Painting my Jesus story

It’s my longest  journey from wayback through youth until now…Like a voyage through countries, desserts and oceans, in search of clarity at heart and singleness of thought, seeking purpose in the wrong depths

Gropping and gripping, grabbing and grubbing all at once but nothing to make or show for it…until I felt your breathe , your touch, your voice leading and guiding me until now…

Now I see that the need to judge is vanity and that men are men but gods are gods, like a place of order and sanity, void of Insanity, vanity,iniquity but of equity and sancity…

A place to desire, crave and want, want nothing more except for the raging  ravaging  loud and  greedy toned prevailing lust of my flesh…

But I give it all up, because now I want to be weak, so weak that I need nothing else but you…Too weak to follow through with my bike passions, so given and yielded to your prompts and gentle cautions, so deaf to loud voices but alert to the stillness that characterize yours…

On this journey, I surrender every thought and wisdom I may have hitherto relied on, numb my feelings and vile desires, quench my thirst and fill my reins…I just want an overdose of you again…


Nb-Image sourced via Gionee themes

Advertisements

Listen…



Incantations are the language of deities, speeches by gods and the most sonorous  rumblings of immortals!

I woke yesterday from the web of a prevailing delusion, I  discovered the beauty in everyplace , in odds and evens , in valleys and hills, I found a rythym in all of these contrasts, a latent harmony and melody!

By the chants of victory songs, battles won are declared, Victor’s are asserted!

It is by the stillness o f life’s  stream that we know the place of its destination; in the heat of life’s furnace , beautiful hearts are forged…

Thankfully, Papa thought me to make men not money; serve God not Mammon…

However as we live daily, like  that uncertainty of the life of the fragile  butterfly perhaps  in the clenched fists of a diviner, so also uncertain is the twist of destiny, swinging left or right, a pendulum of choices …

Indeed the way of spirits need prevail, the words of mere men fall to the ground but sounds of victory emerge from the lips  of Victors! 

Victors birth from the rubles of shame and hurts; conquerors made from the dividends of patience, long-suffering and the purest nature of charity…

In my deepest heart, from a black and white conscience, I share my hope with you…I have seen pain become joy, hope become faith and death become life!

However again, I have seen truth remain as truth, I have seen no shame in hope, over and over again, hope; that posture of expectation born from understanding that time and chance happens always towards all.

In my cogitations, my heart vents from a depth of realization, embedded in simple words of admonition…

The summary being that we speak as gods, chant like Victors, run like horses, fly like eagles, roar as lions in hope against hope!