To Rest

And as she drifted softly to rest, her heart began to pound. She layed her head down and peace became her being. Faintly falling into slumber, her beating heart leaped to positioning. She found comfort in the waking of her sleeping. She felt promise in the beckoning of her beating. Her pulsing heart pumped life into her veins. The blood that flowed through her gave way for hope to find a home. In the shelter of her resting place she finally could be awakened. And like the opening of her eyes, dreams began to arise.

The Girl Who Knew Not

She walked with Confidence So Rare
So Stunning
Unshaking
Unbeknownst to herself
Humbly being

She walked what she talked
She lived from her Source
Genuine
Truthful
Encompassing the essence of Integrity

She talked intently
Eyes that listened
She laughed with life
Spirit of Resurrection

She entered the room and all things stopped in a moment in time.
All the living things bowed. All the dead things rose.
All things unable to not notice. All things uncontrollably responding to her presence.
She is the lion who tried to sneak in. She tried to hide, but lions do not go so easily unseen.
Lions can't not roar. Their very breath is weighty.
-Breathing- the very thing by which she lives is sensed wherever she goes.
It is impossible for her to blend in. She can't not be a lion. She can't tame her being.
She doesn't try to be the weakest lion, but she also still doesn't know that she is the Alpha Lion.
She is the ruling influence. She doesn't understand her influence.
She is the King of the arena. She doesn't know she is king.

The kingdom sparkled like lights in the night sky when she entered its domain.
It began to enlighten and sparks began to rise.
Flames fanned into fires and the darkness crept away.
The King had entered in her and had come for the day.
The country turned to colors from gray.
Life
Beauty
Prosperous Glory
this echoed through the streets
Until

She came across a mirror in the land
She asked it, "Mirror Mirror who is he fairest one of all?"
Silence.
She could not understand the answer.
Her ears heard noise that her mind understood but her heart felt nothing.
It felt empty. It felt silent.

She tried. She tried so hard to understand.
She said, "Brain be good and help me, brain be wise and true.
Brain be my friend and tell me, If I am the fairest in the land."
Brain, it tried to help her
But heart couldn't receive
So she lied down before the mirror and fell into deep sleep

In her dreams she dreamed she was a girl
A girl so small and cute
A girl who liked to sing and dance
A girl who liked to cook

A girl she believed she was
A girl she began to see
A girl awoke that time she slept
A girl before the mirror wept
A girl whose roar became no more
A girl who lost her lion mane
A girl who knew not her name

The girl she lived her life again
The girl she made some new lion friends
The girl she didn't understand why these lions liked her so
The girl she thought it strange that lions played with her even though
The girl she thought to herself I am a girl without a name
The girl she began again to talk and talked she did to her brain

"Brain be good and help me, brain be wise and true.
Brain be my friend and tell me, If I..."
Stopped she did when she heard a pulse
It was her heart she heard speaking out
"Heart you are good" she said
"Heart you can help me" she said
"Heart you are wise
Heart you are true
Heart you are my friend so tell me...
Who is this that I view?"
In the mirror began to form a lion mane again
In the mirror began to form a familiar lion friend
In the mirror she roared aloud "I am me indeed"
"I am a lion, I see me now, I see what lions see!"

The girl who knew not she was a lion,
She began to be.

In A Cave

Sunlight broke through the thick grey air beneath the rain cloud. It was morning now, but the sky still thundered because the storm did not know the time of day. The sun spot on the hard cold cobble of the cave warmed the stone floor beneath the nook where he lay. Pitter patter of dripping rain echoed from the darkness. A pocket of water gathered right above him; it had been gathering for hours, all through the night.

There was just enough drops of rain held in the cliff now that it began to spill over, only moments after the sun hit the floor. Water splashed onto ruddy hair and he turned his face away from the wet with quickness. He hit the floor below him. His cheek pressed hard against the rough ground, but it was warm. It was the first warmth he had felt in months and it turned the jagged rock into soft surrounding, his scraped flesh into fading past memory and the blood that broke through into joyous evidence of the light shining in his eyes.
 

He could lay there for hours. In the distance he heard the moaning of a sheep. It must have gotten lost in the darkness of the storm, separated from its heard. The sound reminded him of his father and he felt peace as he fell back asleep thinking of him and how he taught him to be a brave shepherd. In his dreams he visited the times he came up against the growls of the bear and the roarings of the lion. There were always wolves wanting a sheep. His fathers voice hovered over him as he defeated every throe of  death, his lessons engrained in his instincts. His dream took him to the time he counted all the sheep and discovered one was missing. He knew exactly which one it was because he named her; it was the unusually light one. She stood out amongst the rest. That day he tried his hardest to find the sheep but he couldn't remember any lesson about loosing a sheep. He couldn't hear his father's voice flying in the wind to guide him. With all his might and wit he tried to find her, but to no avail. Finally he stopped to catch his breath and his memory took him to the time he ran and played in the rolling hills of the valley. He couldn't see his brothers or his poppa, but over the hill he heard a voice call his name and he knew where to turn to find home.

The young shepherd lifted his head and shouted "Eli'ora!" knowing that the sound of his voice would be recognized by the sheep. He waited a few seconds and then bursting through the silence like laughter was a loud  "bahh." Eli'ora was running towards him. She ran as if she knew both the sound of her own name and her masters voice. He picked up the sheep and carried her back to where she belonged. As he walked towards familiar pastures he wondered why his father never told him what to do when he lost a sheep.

He thought to himself, "maybe he never thought I would loose one... or maybe he never did."
 

With his dreams lifting away he began to wake up. He opened his eyes for half seconds at a time, still tired and still wanting to lay in the warm sun.  Another dream began to enter his mind but as he drifted towards a deep sleep he heard a familiar voice.

It was the voice of his father. 

"Wake up David. Come home."

He was hidden in a cave.
He is a shepherd. He is a king.

Wonderland

Alice is the Wonderwoman of my land. She is simple and shy and wouldn't hurt a fly but she sure would like to watch a rabbit eat one. Alice is peculiar, a different kind of person, strange just like the average girl but so not like the average girl. Alice is intriguing all on her own and if you are around her enough she is someone that you will want to get to know. There are these times where she turns into this superhero that the world see's and everyone loves her. They all rant and rave, pull and tug, slowly but surely try to get close enough to say hello to this Wonderwoman that no one really knows. She is only Wonderwoman long enough for a few to catch a glimpse of her. Then in a flash, she creeps back into the shadows and Alice is born again. Though, Alice doesn't know that a handful of mindful people discover her secret of Alice the timid one, when she was supposed to be shining out her Wonderwoman. They keep it to themselves, these mindful ones; they don't want to expose Alice. The thought seems quite honorable at first -not wanting to tell the world of "poor young Alice." But really, they have a mind full of how they want to use the Wonderwoman, because they can, because they know she is Alice and "she will let them." These poor folks they get caught up in the Alice, the small, the cute, the meek and they forget about the Wonderwoman who is everything but weak. These mindful ones think highly of themselves to have found out about the Wonderwoman (they must be so clever they think in their heads) and to have seen what no one else has. Little are they aware of their foggy lenses: to have seen but never really seen, to have thought they had discovered the Wonderwoman and to have never wondered about the woman, truly, intently, deeply, to have known about Alice and thought she was the real and that she was the lesser.

There are others who have also unveiled the secret of this Wonderwoman: that there is an Alice too. These ones know the "truth", that Alice is the cover up for Wonderwoman, not the other way around. Wonderwoman is the real person and Alice is the one with the mask. However Alice also isn't weak, just unique and they like Alice too but oh when she turns into Wonderwoman, the contest is through. Wonderwoman isn't the mask to hide Alice. Alice is the mask to keep hidden Wonderwoman!

Wonderwoman Alice is the smartest of them all. She knows who she is, both Alice and Wonderwoman. Both true. She devised the plan and knows the peoples schemes: the mindful folk and the well-intentioned fiends. Wonderwoman is perfect in all that she has seen. Still, she has not seen everything for there is a mirror kept around the corner past the place where Alice and Wonderwoman collide and cease, where only a woman looking into herself can exist. In this mirror, if she would look she'd see the woman who she's meant to be. She would see herself in the pure gaze of her reflection, with the brightness beaming through the looking glass she would see with clarity. Wonderwoman outsmarted her wonder -her mystery. She thought her self too much and too little about the mysteries of piercing past the wondering into the knowing.

Alice the Wonderwoman doesn't know about this place where she can be known unto herself. She thinks only about her two selves and the two kinds of people who know about her two selves. She doesn't think about the crowd beyond in the shadows who she thinks don't know her and don't care. She doesn't know that those shadow-people are important. Those shadow-people live in the shadows as she does and if she were to look at them long enough 'til they have faces she might just discover something. If she were to see their faces like hers she might even begin to see herself in them, like a reflection, and she might, just maybe, she could unlock a mystery about herself through them. All this is contingent, of course, upon the realization of the shadow-peoples existence long enough to wonder about their importance. But she pays no close attention to these people with faceless names because she thinks she already knows about herself and they make no difference all the same. Deep down, she knows she wants them but she thinks she is afraid.

Wonderwoman might seem like a fearful little girl to you now but do not be fooled as Wonderwoman has been. She is the strongest of us all. She has kept hidden her Wonderwoman and her Alice not of fear but of strength. How is this?, you might begin to wonder of this woman. It is as so: this woman is in a hidden place and she has been here for so long. It is not of fear that she is kept in this hiding place -no- it is of strength. Why would she fear herself into a place of being unknown? Why would she do so when what she wants most is to be known! At the core of all she is and does is the desire to be known and it rules her every moment even if she doesn't know it. How could someone who wants to be known so ardently be in a hidden place because of fear? Is fear so great a thing that it overpowers a persons most force fueled drive that is, to be known?

Alice the Wonderwoman thinks it is. She thinks so greatly and lowly of fear all at once. It is so great and strong a thing and she despises it for what it is, as the lowliest of things. Yet, she thinks she is ruled by it. It is her master (so she thinks to herself). So as she is ruled by what she serves, she becomes what she despises: a great and lowly thing, Wonderwoman and Alice. She has become the lie that she has believed, a great and lowly thing. This is what she believes rules her, it has power over her, it is her parent whom she takes command from and what guides and leads her into all "truth", she trusts her maker who is birthing what it is: a daughter of fear. Our wondrous woman has turned into a person born by the seed of a lie. She has become Wonderwoman and Alice, both her, both real , and (she thinks) both from fear.

Such a tragedy you may think, yet again do not be fooled as Alice has been. It appears so monumental a thing to over throw a queen whose name is fear, but it is not as it may seem. There is something that she can do to undo the fool and it is a feat but it is easier than it shows itself to be. Our Wonderwoman has to get past the fear of facing fear to where she finds herself alone then fear is gone. How can this be? All the fear is in the facing. Once she gets past the fear of facing fear, well, she has gotten past fear, now hasn't she? It is a fearful thing to have to face fear, but when she makes the decision to face fear that means she has gotten over the -fear- of facing fear. It's all in the decision. She will have gotten over the very mountain that she needs to climb over. So simple: to just decide. Yet this is the land where Alice has found herself lost in -a place of not deciding. It is not that our Wonderwoman has decided not to face fear nor is it that she has decided to face it and couldn't. It is that she has not decided at all. Apathetic. Stagnant. Living in the shadows with indecision as her sidekick. However, once she faces fear and kicks indecision away she is in a place where fear is gone and she is alone as she feels, not being known. So then, if she is alone in a hidden place and fear is not there, why is she there? What is keeping our Alice the Wonderwoman who is not an outcome of fear (because fear is done away with) in that place where she is not known?

It is her strength that keeps her hidden.

It is a strong thing to remain hidden when what you want most is to be seen. It is a strong thing to not shout to the land, "I am Wonderwoman, I am Alice, all parts of me true, all parts of me good, here I am." It is a strong thing to feel as though you are alone and to stay that way still. It is a strong thing to keep all of your facets a secret.

IF our dear Wonderwoman, could perceive past the fear she's claimed as her own and disown it, then yes, she would still be in that place of hiddenness, but she would not be there because of fear. And IF Alice knew she was the way she was because not of fear, but of strength, then she also might come to question this strength and test its truth. Is it really strength that is keeping the Wonderwoman concealed, Alice veiled? How can it be strength when she is so weak and she feels it all the more.

Questions of this strength will arise.
And when they do, she will discover the truth that this strength is not her own and she is not alone and she is being known in this Wonderland that for now, is her home.

When sorrows like sea billows roll…

Oh tough and distant daughter

Strong, upright, beheld brilliant in eyes of acres

When curtains pulled back

Reveal thy face before thy maker

Look deep beyond the temple veil

See thy glimmer shine of steadfast anchors

Think not oft of grace unearned, love undeserved

Remorseful deeds done and all thy breakers

What grace is grace if grace is earned?

What love is love if conditionally deserved?

Turn thy scheming fable into heart adjourned

Make oneself, one that can be learned

Oh weary one of wonder

Secure, steady, in hidden place of longing

When doubts arise in depths of soul

Allow thine knees to bend, face to fall in pining

Seek thee first not thy discontented own

Rather divine atone through thine refining

Teach thy heart of freedom grace, love for love's sake

Untangle chains; bring to point of not just shake but breaking

What freedom is free if not given freely to thee?

What breakthrough is true if not breaking you?

When sorrows like sea billows roll

Let Blood wash over thee, making whole

We Wait

We are all subject to the element of change. My eyes have been opened to how much can change is so little time. One day we will stop being subjected to the element of time, but never to change. Things will always be changing, in this life definitely, and even in the next also.

I remember a time ago when kids were kids, and kids didn’t have kids of their own. A time where parents were parents and (it seemed at least) these parents and their kids had infallible joy, a visible presence of love, and knowledge of hope. This time looked like Sunday school plays, youth skits and mimes, dad hugs and kisses, it smelled like homemade everything and the perfume of the moms who cooked it, the air was filled with the sounds of laughter, singing, the good kind of crying, and hollering from the crazy games that children played.

Years later, these parents are grandparents, and these kids are “parents”. There is a new generation and for now they are babies. However one day these babies will be grown and what will they be? I look beyond myself and see a many of people in line to make decisions, life altering situations waiting to happen, and I wonder, will these babies be kids with kids, or will they be parents?

Kids are having kids and the first set of kids (it would be logical to think) had to have learned this from someone. We can suppose that the parents of the kids are the reason, and then what is the reason for the parents? their parents? and their reason? their parents? I should like to think that the claim that the issue of parents not being “full capacity parents” in which the evidence is that resulting in their young minded kids having kids of their own, is not an attack on personal ability or character, rather it is an attack FROM a spirit creating a separation of parents and their children. It is a spirit that causes parents to be less than what their full potential is, to be less than what they are intended to be, less than what they are purposed for. It causes a drift from parent and child, creating an empty space between them: a lack. This lack from a child separated from its parents, then produces actions in a way that only this specific lack can create. This is a spirit that is creating children without parents or those who are like minded. This is an Orphan Spirit. -The blame game is always a complicated one (however interesting it may get) to play. It still ends in one way; “what next?”

There are generations that call out to every generation that is now, is becoming, and ever will be. These generations of old are all pointing us to this one same thing. They are there to examine, to let us see and know of them through and through, to let us learn from them, for the purpose in which learning is necessary: change.

Change happens, no matter how hard or long one may try to fight it, it will happen. It can take two forms: bad or good. In this case of bad happening, events and times and situations may differ from the previous, but ultimately, is there a contrast between the mistakes of old which have the same results of the mistakes of new? -No, if what one generation birthed is the same lack that the next birthed, there is no contrast, no ultimate change. How then, can change happen and how do we know of it? We may know of change the same way we may know not of it; its results, it’s birthing, what it produces. If for a set of people one thing is bad and for a new people that same thing is bad, then there was no change from one generation to the next. Yet, if one thing is bad and for the next it becomes good, then indeed a true change has occurred. It seems that change, can actually only be change in nature, not by two forms, but by one. (Of course, how can one thing have two opposite characteristics in which it is defined?)

Change, (a differentiating contrast between one thing and the next) is true change only if there is indeed a difference, in this case, from bad to good. Perhaps, yes, change can be defined in other ways, ways in which such a drastic difference is not necessary. On the subject of such things that drastically effect people, lifetimes, and generations, I feel that only a drastic change, a “radical change”, or however you may wish to call it, a change that actually does occur and that actually stays, is the only change that is acceptable, that is actual, that is change.

It appears that because change is “bad becoming good” there will always be change. -In the aspect of eternity- I should clarify that maybe, if I may say, it is not to be thought of as bad, but rather less good than a better good.  We are humans moving on into the newness, the perfection of completion, of “glory to glory”. …Eternity (heaven) oft is an enjoyably wonder to ponder on, yes?

If what we learned from previous generations is that there is an army besieging new generations rather, “next generations” (for to be new, there should be a change from old to new, thus not creating cycles or “circles”). We learned that this army is coming with an attack of an Orphan Spirit, so still, the question remains: “What next?”

What are these generations of old calling out to us for and pointing us towards?

Our ancestors, heritage and family plead with us for a change. If the problem is an Orphan Spirit, then the solution, the answer for change, can also thusly be found in the definition of change, in “differentiating contrast”. The only plausible solution to an Orphan Spirit is what can make an orphan not an orphan: a spirit of Adoption.

Generations before me, mine, and those after are calling out with the will of the lord god almighty himself, “The hearts of the fathers will be turned to their children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers” all for this one thing: to be brought back into a perfect union with ones parents, for that which makes one cry out, “Abba Father”. So that once again there would be infallible joy, manifest presence of love, knowledge of hope: redemption to these things.

I am thankful that I have this infallible joy, manifest love, and peace of hope. I am thankful that when I surely do cry out Abba Father, I know that my parents are there to do everything they can to connect me to him. I am thankful for my parents. I am thankful that I know Abba God. I am thankful.

A spirit of adoption is here and it is ready to break forth like the light of a new day. It has been on the edge, in preparation, for far too long with the taunting of “maybe next time.” It is waiting as generations are waiting, as god is waiting, as orphans are being made. If we learned that there is an orphan spirit that needs to be counter attacked with a spirit of adoption, and the question posed is “What next?” I begin to wonder, have we really learned? If the Spirit of Adoption is ready, willing, and waiting, then verily, “What next?” Perhaps, these generations, god, and orphans say unto us, we wait for YOU. If we know the solution to a problem, there will be change… if we learned.

Under the Shadow Tree

There’s a place 

under the shadow tree, 

when the wind blows and the tide is high, 

you feel the sea breeze lightly sweep over your face, 

with your head tilted towards the auburn sun, 

the warmth of the rays shower upon your calamity, 

you close your eyes and there you are: gone in an instant.

Far beyond vast firmaments; oceans of hopes and dreams, bottles with tears of joy and pain, storehouses of deeds both done and undone,
made by bricks weighted with thought and logic.
There, rings bells of shouts and whispers. 
Chasms are filled with prayers of abounding love, or scorching hatred. 
The shining of liberty and fogs of bondage, 
beacons of light and darkness, caverns of screams and laughs, 
towers of righteousness and wickedness: the opposing forces.

Books of justice: being life. 

Books of law: causing death. 

Deep grounds formed from soils of sin and soils of purity. Over mountains of feelings and intentions, through songs that fill every breath of air with either redemption or condemnation
..far beyond these, there lies a realm more infinite.

Eternal.

This place I long for, this place I need. 

With every inch of me and every life in me I scream out for thee, 

“Come make your home in me.”

I have heard this place and felt its imprint in my being. I have seen this place and it has left its echo in my blood. With everything I am and everything I hold I walk humble toward a huge throne. I lay it all down at the feet of the master who sits upon the spinning wheels of 

time and galaxy –all for one glimpse of this place.

Because it has enraptured me and swept me away like none other, 
this place high up beyond the clouds. 
This place that builds as an empire with royalty as its rulers 
and a blood stained flag at its peak; it is waiting to be captured.

It draws near all who hear its sirens calling forth and beckons all who then see its beauty break through the pitch of shadow.
It waits with the dawn for those who will come win her.

It waits like an ocean’s rider waits for a wave, it waits.

With peace and perfection, strong hope and direction, it awaits them.

Those who are fierce like lions, meek as lambs; wise kings and queens, proud sons and daughters. These elect, these chosen, who know the time, such as this. It is awaiting, it must. It is a place unhurried and unbending: steady and strong: ready and patient.

This place I yearn for, this place I claim my own. 
New Jerusalem: my home.