“You cannot withstand the storm,” It whispers. The Warrior whispers back, “I am the Storm.”Jake Remington.
N.S’Bi. Unsplash Images. Uploaded one day ago, from a city ravaged by the storms of human calculations & evil. Yet in the nuclei of this Thing, whether we see it or not, there is a new kind of mettle being born:
a new strength in weakness. Desperation will despair of itself, & birth New life among the dying: a new resilience born in times as these. There will be a Remnant:
little children will grow with Wings in their feet, and new Voice in lips that were sealed. The dead will speak. They will rise as the stars. The deaf will hear, and the blind will see what they could never have, if not for the Storm.
They will walk water and write in the wind with fingers of fire. They will sing, and it will be such a song as has never been heard, among a resurrection of Freedom like we have not seen: Heaven comes down for those who wait for it. They will rise on wings like an eagle, they will run and not be weary, walk and not faint. Teach me, teach me Lord.
the sight of vision, the hearing of the muted, the sense of loss, the smell of hope,
the unseen tomorrow….these and some
stir my ‘heart ‘ – ah that organ of awareness we’ve placed somewhere ‘tween head & rib.
And oh when my spirit opens itself to pray…
what words could describe the Sensory of Prayer? We as a Race are sands shifting in the growing Light of Dawn,
Mike Haupt, thank you for Pic!
the growing Life of Light in my dark: the sight of things I touch in my core, by a power they call Faith…. what is that described? Must I describe it, for who? Why write, share moments broken from ‘accepted’ norms, why care, why heal? Why kneel, why weep joy,
Why bless for curses; why Love for hate, why rejoice in suffering, what is this; hell heaven, Christ, Lucifer and the Spirit of every man and woman and child – running deep from what we hide, deny
hide in the Arms of Prayer, hold It against your soul: here no greed for power, no need for self arrest your heart: here oh here, begin,
where no foot of pride hides in prophecies of doom, where no angel weeps but for the joy of Heaven, and no anthem of ‘self’ rules-
ach! None but His:
Who’s Breath breathes for me&you: born to Cross hell with Him, here arrest restlessness, keel, kneel, pray in the first light of Heaven that with bated breath waits,
here, before it is too late, pray my soul in His heart.
prayers like rain, like tears, these kisses of heaven?
I couldn’t have guessed this was a Garden. What.
Blossoms of Your Breath. Your Breath.
Oceans of Words, reaching in me, in me.
As if I were just ONE child You had, and wherever I went You followed / saw me.
Nothing between us, just Your Tears falling in my face. Thought they were mine!
You seeking all of us. All of us. What a harvest that be. All our soul safe in Your gaze. For this I pray everyday. Every single day… for Your harvest of Tears like kisses of heaven. Heaven.
All pics from Unsplash.
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Thankyou Father God for the Love You bestow on us that we be called Yours. Thank You for silhouettes of You everywhere. Most of all thank You for all the things about You I’ve learned in the dark, nothing compares with that. All the seasons of ‘festivity’ I’ve ever had, pale next to what You’ve harvested in my winters! I owe You my life, my all. Father God in Jesu’s name, I thank You.
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The day my mother walked out of her skin, she breathed once twice then her hand in mine grew cold, that day Eternity walked close in my narrow space. Was it co-incidence that rays streamed from a room ventilator to where she lay, her last breath so unlike death?
I wanted to grieve, but light stared down thru that ventilator and all I could do hear was the peace of our father, in heaven. My ma was not finished, she had just begun, this amazing woman I saw pray-
when I was little and prayed long prayers. people were afraid to ask me to pray. I trusted God with every detail. We had no secrets. No privacies. I remember them all choking with laughter as I asked the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob to walk thru our little house by the sea and bless bless everything… from packets of chicklet chewies sent by aunt Rosie from Bahrain &, asking Him to bless all of us even our panties, I said in fervent prayer on my 3 year old knees ..
Unsplash
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It is funny how a child can walk thru that wall between God and humanity, without shadows of doubts, but as I grew I was afraid- of those shadows, they – became a kind of god. Those shadows in the valley of defeat. They are neat I’m telling you- they are sweet- they are cool chill and teach us to be afraid. I was a child and now am grown. And I have seen us die everyday in all kinds of rooms. We have seen us pray all kinds of prayers.
‘Tenderly guide us‘ my mother would sing after she prayed -her voice quivering. I wondered why her voice did that quiver- every single time she prayed? Was she scared of Yahweh- was it something He said? Sometimes she’d go quiet as if listening in the silence to her God, as if He were saying secrets in her ears and she’d weep these tears…..they shone her face. she was crying not sad- these were tears you tear when theres things you cannot recover from.
These days when I pray I have no sensible words to ask . The wall between Him and me is a lesser mask, there’s no stiff jaw rule no regulation but as the moment begins, I’m searching heaven ……in the quiet/ that begins when I open my soul there’s a silence. The silence of heaven- and something begins I have no words for but I will try… something asking me if I truly love him.
I say yes and He God of heaven, says if I have love, then I will pray not for bags of rice and health of my children but for my 1.20 billion…..
yes! I tremble in reply but He isn’t stopping. In the silence He weeps and the sound of that is an ocean on its knees, in Gethesemane, for humanity. Come closer, He says. I look and see, calvary. I cannot move but He reaches within me/
His feet flowing crimson past nailed sins… ” …it’s all for free & hard to believe … I’ve paid your price; not just an Indian 1.20 billion but a planet full . Death has no victory nor the grave. Why are you all so afraid?” He asks, His eyes full of the tears- of heaven: Tears you tear when there’s things you cannot recover from.
And I see what I never understood before –what happens when you pray. Like that time with my Ma…when
when heaven walked close in my narrow space. And Light stared down in the face, of our valley of the shadow of doubt shhhhh
in the silence screaming in our ear; not life nor disease nor hunger nor fear can stand
the most sacred request of all: the God of heaven asking us to pray for All His children…for each other. What can separate us from that kind of love? We can..
we who will not stop to pray for each other/ But Eternity walks close in these walls between us …..a space growing closer than e’er before. And I hear its deafening silence in my ear, won’t you stay awhile with me and pray?
It is a question I cannot recover from/ it is, a voice from heaven. My human selfish dark could ne’er produce that Light streaming in from windows of heaven/ like that day my mother walked with Him who now looks in, at our lives – He’s asking in a silence we may be in….
won’t you step out of your own skin & pray for another? Not in the distant future but Today….
Innerdialects 
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