Depleted after dancing around the streets like a loon. Running now, on what? On empty. Not filled, better said. The pain in being aware of this world, without a re-fill. That funny word 'discombobulate' speaks to this. Psychological tremors, shake me up in my mind. Not succeeding when, know can, and must.
OH what a jolly write this'll be eh?
Need to central on something. Type in and get ye out. All before time to linger. An exercise, a ritual, a confession and self-revealing splash. That no-one much reads, must remind myself, therefore – all free and cushty. (Of course the handful who do, enough. Wouldn't necessarily care for more. No question, all that most matters in this life to goal for, is the few. Rather by far have a right-up-for handful, than numbers and so-what.
Looking for? Me? Manageable solitude and a miracle and 'few' on the same tip. We're living in the age of disconnect. Where identity politics is encouraging anonymous crowds, intent on keeping us apart and distant. The need, to separate and divide. Tavistock and like, controlled-community-demolition. We're to keep apart and imagine superior from. Info-resistance inept through this.
And I can't find an "amen" out there and similarities of interest in going on the 'awake and open')
Where else can we go? the disciples asked. Where eh?
Jesus is a lover that ruins the substitutes. There's no back – or front – thinking, a voice of nagging or pleading. No manipulation that abdicates our will. There're tens of thousands, mostly imperceptible, moves. Circumstantial collisions through God's intentional engineering. As we think we're naturally moving here, doing this, leave now, go there... Well wouldn't you know it and this or that occurs. Meet this one or that. See this or...
For God is alive. For this purpose. To destroy all the works of the evil one. Christ was revealed.
Gonna dash on. Got TS to do and a get down to a bit of work for provision. My thought:
There's nowhere else to go. Blessed are we poor. Oh blessed desperation and throw myself upon. Make no bones about: Christ all me got. Love otherwise, little but lots. The words we have from God are life.
The waters are words and presence. Words come with presence. You know – if y'know/n – the difference. With or without in the inner us, soaking and seeding -or- taking ourselves out and away from. God's not the leaver. A lover jilted, remaining to reconcile.
The war rages and soldiers aren't talking. Able to bring the beginnings of social respite and defeat back the tempests. Yet, if we can be kept apart. From God and each other. If...