What tune plays out its rhythm in your waking heart? Upon which hill does your Spirit stand heralding, defending or weeping the passage or pontification of your internal melody? Where is the music guiding your parade? What field of battle plays your hymn’s proclaiming the gathering of your troops to win the day for valor? Where is the song of your heart and to which end does it point?

To be found faithful is to be accounted with the Spirit that made all things. Earnest and steadfast describe the basis from which a man is so inclined. To be there when all else should be expected to run, ignore or avoid. This is the man who wants Sovereign determinism to counter all that assaults in this temporary plane. When all else fails and falters Faithful is found fiery and true.

Are we faithful when our children have need, do we ignore the wife’s need or demand? Our maker never leaves, fails or ignores. Certainly there are times when the answer NO is appropriate and expected, but that is the nature of a loving Dad who comes to aid and discipline as needed to guide, moor and prepare. Where is the space for them who have no such calling upon their soldered heart?

Family, is the catch phrase of those who surround in unconditional love and may be stolen by insurgents who will provide for yours when you would not. Faithful is to do that which is not personally rewarding as sacrificial understanding of putting those we love or the nation we defend before our own lives, pockets or breath. Having lost the benefit of Family we search far and wide for substitute never thinking that we in fact have left that which maintain the bond of human glue.

In a quest for peace and understanding thereof, we must account for the provision in steadfast defense of those things we were given in Divine provision. There is no substitution for Family whether by blood of birth or rebirth found. No greater gift then the support and security of those who will surround you no matter what the trial. Something that never leaves is perhaps greatest gift, not of weakness but of resemblance to glory.

Our God is the anchor to which all things may remain attached throughout storm or rage of war. He will never leave nor abandon on field of battle, despair or captivity. This is the model from which we launch our campaign into the world. A faithfulness that is impossible to copy without the indwelling of the “Earnest of our Salvation” living within procuring us the impossible. I do not care to whom I have chosen allegiance for it is in my resolve to defend them that the reward be found. Are we faithful to God, Country and Family? Perhaps that should be our focal point of greatest concentration when seeking to return to those things that kindled the fire of greatness within US.

In a temporary existence, ideological forays and departure from sound precaution and good footing are inarguably the greatest waste of time, treasure and talent known to man. Trying on those ideas of men who have passed into eternal rest or separation is tantamount to testing the smell and stubbornness of moth eaten cloaks. Leave the whims of bearded men gone bye in the annals of that which once did not work and thrice will be absolute misery in failure.

We are so short lived that an internal understanding of the value to each moment dictates a rapid discernment in efficacy of those foundations to which we cling. Folly, though sometimes entertaining lacks the glory and refinement of solid educational and rational pursuit. Laughing, though spirit pleasuring should never be target of ones hounding wisdom. For truth is not most frequent found in humor but rather in the depth of challenge, remorse and emotional provocation. The joy is a guidance mechanism to overcome the gravity of mortal response to tragedy, as well, a continual/constant reminder of the sanctification gift found within tribulation.

Lost love hurts but to resume relations simply to remander the edifying wound of its passing is repetitive at best and at worst akin to insanity. Calculating like variables and constants in hope of returning alternative output is as always a fool’s errand. Such is the path of man looking for maturity or to utilize the moments of this short life to their fullest. It is never good for us to be alone with our own counsel unless that advisor has been constructed upon gathering of superior or quality tested knowledge. Simply aligning oneself with prose, ideal or patron to form some kindred bond is never adequate reason rather demonstration of the lack thereof.

What we have discovered in our quest for immortal understanding is that thoughts wither and die in the temporal realm when borne of male venture to be known or become common within the mouths of men. And to repeat those things which God has best told all, thinking our own words sufficient to claim these ideas as our own is theological plagiarism. As this world which I did not make unfolds before my hungry eyes, I am continually amazed at endless capacity to astound and clarify through mysterious delivery the simple fact of how very little I ever knew.

We have had the philosophical arguments for centuries. The Social contract may either be based upon the History of Man and his laws, ideals or empiricism or it may be based upon God’s Commandments and teachings of the Bible. There are no other bases upon which to anchor the agreement of man to abide by certain principles with respect to his neighbor’s rights. We must choose subjectivity in a vote to determine what are the acceptable qualities of man or rely upon the objective, inerrant, sovereign nature of God upon which to base these laws and equivalents.

In America our founders sided with Locke, believing that there is no other foundation for fair and equitable laws than that which have come from the Judeo-Christian position and History. They could have chosen mother nature, man’s legal history or the Monarchs of France and England but they chose God. Effectively arguing that we must chose a point in the universe that has no flux by which to anchor that ideals of man who is in constant attitude of change and direction. The danger of our modern day theorist is that they have opened up the alternate path of relying upon Artificial Intelligence gods upon which to base the Social Contract of our immediate path to the future.

There are many questions raised by this new willingness to trust the machine over man and relegate God to the category of limited charge over the universe He crafted. This is a dangerous period where we really do not know what will happen and have little criteria upon which to make prediction. They are so disinclined to respect God’s Word that they will once again delve into the realm of Pandora opening Garages and Boxes that contain potential destruction in a lust to avoid God’s Judgment and Sovereignty. Foolishness may rule in this world but may not demand that we follow it into Abandon. Men have always had choice and though it may cost life or treasure these are the decisions that our Founding Fathers made to maintain the continuance of righteous humanity.

We are at a precipice into which we may jump or from which we made retreat. It is always about the choices before US that determine the resilience and potential for mankind. We must ask ourselves are we willing to roll the dice and take a chance that the miracles which come upon us from the dark closets of man’s pursuit are not frightful, dangerous and potentially fatal to the fate of our species. This is what they appear prepared to embark upon. To me God is the right choice, not because I want to somehow reflect my desire for escape from His Sovereign hand, but because we know that in the promise of His eventual wrath upon Wickedness we find the best in Man reserve. I would beckon man to take purchase and study in God’s Promises and Plan rather than venture into the cold and dark caverns of witchcraft, fate and transhumanism. For if your disbelief in God is your only evidence to this being a sound undertaking then you have forfeited any hope that your argument was valid from its inception. God is known and just because you wish to ignore and avoid Him does not present any adequate cause why mankind should join you in this folly.

This nation has one Hope of Revival and Healing to maintain this constitution we so proudly hail as Divine Gifting. That choice is a back azimuth trek to rejoin the skinny path of God’s Anointing. There is no answer in the dark but darkness to surround them in their rash pursuits as they suffer the unkind fury of the fiery emptiness of God’s Contempt. I see the wisdom and the sound discussion of the Founding Fathers and believe that we should rather waste our time rehashing their refined arguments to arrive at similar conclusion, than pursue to promise of the arrogant in their relentless lust for conquest and power to dominate all mankind. God Promises they demand. God is Patient they seek to cull those of whom they disapprove or believe unworthy of feed and care. These are decisions that should not be poorly ventured or too long left unresolved. For God make US and only He knows what is righteous, best and true. May this nation Turn our faces back to Him in contrition and truth for there alone resides our health and rebirth, within the loving and fearful Hands of God Almighty. In Jesus Name.

The days of measure have come. Some standing tall against fear most fleeing or begging for human resolution through false peace and unanchored hope. Fall prey to the mercies of men without conviction, seared by the caustic call of power to their waiting hunger. All remember the days when children lived their innocence without threat on tranquil hills, woods and search for salamander. What then of hope? It burns brightly in the distance for all who are attracted by its lighted Beacon of Brilliance.

Stand tall against the winds and tide of changing allegiance and time. There is no praise for the man or woman absent serving the emotional discharge of this or that internal gland or chemical imbalance. Free is clear and clear is the day within the minds of those who have chosen victory over purchase and promise over unproven peace. These are men of dis-allegiance making oaths to the darkness and those who suck out the light. Enormity is the call of tomorrow as the gravity of all planets held together by the laminin within them align with the power which holds all purpose.

Seek not safe harbor in fasting seas. Hasten to windy points and welcome disarray. This incongruence with the Mercy found in Heaven will call out to the hands that set the clocks of time at first day. Beckon the storm that has reached our hearts knowing the power within it to clarify every heart, revealing the unbroken. Into the depths of ages spread asunder we seek solace in the midst of foray threatening to consume the universe in wrath. Our petulance wishes to be master but patron participant is mustered nonetheless. To the unfolding we attend. The panoramic display of God’s revelation in long suffering extended to a body that will never understand.

Lord of all honor, grace and consequence, come hither to attend to starting guns and trumpet. As misanthrope’s of madness believe themselves beyond tether and plans poignant. Seek missive to minister’s pre positioned along the arc of lesion’s beneath the sight of man. Tear apart the tectonics and foundation. Take footing from false and leave those upon the Rock’s core alone. These are the moments meant to shake all moorings and set to sea the aspirations of the wicked to dream no more and find no bite upon the willing or inviolate. Preach hunger to them who have eternity’s filling. And thirst to men freed from the slake of Earthly toil. For this is the reckoning of intention. Yours against the Will of God.

Razor sharp tautly held rope in definition of a peculiar mindset. Who elects the social squad of consequence, sitting on high with weighty pronouncements that make young girls cry and men stand forever in the garden? A puzzle piece that so keenly plugs the hole remaining on credenza, yet somehow will never match the picture on the box. Odd trends separating man from man in a creation made for everyone.

We rejoice in our segregation. Though so soundly unfair as evidence of inclusion somewhere beyond the reaches of those with exclusions bony paw. I stood refreshed but weary as the absence of inclusion left me the only course. There are places beyond the touch of mortal man to which peculiar finds love and welcome. To sing with those in adoration of the Sovereign Grace of infinity seated upon Heaven’s throne who knows everything worth knowing and calls me kin.

I will never find inclusion here in man’s scripted devices, for I am pariah to their absolute abandon. It is fine to know the reason I am here is for them as God wants them in the next life. The few that I have known which truly love the brethren are the fresh air to my lungs and cure to heaviness of heart. It must be done this way, we all must make choice to let patience do her perfect work in eschewing the yearning for treasure and personal reward in exchange for everything in the here after. There is no other path to such heavenly regard, all other roads lead to separation and pain.

Good and true mornings in whispers of wind’s message that all the world changes regardless of our inclination, participation or acquiescence. In fault the bridge to understanding remembers nothing but the scratches of our memories. Hearts and tomes of recall traced over with older fingers and minds that have seen more winters. Receptive days and lies told to massage reason bring to close the friends and pathways we have plundered. The farm smells of planting and Earth while the bugs crawl, bees buzz and children look for some new wonder to play with. Remorse escapes as I seek to work with the consistent whose taint has not fallen upon the August early moon. Those of heart swept up in joy of promise, hope and everlasting.

To them the fight is easy. Paramount not given to inflated understanding or reason denying the participation of the Mighty Hands that made time for our purpose. Closed are the windows through which our papers flurried. Done enough for this lifetime as not every issue was meant for my completion. Spoken unto my frustrated dreams apologizing for my leaving. There will come another who will help from here on in. This is not the day of my disclosure nor the time of my miracles unfurled. But my days of flags blown toward the mounting spirit of the sun where dreams crack lose and hope finds good soil in purchase. I am not the solution to this equation. Nor seeker of greater things without pliability of sanction.

Fixation upon results that were never meant to come this season but many moons into the future. A fateful thing to be measured by laws I’ve always broken. In exception of my pride remain vulnerable to the moments that catch me up in time’s open hand. Brought to pastures of my own design, filled with reason that escapes the boundaries of reason. Asked once to dance and twice to marshal moments so bleak to turn stomach green and eye averted to brighter days. Things are not always as they appear in the scripts of our willingness. Looking to truth is not conclusion but beginning. In the depth of purport and inclination we find the resolve to fight or run away. This is the day upon which I have made my claim to success of failures written about my passing.

Into conquest of the holy realms of action. The mirror holds its power to see within. Including all of the evidence and sadness. My heart is sodden with the pain that cannot be staunched or stemmed even by love but must be coddled forever as infant. We frequent the upset of the measure, given by a hand that understands provision and perfection. Things to which my mind wanders without recall or clarity. The folds of folly call my name in kinship. Hoping that I too will plant my verdant hope in the shortness and breath of thoughts and memories patent. Feckless and eager to make miles of adoration my victim I forget the Love that’s given and march on to those thing that mattered little to cause of all mankind.

Time’s heart erupted. The sky split showing the baseline as the universe reached for something to hold it up. Falling upward, begin blown about with no wind or sound I found my heart pulsing with the orange and blood red flashes in the dark. My eyes rebelled from sensory overload or was it my soul that in the overwhelming moment had no frame with which to reference. Down the worm hole of cripple’s casting I through myself to escape the hollering night. The scream of dawn as sunlight was torn from our memories we suffered separation from any peaceful comprehension. All was war, chaos and abnormal even taking breath seemed somehow wrong. Screeches of worlds colliding made sound in the vacuum that we should have heard but lay harmless hiding on the walls and wells of space’s exit ramp. Not wanting to set the clock in motion once again I hid inside myself, afraid to even question, reason or move. For it had too much, too much for man to see and know.

We had gone the distance and found nothing at forms end. Deposited in the run off of the cosmos, I felt discarded as we had somehow found the alley behind the Rosen Bridge. My mind, my skeleton, my organs felt out of place. Stretched by exceeding light our cells torn apart and restructure a million times per second we should not be, carelessly spread across a thousand parsecs in our passing. Sanctified in sadness of lost loves and moorings detached. The fray into which we are cast may not be of our choosing but is defined by its pregnancy for the quickening of heart and mind. Lost in the established norms I fail to sound present when called upon the perform the task of my expectations. Into the void I find nothing substantial upon which to erect my escape from this vast and abnormal expanse. Time had failed to adhere us to the present which leading to future uncertain. Our whereabouts unknown we grappled with reason no longer satisfactory foundation upon which to make plans for our redemption.

The darkness loomed and promised nothing. In the dullness of my senses I was forced to close my eyes accepting them poor asset in the presence of overwhelming data. Sound and sight had lost this fight and their once helpful input now played only tricks upon my courage and understanding. I stood back from all that I held as truth, except that having travelled through millennia, mass and distance I still existed outside of all law that should have torn me asunder. From under the folds that I punched in time I arose to the panorama of life distant from that which any had known reaching into the new territories of God’s deliverance. I leaned into this new and irrational perception, knowing that there is always a way through calamity and time. Seeking avenues of thought and imagination I felt the gravity of interconnecting pathways leading to places of Spiritual conclusion. The light drew me near to welcome my initiation into all that was before me.

Does valor claim me its victim or ally? What proof does a sideline seat give me to honor, glory or the acceptance of fate and chance? I am the Lord of no one’s fence.

Into the midst of an incontrollable fray I am cast as a pawn with some secret. Some mystery instilled from the dawn of time plays and pulses within a heart that would be slain by palsy, paralysis and fear. These things are not my master but the weapons of foes with penchant for promises they cannot bear to fruition.

I look on while the forces massed against us find purchase in the soils given to God’s beloved. What chance in hell’s installment have they in victory against the King of All Kings? Don’t delight in the frenzy playing out scenes of a script they’ve written in their own denial of the inevitable. Must I now play my cards dealt from an imaginary deck in avatar to escape the obligations and vows that call me to reason?

These are the demons of old have thrived and sycophantly slurped from the power of Spirit that resides too far for the touch of the swollen phalanges. What promise to which they cling brings them to the outskirts of the impossible only to be fallen upon by the Rock that started all Ages? Are we to fall pray to roaming lions pent on our destruction, toothless and off scripture? No for the war is not our own but at the footsteps of God’s Throne. They violate His proclamations in their making. Are we to enforce laws lain down by God Himself? What of His Wrath for their blatant disobedience? Must we reconsider our own in expecting His intervention upon Promise?

Cyclically we repeat the fearful works of unfaithful. Again to again we find caverns and shadow in which to hide from the horrific when all along God’s wings and His Omniscience stood awaiting our acceptance. I run no more if but to the waiting arms of God’s Protection, Hope and Promise. Wait not my Friends for the time dwindles in this mass of indecision.

Crucial ignominy relative to the mooring poured out in ages long perished. Trials in the eyes of nieces whispering dark tales of Uncle’s character manipulated to portray an innocent man. Left to reason it out in solitude, conversations held with self, by self, answered by self, leaving one as barren as the desert in noonday. We are sanctioned to perform outside of universal norms with the sole purpose and reason being our gratification and untarnished conscience. What monsters have played the stage this day?

The machinery is corroded, not simply tarnished in the diesel poisons of nation’s impropriety, but fouled at its heart in desperate cries of demonic indwelling. There is no stride long enough to escape the mark leveled deeply in the memory of mankind. An immoral rape of all that may be referred sacrosanct. Nothing left as imaginations are dumped upon the screens and sidewalks for review by children left with scarred or wounded innocence. This is our history being written before us, as we idly sing along never once contemplating the thoughts of our Great-Grand Children. To what shame do we subject them in relation, for we will be to blame for their world’s ravaging.

What have we placed upon today’s pedestal. Remorseless discovery of non pious criminality and lusts so odd they would make the fallen blush? How high the pyres, fired to rid us of blemish and stain that resists the cleansing of prayer and passion? What washes away the epiglottal filth hard as staining sand beyond the reach of prying finger or lozenge? Cattle calls and pack cars of chattel slaves to the empires of the slaked and dark places. Collective minds lost before their promised hive mind could connect them. Reason laid to rest alongside the sense we once found common. Colors are dulled by capacity of imperception.

How may freedom’s price be paid when a child wandering in neighborhood less known is sold for sensory conquest? The nerves pinched by visions so cruel them challenge the breadth of human definition, we lay porous to acidity, without remorse or cause or home. This challenge is the range of our purpose and recognition of the life residing in us. For none too sweet to accept folly as hope would bring forth counsel to remain astride the horse we now have saddled. No stirrup’s support for the weight the bears us aloft to greater things that a man yet has done. For we are counted lonely when seated with the masses as their dreams never once got whispered. For in our heads and hearts the drums of self indulgence silenced all voice and wisdom.

We were alone for the ride to bridge and fury. In to the promised wrath of all that Hold’s Holy we committed ourselves in utter pride. Taken from the horse of our propelling false conscience we are dissolved in the Raging magma of life’s forging furnace to return to dust as we arrived.

Pomegranate ripe, insatiable appetite for reason and the myths of misbegotten societies bequeathed to sand and saddle. The prattle, deeming the inevitable eye sore pursuits and passions while fashions change and ideals erode grand measure. What then are our hopes on destiny as supercharged agents of plasma stride mordantly to capture one drop of innocent impact? With recalcitrance the forest falls in silence. Capricious men of plunder and imposed authority ride the distance to see damage complete. Ten thousand feet of rubbish for one Holy Word while plants and paupers weigh the tin of man’s gold wanton.

Counting the coin of departure from all that counsels reason. Lying, roadside sewing the seams of dreams that were better left bottled by mottled crew and happenstance hero. Exception painted upon the face of would-be Queen with lean understanding and negative depth for sounding. Mark it masters of hydrophilicity and sound trumpet to masters lain bare by barrage of those sans patience. To ward agents of porous nightmare, bringers and harbingers of dark’s silken presence. A nonce to guarantee the pathway to Light’s resounding victory. As the moors whisper and the bog stand quiet. We retreat in resolute posture toward the frozen obelisks of our repentance. Waylaid by schemes and dreams yet answered.

Therapy for the healthy conscious sake of emptying the sack to place or replace filter to filth. A spontaneous occasion left random by numbers pulled from repositories of hidden mirth and the annals of World’s yet born. We sing in promise to the wind that never answers thinking itself unseen and therefore unaccountable. But withhold the lodgings of promise and rabble finds residual romance a folly to be laughed at as hand upon hand the land is shaken by promise. Til death or the wealth runs asunder from under the foundations of our occurring reckon. Opulent white and Knight’s sheen to brilliance in undertaking though foolish beyond mixing spirits with sight. Into the whole of night we march awakened by the fires against the horizon we see the landing for hopes at half past dawn.

These are the lands of the unfamiliar, forgotten by hand or trampling foot to breathe in the ram’s resting. Precession a blessing of sorts against the warts of poor thinking and the addle of drinking we parade to display our grand punditry. Faking remorse we’ve altered our course but the horse to the bridle is chafing. A landing in crimson and taupe we slowly release the rope necessary for recovering our honor. In delight we enter this fight untouched by the weight of immortality for we all perish. In timely deceit the rest of the fleet was acquainted with harbors yet wandered. In games afoot, the soot of passions and woes written upon our freshly fired faces to replace the qualms and the psalms we’d once uttered. To war said the maid but we’d already paid to be included on the manifest to midnight.