unfettered energy and yet to be seen society of his fathers labors calls both images of angels as well as replicas of the beasts back into the meadow of the soul. Words fail to approach the wonderment of This Garden. The heart feels as Abraham looming over Isaac...Moses gazing into the void of that Promised Land not to be his...Jonah languishing in the heat of the redemption from death...Of Peter howling like a beast upon hearing his own denial...The Mother standing helplessly below the butchered remains of the fruit of her womb...The void never spoken of the souls witnessing Him return to the heavens leaving them...again in this Godless Saturday of Being. The mysterious comforts of woman and the debilitating terror of the awakening to the dependence of the childs infinite future journey upon agonizingly uncertain labors of the parents call us to prayer or despair. The Kingdom of God is as if a man should scatter seed upon the ground; and should sleep and rise night and day, and the seed should sprout and grow, he knows not how. The earth produces of itself, first the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear. But when the grain is ripe, at once he puts in the sickle, because the harvest has come.(Mk 4:26-29) I gave you a land on which you had not labored, and cities which you had not built, and you dwell therein; you eat the fruit of vineyards and oliveyards which you did not plant.(Jos. 24:12-13) But I through the abundance of thy steadfast love will enter thy house, I will worship toward thy holy temple in the fear of thee As man enters woman to redeem the human heart from the isolation of the self in the Karmic Resurrection emptying the Tomb in the chemical uncertainty of creating Life Anew, so too does the heart and soul enter again into the nature of the soils to offer up prayer or labors or dreams. For the wounded deniers look to the Biblical Narrative as the Love Story Eternal. Hear me, O children of the apes, gaze upon the history of the Tribe with its controversial culmination in Christ Jesus as flickering reminder of the eternal transcendence open to the human struggle between the terrible blind rage of the famished beast and the sweet innocence of the desert sands blossoming the delicate rose as life mocks the Lie of Death. Wonder do we at the soul searching deeply into the chain of nature and finding there to his horror that Life moves on, not as spasmodic grasps and retreats of the human will, but through the faithfully unrelenting flow of the Covenant. Abraham sacrificing the son leads to the end of the lineage. The Temple forsaken for foreign beauty ends with the unspeakable slaughter of the Law incarnated in the Living Christ upon the expediency of the social network named human gluttony. And, rather than knowing that night is but the incandescent Sabbath of loving embrace between days, the human plunges into the Dark Night of the Soul forever bellowing out Deaths Lie leaving the human with only prayer desperate. My soul also is sorely troubled. But Thou, O Lord: How Long? Turn O Lord, save my life; Deliver me, for the sake of thy steadfast love, For in death there is no remembrance of thee; In Sheol who can give thee praise? I am weary with my moaning; Every Night I flood my bed with tears; I drench my couch with my weeping. My eye wastes away because of grief, It grows weak because of my foes. Depart from me, all you workers of evil; For the Lord had heard the sound of my weeping. The Lord has heard my supplication, The Lord accepts my prayer. All my enemies shall be ashamed and sorely troubled; They shall turn back, and be put to shame in a moment. Read again the pious words of the poet. Now laugh at the fantastic hubris of the human. Grin in the mirror darkly of the human delusion. The creature approaches the Ineffably Infinite Omnipotent like the child impoverished and weak marching up to its parent in wild demand. Indeed, generations of redaction may have blurred the sweetly infantile love of the poem, yet the human marches through life always crying out like the master beating its slave... Deliver me, for the sake of thy steadfast love, For in death there is no remembrance of thee; In Sheol who can give thee praise? If I suffer...If I die...Who then can comfort God? If I get not the toy of today...If the lust heating my loins right now is not fulfilled...If my crime is punished...If the laws of nature lead to death...Who then will keep this Universe Alive? Behold the sons of apes gazed fearfully into the relentless becoming of this Garden and found there not the incomprehensible sacrificial love of parent forsaking selfish childhood to follow Hagars path into the terrifying desert exile of the offsprings future; but rather the demonic mutation of childs genetic communion with the mother womb and fathers seed into a terrifying battle of lust and rage. The son embraces mother not but lusts after the genesis of her love to slaughter the father. Darwins murdered ideal romanticism marries Freuds cocaine elevated rebellion against nature to lead into the terrible human surrender to Deaths Lie. One heart remembers the flow of Lifes embrace of the rhythm of Being. Days of exile in the wilderness of labor led to the sweet reunion with love upon the Sabbath. Days of that era entered the human flesh with sentient emotions of their own. Friday carried joyful anticipation dawning in the childs perception that is Saturdays eternal promise of freedom awakening to the return to the Light of the Son upon societys closure of commerce. Slowly were we betrayed by the powers of The Currency and of concupiscence. Technology allows us to escape the imprisonment with our flesh and with our own souls. Good Friday and Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday speak not of deaths frustration or soulless exile or sweet assurance of Rebirth, but some strange memory of innocence lost. What was once the entrance into the Temple of thanksgiving for the Birth of the Presence of God within this landscape became the sublimely superficial argument for the secularists prayer for the child like rush to make up profits lost during a years lazy procrastination...Or as the believers illusory cry that it is the agnostics fault for the faithful turning away their face from God for gold. Age opens my eyes to the endless embraces lost for I slashed my own arteries with the sharp lust for meaningless objects. My frail bones speak to me of my childhood trying to retard the development of Life by demanding from my ancestors endless gifts and endless absolutions for the sake of their love. The slave demands freedom by demanding the master keep giving them gifts and sustenance...So they may remain forever trapped in their own inability to care for themselves. The Dark abyss of the inevitable culmination of the trajectory of Life suddenly strangles me with the pain of witnessing the sweet innocent born too late into the potential pain that is the orphan too young. The Kingdom of God is as if a man should scatter seed upon the ground; and should sleep and rise night and day, and the seed should sprout and grow, he knows not how. The earth produces of itself, first the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear. But when the grain is ripe, at once he puts in the sickle, because the harvest has come.(Mk 4:26-29) I gave you a land on which you had not labored, and cities which you had not built, and you dwell therein; you eat the fruit of vineyards and oliveyards which you did not plant.(Jos. 24:12-13) But I through the abundance of thy steadfast love will enter thy house, I will worship toward thy holy temple in the fear of thee Woman seeks out man to reassure again her Womb so that man may accept womans invitation to make worthy his seed. Without man woman could not feel the embrace of mans existential need for woman. Without the Ark there could be no Life. Go, then, love the beast and care truly for the child... Gather not the feces of the grave and give in not to Deaths Lie. For to my Beloved and to my adorable son and to all those angels who have accompanied me I confess this: I believe this Garden Majestic to the Begotten of the Living God given to us through no act of our own. For this I tremble in abject fear of that abyss always lurking and approaching all too soon in its relentless prophecy. And, pray do I for the delay of its fulfillment for I am humble in my humanity. Whatever be thy faith, gather not the feces of the grave and lust not after Deaths lie.
Posted on: Sat, 20 Dec 2014 13:59:58 +0000

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