It takes a day to lift a burden.

Love is an entryway to everything which matters.

I like being the oil on the joints, so to speak, to be at the hinges or watershed spaces; i get pleasure in the in between places even of the generations (it’s my generation’s role-to interpret from the seams, so to speak, we’re a watershed people, and rejoice in the parts already starting to, and about to, touch! To muster us on, towards unity! To shout the praises of the in-between, the already not yet, but almost yet….poetic faith glue, us!). Synovial fluid i think they call in the human body, keeps the joints lubricated! Regardless, i love that space where different parts of the body come together in new collaborations, new types of connections! So when friends come together, it gets me excited! And when i get excited I express a lot.

I’m really liking this years theme of my global friends getting to hang out with my parents! Makes me happy. I’m blessed in that my parents are also actual spiritual parents (seems rare these days, when your actual family is also spiritual family; thankful for that in life!), and it means the world to me when friends get to meet them.
Thanks guys for thinking to shout out to me yesterday! It’s was a sudden bouquet in my heart to see you all together across generations of His Purposes each engaged in your own chapters of the endless story! I love that you got to tap into our local Moravian heritage as well Pete Greig! Grew up two blocks from there-rich history which keeps giving as you know through the global prayer movements!
I love global family! What a sudden bouquet of friendship and family grew in my heart overnight. Woke up happy. Thanks guys! I love it when special ones connect and converse-especially across generations!
I like being the oil on the joints, so to speak, to be at the hinges or watershed spaces; i get pleasure in the in between places even of the generations (it’s my generation’s role-to interpret from the seams, so to speak, we’re a watershed people, and rejoice in the parts already starting to, and about to, touch! To muster us on, towards unity! To shout the praises of the in-between, the already not yet, but almost yet….poetic faith glue, us!). Synovial fluid i think they call in the human body, keeps the joints lubricated! Regardless, i love that space where different parts of the body come together in new collaborations, new types of connections! So when friends come together, it gets me excited!
So good seeing yawl together. Plus, it made my mom happy, and i love my mom! When my mom’s happy, the angels sing!
If you all don’t know Pete Greig and his life’s work with the global multi-denominational and ecumenical body-wide prayer movements (24/7 etc) going on over the past many years, starting in Europe but rippling out everywhere, you should, it’s inspiring what’s up, taps us into current spiritual history, and has broken down many types of walls (as prayer tends to!), in a time where that’s most needed!
He’s also a great story teller and man of faith. This movement’s made safe spiritual harbors for formation and incubators for social justice, not walls, which is my current bumper sticker for our times! “Clean your harbors, tear down your walls!”. And my mom likes him, which is a good sign.
Plus, i love promoting my friends without branding them! Look him up, he’s much more famous and functional than me (he’s British!)–easier to find also! His first book “Red Moon Rising” rocked and was true; this new one, which i haven’t read yet, because i can’t find a copy, I’m sure it’s also got some holy heat on it! Look forward to sitting with it.
Had a dream once, that i would get to bless or see all the generations on earth at once, or at least see and love three like Joshua did! And get to see how they fit together (that’s the fun part!)! Great dream.
When global friends and family come together, which keeps happening this year, across generations and cross body, makes me think that dream may come true! Thanks guys, nice to see you all together-blessed my soul! Let’s keep being in and telling the endless Story, each pronouncing our lines in Love! Together we make and become a sign.

From all my studies so far in life, Love appears to be the key to every door.

I’m really liking this years theme of my global friends getting to hang out with my parents! Makes me happy. I’m blessed in that my parents are also actual spiritual parents (seems rare these days, when your actual family is also spiritual family; thankful for that in life!), and it means the world to me when friends get to meet them.

Thanks guys for thinking to shout out to me yesterday! It’s was a sudden bouquet in my heart to see you all together across generations of His Purposes each engaged in your own chapters of the endless story! I love that you got to tap into our local Moravian heritage as well Pete! Grew up two blocks from there-rich history which keeps giving as you know through the global prayer movements!

I love global family! What a sudden bouquet of friendship and family grew in my heart overnight. Woke up happy. Thanks guys! I love it when special ones connect and converse-especially across generations! I like being the oil on the joints, so to speak, to be at the hinges or watershed spaces (it’s my generation’s role-to interpret from the seams, so to speak, and rejoice in the parts already starting to touch! To muster us on, towards unity!). Synovial fluid i think they call in the human body, keeps the joints lubricated! Regardless, i love that space where different parts of the body come together in new collaborations, new types of connections! Plus, it made my mom happy, and i love my mom!

Had a dream once, that i would get to bless or see all the generations on earth at once, or at least see and love three like Joshua did! Great dream. When global friends and family come together across generations and cross body, makes me think that dream may come true! Thanks guys, nice to see you all together-blessed my soul! Let’s keep being in the endless Story, each pronouncing our lines in Love! Together we make and become a sign.

Being a hyperbole:

“I am a hyperbole,” My wife said today from a conversation we were having about often feeling in life, that we were both, as Abraham Heschel put it in talking about the prophets, “one octave too high”. Maybe God has to exaggerate Himself sometimes to be heard.

Alas, it’s true, we are hyperboles, yet sometimes it seems God uses hyperbole to express Himself-hence artists and saints. Sometimes you have to yell to be heard, to be bigger than life to find and express Life.

Certainly St Paul both was, and used, lots of hyperbole! Ok, at least we are in good company! Although it’s still hard for me to hide in a cafe when i just want to read, never mind sneaking into the back pew of church to pray! Maybe artists and prophetic people are always hyperbolic. Well, at least we are hyper alive!

Maybe all people of and after God, are meant to be exaggerations of the obvious.

Reverend Shoehorn’s word:

I was working on a traveling preacher character today for a little film I’m working on. Basing it one of my uncles who was a traveling preacher—an itinerant revivalist, they used to call it. Anyways, interesting the sermon i came up with that he wanted to preach. It was all about a new re-formation, or deeper re-formation!

From a new reformer (I’m calling this preacher Reverend Shoehorn) i came across today, he was talking about the new reformation going on now….that is inside of people. His little homily went like this:

“The new reformation!

The re-formation was just a start of a deeper formation of Christ in people. In our times, He wants to go deeper, baptizing people more fully into His Name, and therefore, our own true names or identities. The result will be authentic spirituality. So people won’t have to stumble over the unnecessary stone of the forms of the church. This is Grace really. For if He is more at the Center, then we build the outer more creatively, less legalistically.

This makes the outer forms more authentic perforce (many are working on the outer before the inner, He’s working in reverse-inside to out- but He wants to go more deeply in, which will transform the outer expressions), but also has a greater clarity of simplicity in authenticity. This movement will be marked by simplicity and diversity of expression.

For to be more deeply in His Name, is to express more fully our true names! Our names are written and hidden in His, as He taught St Peter!

Also the deeper we go into His Name, the more we will feel united with those in His Name, so ecumenism will take care of itself!

To be baptized more deeply into His actual Name is the call of our times, in the midst of increasing tumult. Christ wants to come closer, eclipse and come into more of us. Make us more fully human, while simultaneously making us more “not, but Christ”. Show us our true names, while we lose them! Exciting times of opportunity to go deeper and enter another level of re-formation, a depth formation, for those who want to be more fully in Him! Let’s!”

Anyways, i enjoyed discovering this character’s sermon today through the creative process, and starting to develop what he wants to say about the spiritual climate now! Fun way to explore. I learn so much through my art process. Plus, what he had to say felt true about now.

I wrote a song for this black dirt running down the hill of the backyard in rain today. It made me think about all that dirt carries…so, I wrote a song for the dirt in the back yard on a hill today….i like it ok, needs some work on the poetry level and lots of editing, but the content interest me. See what you think, i’ll keep a working on it in the meantime, here goes.

I think a lot about the soil these days, and how we’re meant to relate to it. As I said last week the three neglected areas now are: soil (the earth), sight (the imagination) and skin (how to relate the physical body). Anyways, this one was about the soil part….hope you enjoy it, and may your dirt turn to gold one day, or something even better, and more fruitful friends!

Dirt Song

The soil today, in particular fading evening light, runs black in a late day rain flight,
as it often does after wet mists just before sunset;
not, perhaps, on its own volition, but it seems
the earth is under
forced labor to know itself these day. And reminds us of something
systematically culled, plowed, churned, overexposed through years or poor tending, not listening to her well;
And, with our bones all mixed in it, swelling in half song, half moan, forwards, now waiting for something to turn us both into gold, or something more precious than we think we are;
more precious than metal at least.

And even the fields, out back, have forgotten their names by now-that one
for instance, used to be called “watermelon borough”. The hobo men used to jump off trains
just at the sight of all that glowing wet glory, with potential watermelon red fountain within!
But they too now have
forgotten how to return on their own, to prize true treasure, to unearth their own nuances, memories of yielding; or purposes in time. We all forgot our names, so cannot name.
After a while, even this dirt has amnesia. I need to talk to it again-tell her of her potential
wet her nutrients again.
Recall the poem clay and day are, and will be. God looked at dirt and saw humanity. Saw the shape in the clay beforehand.

So, this is the least I can do.
Tell my backyard, she can still sing life, be renewed!
Welcome the birds, and then just listen, for once. Not talk at, not use, not make money off, not even try to make her sustainable, just listen. Be still, and know.

I try to recall the Belgium poppies for hope-to visualize that crimson golden mustard smeared red growing glow from the back of soldiers meant for a king’s robe’s color, but
this is a type of silent groaning which weighs on you after a while, and you too just go silent, like vacant suburbs near malls; and, we
rarely hear that whisper call of evening, until it’s too late.

So, I try to listen into dirt’s silence until the light fades, and this day, at least
is finished.

I try to pronounce rest over us.
I try to say Sabbath with my being. But,
Night has already come, it seems. Or some turbulent darkness
has once again crept in.

Yet, at dawn today, in morning prayer, already there was talk of light breaking over us all, into and through us somehow.

So, I recall morning prayers again, and poppy seeds,
even while I’m watching this soot gather at the base of our tiny hill this evening, and the hens next door running away, in fear in all our backyards,
I’m still seeing, maybe in dream, maybe in night light, red poppies poking out their faces again from inside of
the black earth. And, I know what I saw in the light of prayer this morning! This prismatic resurrection
was already occurring,
even during the night while we slept in Silence,
despite us.

Song for the dirt today:
The soil today, in particular fading evening light, runs black in a late day rain
as it often does after rain mists just before sunset;
not, perhaps, on its own volition, but it seems
the earth is under
forced labor to know itself these day. And reminds us of something
systematically culled, plowed, churned, overexposed through years or poor tending, not listening to well,
with our bones all mixed in it, swelling in half song, half moan, forwards, now waiting for something to turn us both into gold, or something more precious than we think we are;
more precious than metal at least.
And even the fields, out back, have forgotten their names by now-that one
for instance, used to be called “watermelon borough”. The hobo men used to jump off trains
just at the sight of all that glowing wet glory, with potential watermelon red fountain within!
But they too now have
forgotten how to return on their own, to prize true treasure, to unearth their own nuances, memories of yielding; or purposes in time. We all forgot our names, so cannot name.
After a while, even this dirt has amnesia. I need to talk to it again-tell her of her potential
wet her nutrients again.
Recall the poem clay is, and will be. God looked at dirt and saw humanity. Saw the shape in the clay beforehand. So, this is
the least I can do. Tell my backyard, she can still sing life! Welcome the birds, and then just listen, for once. Not talk at, not use, not make money off her, not even try to make her sustainable, just listen. Be still, and know.
I try to recall the Belgium poppies for hope-to visualize that crimson golden mustard smeared red growing from the back of soldiers, meant for a king’s robe’s color, but
this is a type of silent groaning weighs on you after a while, and you too go silent like vacant suburbs near malls; and, we
rarely hear that whisper of evening, until it’s too late. I try to listen into dirt’s silence until the light falls, and this day, at least
is finished. I try to pronounce rest. I try to say Sabbath with my being. But,
Night has already come, it seems. Or some darkness
has once again crept in.
Yet, dawn, in morning prayer, has already started breaking over us all, into and through us somehow,
even while I’m watching this soot gather at the base of all our tiny hill
in all our backyards, I’m seeing red poppies poking out their faces again from within
the black earth. I know what I saw in the light this morning! This prismatic resurrection
was already occurring, even during the night while we slept in Silence.