Sunday 1st October 2023 (’05) : 26thSUNinORDINARY : A
What? ‘We choose our own life&death’? But are we really all that self-aware&free?
Is this not somewhat up-beat? One-sided? &Semi-flattery of ‘Yahweh’?
‘NoCompetition/Deceit! SelfEffacing…’ Is this ChristMind found in my local church?
In the MindSet of my local church, who are the ‘archetypal sinners’, say, like the biblical ‘prostitutes’? &Even if they displayed ‘repentance’ would it be valued by us?
‘God, Cissie, what’re y’ doin’, sittin’ there leck a duck in a thunderstorm, wit’ no ball a’ malt between y’r jaws?’ ‘Aw, Gertie, I jus’ feel A’m no great shakes a’ th’ bag!’ ‘Wha’,,,’ ‘My fella, on’y this mornin’, as I was doin’ me hair, he went an’ called me a stewpit hoor’s melt…’ ‘Great, Cissie! He’s jus’ stuck ‘is own stewpit foot intil ‘is own stewpit gob…’ ‘Wah’…?’ ‘Wait til I tell ya… Head a’ wit read out th’ stuff from th’ man-above! &Guess wha’, th’ prostitutes, that’s nice-talk f’r hoors, them an’ th’ tax-people, ‘ll get inta Heaven first, before th’ priests or anyone else!’ ‘I don’t believe ya! Y’re jus’ griggin’ Cissie, th’ poor stewpit hoor… Make ‘re feel good…’ ‘No, me hand on me throat! That’s what th’ man-above said…’ ‘God, A’d love t’ shove that up my fella’s nose! But prob’ly not, ‘e hates t’ be bested! No one’s guff counts, except his…!’ ‘Lave ‘im be, Cissie! Wit’ all ‘is oul’ bolshy talk, he’ll not stop th’ sun from risin’, nor th’ hoors gettin’ inta Heaven, if that’s what th’ man-above proposes!’ ‘God, y’re right, Gertie! Why do I still take ‘is oul’ rant, as if it was th’ gospel itself, or somethin’…’
WHERE EVERYTHING IS MUSIC (Rumi) Don't worry about saving these songs! &If one of our instruments breaks, it doesn't matter! We have fallen into the place where everything is music! The strumming & the flute notes rise into the atmosphere, &Even if the whole world's harp should burn up, There will still be hidden instruments playing! So, the candle flickers & goes out! We have a piece of flint & a spark! This singing art is a sea foam! The graceful movements come From a pearl somewhere on the ocean floor! Poems reach up like spindrift & the edge of driftwood along the beach, wanting! They derive from a slow&powerful root that we can't see! Stop the words now! Open the window in the centre of your chest, &Let the spirits fly in&out!
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