To rest in an actual piece of Peace in our God, is the higher ground. Find that spot in space and be released into another form of freedom to be. Freedom as you must know by now, is proper interpretation from Love in Him, and we swim in Him and know. So our epistemology is based on the ecology of His Being, which guides us into the neglected, unreflected areas of His Being in us–ecology, sociology,the biology of being, not to mention the treatment of our own bodies. When we are kind, we become, and care for one another. Kindness knows other. So we see. He was meant to be in all areas, un-restricted. Allowed in. But we because of wounds, reject Authority, we don’t know what it means to be occupied, contained in being. We reject all authority and as result we loose our authorship, in the face of false writers we sing…yet we, need the Author and Finisher of our faith, despite the faces which erase our contours from the line. So stay in Time–sanctify time and space both, as we are meant to do. Take both and make them a sacred sanctum of forever, while you still can. While time last…and we still have our names to hang His own… For Peace is a space in God, not a set of ideals, but a source of voice. Peace is a room we all need to enter and live from. Peace is not a suggestion, but is bathed, and our bath in Love, which is only possible from above. We channel simplicity. We channel the simplest message ever–God so loved… we are loved, so we love, and we rest in the Sabbath of that knowing..the sabbath of that knowing, which never ends again and again… until we realize it. Until we form into His Form, and start to become sons, daughters, One; living lights shining so bright that even the stones in us, start rolling away, voicing and shimmering and reflecting their own storied redeemed light. We are rolled away stone songs, meant to be breathed through melodies bones…we are types of joys meant to be pronounced, nuanced, some even shouted out, from another world. Yet, we are afraid to be sung. To timid to be timbreled. Timid songs rafting in winds scenes unseen, to hard for us to circumference, almost unseen. But we know, we were meant to be sung, so we cling to the treble cleft of life like a leaf, as best we can to Something which makes us one, some relief; for we were meant to be as Sung. Until the Sea of His Love steadies us again, we come to some Rock which holds, something bold we know from of old. And the melodies of our bones turn to stone. And we know–We are, what He always was singing…through us.