There was a time when I had all my friends with me; we were Christians. Then Christ came along and as a Magician swept the blue cloth off the table of the marriage supper, looked at me in justice, and I fainted away dead ten years ago September 25, 2008.
She is crazy; they still say. She is white trash; she always will be. Beaty is as Beaty does and she is that white trash that keeps serving but finally said no. The Beaty always says no when you cross the line of our existence as royalty gone trashy, white, dirty snow. And I can speak substance to faith here for young and old, large and small. It doesn’t mean I will see it with my eyes wide open in the flesh life; what I speak is meant for the present future. What I write dips back into hell and then throws the ice cycle into fire and makes the future present a thing of love. People call me a liar there. It is fine. See, when I’m lonely, I go away to that place of future present. I go away and fellowship with Even Eve and Adam. I tell them to stop throwing the forbidden fruit like a baseball betwixt one another.
They sneer at me and keep doing it. I tried to stop fighting with Christians in my past but they’d rather throw knowledge at my bleeding head (female) and prove me wrong. So as I said, I go away to loneliness.
I have found another loneliness place and there are no mortals there; there are no angels there; but there is I AM. There is I AM. You cannot, as a mere woman, go into that room of silence unless you strip yourself, of your own free will, of everything and everyone that isn’t I AM in the core. It is the silence of Revelation 8:1.
See. Christians forgot to read the real truths in the New Testament long ago; long ago; long ago at the Azusa Street Revival. Grandma Eara and I never forget to read the real truths so she told me about Revelation 8:1 on her death bed while Dad was silent a year. He was 14.
Eara taught me how to see the Savior in that room. So I watch but I don’t wail. I don’t do anything. I just am. That is a quandary of loneliness that isn’t lonely and if we humans want to stop the tide of hatred in America, we will learn to simply be there with Savior and help Him free the world. Not by our might, not by our power, but by HIS Spirit says the LORD.
October 21, 2013
Today, it is time to write about a woman who sits sometimes in this place not seen but yet exists. There are no conclusions of thought in this place, but there are questions to be answered nonetheless. And there are pondering thoughts that probe without requiring the finality of conclusions.
This place is meaningless, simple, and unnecessary to people because we are so busy being important. But yet, there is enough trouble today to just live whether it is important or not.
Although, those humans who have decided to lose hope and love knowledge, they put up their flimsy walls of intelligence against I AM. They are in for one horrifying and important surprise because God cares for them or they wouldn’t exist at all.
They don’t care enough in choices each day to admit it. Now there, that place of safety in surest stupid knowledge, is the most important inconsequence there ever was. It is easy not to matter, and then again, it is easier still to strive for importance. People stay busy in both places that are indeed that wide and crooked path (Matthew 7:13-14). Of a truth, it is sad to see Christians there, but I AM and I, we have observed this quandary forever.
She walked one day in 2013 and was praying, and she looked down to see herself crushed and dead. The little sparrow dead in the road, she identified with it. But somehow she kept walking.
Sparrows are so beautiful though not to her eyes unless they are cute. And somehow she thinks she didn’t get to be one of the cute ones. There it is; that nothingness again. As she says good-bye to 144 allegorical years, she becomes afraid. There was a little bit of something to the song of the sparrow the past five years while she wrote it, and she found out one can sing even in death. Altogether humanity and creation around that, sings though dead, alive, living, and dying.
Sparrow is afraid to say good-bye because at least her 52 year life was real to her. How can she deny what was awakened, and what if God leaves her there in that dead place wide awake. No matter if they call her weird, she knows the realms exist now in that place. They may only be a figment of her imagination that she writes, but this sparrow knows even dead there is that place unseen that is not fiction, and it has shaken her existence in every fiber; she doesn’t know how to go on anymore after the end.
Oh, the sparrow’s dead frame tires of unending fiction that complicates the truth of simplicity forever. But she will not live fiction, and America is full to overflowing with that. There are no real tears there.
But what if…….after having such a catalyst of sparrow’s death thrust upon her, she realizes again how suffering awaits; fiction no longer exists; and there is only joy as a decision in this fragile place?
Hilarity, carnality, exclusivity, and domination are fiction as are success and failure. They are details that really don’t matter as much as we conveniently thought they did to stay busy and important.
There is the thing: I SAID: THERE IS THE THING:
to have been created made us of utmost importance….but we want to define it, don’t we? God’s importance never has been enough for the hungry, ugly soul of humankind that we rage at God about because we are too busy to notice that we should bow the knees and serve the trees. We should serve the sparrow too; and even the withering grass. We should serve and allow them to serve us too. It is more blessed to give than it is to receive so when are we going to stop raging at God and give to be set free in receiving from a former enemy?
Who is not our enemy? GOD.
This above is a key Jesus gives sparrows like me. But this key is most inconvenient for an American woman who has busily important people all around her who she wanted to keep up with. The sparrow got left behind because they thought they knew what they saw in the future, and it is very dark if one manages that way. It is either that or the general existence is too sweetly innocent to answer all the questions that Jesus asks.
We of the Western World are those who can stop and think about it while living in the lap of degrading luxury that is the West. We don’t have to survive; the unknown sparrows, flowers, and grasses are taken up with survival and so they need us to understand a little better because survival is becoming so desperately impossible to accomplish that it is now mountainous indeed; that much is obvious, for it has even washed up onto the shores of America. Who would have ever thought to see people killing children in schools? Who would have ever thought that possible? There is a famine in the land of plenty too, now.
But wait a minute; has it not always been here? Death has betrayed us too; we have been just as ugly to humanity as the rest of them, and we have forgotten how it was so. We did not ever cry enough for our own depravity so it kept coming and now is still.
I see a gift box of cardboard. There is a ribbon, and it is strikingly red and wrapped around the gift with a two-loop, simple bow. Simplicity never has been enough.
The gift doesn’t have anything inside of it; the box is empty but wrapped up anyway. And it was laid upon a dirty street of New York City. The weight of blindness kept it sitting there for years. And then the gift awoke and knew its emptiness. It knew it had not been understood, filled, or opened with expectation. So it began to bring forth of the emptiness anyway, and that made it move a little and so it would be hit by the tires of cars and batted about though no one ever ran over it.
Eventually, it came to rest in the gutter along the curb, and by that time, it was crushed. Strangely, the bow never did get harmed. Just the shell was crushed from all the jumbling around on the street of emergencies, dire necessities, and damaging realities of the Twin Towers collapsing. There it sits, the bow adorning the crushed shell as it shivers in the wet and windy gutters of time.
5:55 AM Central
September 23, 2018–but this was written in October of 2013 all glory to God.
There was this woman dancing on a solitary skating rink. The waters beneath her feet were frozen for a long while; she skated in great big circles, turning round, and occasionally she would crash to the frozen floor.
Then the waters thawed, and she walked upon them. It was a mercy from God to have such faith, and the Master watched her, smiled, and empowered her to skate still though the waters were of a tumbling ocean in which she danced.
Occasionally, the woman would skate to rest in the lap of Unjust Judge who sat there. She would stroke the right arm clasped against the chest. She shared the lamenting. She comprehended the fire of the jealousy of God and wrath of the Lamb; she still does, and it makes her despair for who can comprehend it?
Then she was exhausted, and so her dance ceased, Jesus took her hand, and they went below. Lying there on the sandy floors of an ocean is a peaceful place, but the emptiness of unheard, painful songs and dances haunts the quiet soul of the woman.
Jesus lies there, and they are facing each other. She sees His Eyes, and they are kind. He places His hand upon her shoulder and beckons her to wait now too and trust Him.
But today, as her little obedience draws to an end, the woman got up and danced around Jesus. She walked anyway; she got wet again. There is much to praise Him for; the suffering of her kind can still be held up before the Throne even down there in the depths of the ocean.