Pinky Pirate

Shepherd

2011-10-12T12:16:00.000+01:00

THIS HAS MOVED...SEE http://www.pinkypirate.com/shepherd/
From here on in I know nothing.

If this journey is to proceed....

Cobwebs

2011-06-28T22:34:00.003+01:00

THIS HAS MOVED...SEE http://www.pinkypirate.com/cobwebs/

It began as a bright day and the wind was fresh. We positioned ourselves right in the centre of the field in a long straight line across the width of it....

Belt-Up

2011-05-18T12:40:00.011+01:00

THIS HAS MOVED TO

http://www.pinkypirate.com/belt-up/

We are created looking forward and not back which leaves us vulnerable if no-one actually has our back....

Inbetween

2011-04-14T11:31:00.004+01:00

THIS HAS MOVED TO http://www.pinkypirate.com/inbetween/

On the surface or deep underground
The excavation has been done and
Little remains in those dug out places....

Mama

2011-04-03T10:31:00.001+01:00

THIS HAS MOVED TO http://www.pinkypirate.com/mama/
"Do you not think for one moment that I gave birth too?....That I carried as you carry...that I gave birth as you give birth...that I gave birth to the universe and it came out from me?" Sheer exasperation was in The Voice...

Shumba

2011-03-08T09:15:00.001Z

Shumba, Shona for Lion

Zimbarbwean, African.

HeadRest

2011-02-23T16:06:00.002Z

THIS HAS MOVED TO http://www.pinkypirate.com/headship/

We lose to gain, we die to live, we let go and give in,

We quit and give up, we retire and lie down

In green pastures and beside still waters while

Our Head restores our body and soul.

Wave

2011-01-04T23:16:00.005Z

THIS HAS MOVED TO http://www.pinkypirate.com/waves/

Within this context every season counts towards the culmination. Whether fallow, death, emergence or growth, all is being woven together in readiness for the third move/wave when all three decades of workers will join forces as one.

Trees

2010-11-24T21:27:00.007Z

THIS HAS MOVED TO http://www.pinkypirate.com/trees/

Walking through a heavily populated wood I joined
a wonderful crowd that had converged....

Wild Island

2010-10-12T16:37:00.008+01:00

THIS HAS MOVED TO http://www.pinkypirate.com/wildland/

It is a safe place of pretence in the paddock,

Gelded and tamed as if butter would not melt....

Ireland

2010-09-27T09:15:00.003+01:00

THIS HAS MOVED TO http://www.pinkypirate.com/ireland/

He was shadowing me, a quiet presence behind my left shoulder....

Medication

2010-09-14T23:46:00.017+01:00

THIS HAS MOVED TO

http://www.pinkypirate.com/medication/

A 'weary and fainting' preventative

Circumventing the toil of self-worthiness...

Fallen

2010-08-28T20:47:00.003+01:00

THIS HAS MOVED TO http://www.pinkypirate.com/annecy/

Through dense woods, strands of spider web gossamer threads

Lay across my face and arms, trailing behind like invisible garments.

Lichen dressed trees, the livery of nature's footmen stand in waiting

Beside green velvet, moss cushioned stones strewn by winter thaws....

Martyr

2010-07-15T14:56:00.072+01:00

THIS HAS MOVED TO http://www.pinkypirate.com/martyr/

Standing on a river bed made up of smooth rounded stones, cool water ran across my feet...

St Albans to Lincoln walk

2010-07-09T08:55:00.001+01:00

21st TO 25th JUNE 2010

This walk had a constant theme of redemption, the 3 days preceding it I encountered 3 powerful redemptive situations pointing to the remarkable restoration of Jesus....'you make all things well, just look at our lives...'

For three years now I have kept on appointment with Lincoln on 25th June, this last walk being the third connection on this date.

We set out north from St Albans on 21st June with the sun blazing on our backs, once we had taken a moment in the town's centre. For the 5th time we stood between Lamb Alley and the Bell pub at the top of the hill where Alban would have lost his head to the roman empire. The only way to counter the control of 'man's head' is to get out of our heads on Jesus, so we arrived having taken time to lose our heads afresh to Jesus. This 5th visit was to provoke a de-corking and unblocking of the well in that place. As the town prepared to celebrate Alban's feast day with a religious fervour that would have made the saint puke at the idolatry of himself, we went to lift the lid off the truth that has been capped in that place. May the real Alban stand up please...and be free to roam around that place declaring that it really is ALL about Jesus.

Stepping out from St Alban's we were a team of 4 for 4 days, making our way into middle England, through Bedfordshire, Cambridgeshire, Northamptonhshire and into Lincolnshire. There were 4 'Eleanor crosses' to bag on the way which means 10 of these monuments are now clonking around in my 'Mary Poppins' bag. In each of their positions is the cross of Christ and His intimacy as a conductor/download of heaven to earth. The last crosses are in London which will be part of the final walk.

As we walked over the river Lea and past Luton, having walked there from East London before now, we sent a reminder to Luton that it is loved. Brushing past Bedford we pushed on into what began to feel like medieval England. We walked through village after village that carried significant history of days gone by, relics of kings with divine right, arms, feudal lords and peasant revolts. Finding paths through land that is enclosed and wondering how ancient is a track and what land must have been like before the enclosures. Nowadays, farmers that go to work the land knowing they will make a loss each day and our relationship over centuries with this soil verses money and power.

As I kept my focus on Lincoln it was like pulling through the middle ground with all that has been marked out land-wise by this entire walk. And now, drawing it all up into one place to be re-organised, re-sorted and re-ordered. There were just some last bits to cover and then the job is done. Huge estates like Burghley and Grimsthorpe were to be taken into this final sweep towards Lincoln. At the centre of Stamford we picked up an 'Eleanor Cross', a place that has a deep rooted medieval identity where 4 counties meet. It felt important to call for a 'Jesus centre' here and as we drew on His AD33 vintage in the town's square, some young people appeared, partying along the street.

Throughout this 'Bell walk' there has been a colour theme, particularly using the colour pink to represent that which has been divided becoming one i.e. creator/creation, being/doing or left/right etc. Red and white come together in pink, the red cross on the white background or the white and red roses of a royal house divided against itself. Walking through the centre of this Bell shape is about bringing the 'left and right' together as we literally walked with our feet through the middle calling for balance and the control that divides to be squeezed out on every level of life. The beautiful truth is I even descend from the house of York and Lancaster, both red and white rose, my blood is symbolically pink, haha!!

In Grantham we picked up an 'Eleanor Cross' in Katherine's Road and in Lincoln we picked up another at Katherine's priory. (St. Katherine, an 4th C martyr from Egypt confronted the Roman emperor with the truth of Christ) As we took the busy road into Lincoln, fresh troops joined us, that felt like a much needed transfusion. Finally, it was a joy to climb 'Steep Hill' once more and stand between the castle and the cathedral in Lincoln. Linda Yoxon met us, this her third year of receiving us, and simply handed me a red and white rose....we prayed and I was anxious to connect with Lincoln once more, but not with my clever words or pouring out the revelation that has been so deep on these walks. I would rather 'shut-up' and hear God speak or give the 'I am' this moment. As I stilled myself, a breeze brushed past and with eyes shut I sensed someone approach us from the cathedral. With the eyes of my heart I saw a monk shuffling towards us, he came up to me and asked me 3 times whether the red and white roses were for him. Each time I replied yes and then he took them and shuffled off. At that moment the cathedral bells began to ring. I assumed it must an hourly sounding and smirked at the coincidence.

However, the bells began ringing and did not stop, Linda declared, 'in all the 25 years of living here, I have never heard these ring properly like this!' The time was 25 to 5 pm...on the 25th June...the bells rang out all sorts of different melodies for 50 minutes and the last bell sounded at 5.25pm, Jubilee resounded all around us.

We were astounded as we just sat on the cobbled street licking ice-creams enjoying 'God's voice'. As the bells continued I said to Linda about the monk taking the roses. There was one Bishop of Lincoln who related to high and low folk alike called St. Hugh, a French hermetical monk and Linda who has been a gatekeeper in Lincoln is moving to the centre of France as I write this report. 25 yrs she has faithfully held her post, this is her silver jubilee and she is on the next part of her journey. I left the roses at the ruin of the old bishops palace to confirm that yes, certainly both red and white rose were for the heart of this place, as a sign of redemption to Lincoln.

I have never been one for lofty religious seats but I knew this visit was a personal redemption as well. In Lincoln cathedral, 3 women are celebrated who are my ancestors and it was time to come into whatever destiny lies in this awe-inspiring building. Firstly, my namesake, Katherine Swynford, lowly, dearly loved and legitimised by the highest in the land and her daughter, Joan. Also, Eleanor, dearly loved who's crosses I have almost finished taking for Jesus. I placed a small cross back in her hands and blessed Eleanor's cross in that place.
Kneeling at the 'High alter' it was like being in the centre of a golden canopy of Jesus' presence where I soaked up every drop of His redemption by just remaining with Him, while paying tourists meandered round doing what they do best!
The bells had rang that Friday, 25th June at just the right moment as a 'one-off'. A volunteer who had served the cathedral for many years was 90 years old and the bells were rang to honour that person......... If two lots of 25 mins equals 50 mins then what is 45 in relation to 90? November this year I am 45 and this walking broke open for me 3 years ago as I stood in the Seyhan river in Turkey and symbolically smashed two stones together 45 times..... mind boggling!
An amazing completion, with one more walk which will be the icing on the cake.

GuardDogs

2010-07-02T08:11:00.004+01:00

A guard is in place to protect something of high value,
So we are met with barking and growling
When we come across that which is hidden.
Hence the barred canines and foaming at the mouth
As a warning to 'keep out and stay away'.

This give-away clue to where the Wells are
Is a cover up, and the aggression is a sign
Of the wealth of inheritance and our right of way.

It would appear as anything but a well of living water,

But it is certainly present and there for the taking.

It has only been capped and seconded by a usurper
So as not to be found or re-opened.
This thief fears, lest the truth of who we really are
Should re-connect to original underground giftings.

Even the level of intimidation denotes the importance of the well.

So where we least feel like drinking is a key internally and externally.
We are put off the very activity that opens the Well,
As we encounter emotions or land to be crossed
That causes us to feel 'unwell', dispossessed,
And in the crux of our 'Achilles' heel...even our breath falters.

But if the worst signifies the best and our weakness, a strength,

If the fear and the threat signifies a 'Well' that is ours,
Then there is a bar to propped up and a stool to be rested on
As we begin to draw from the Well behind the intimidation.
No thing separates us from being loved, no snarl or barking.

Heaven has incredibly long straws that bypass guard dogs!
They have no understanding of what is taking place
As we remain and draw on the presence of our divine provider.
All they see are tubular, stripped pipes passing through
Their threatening throng, into the ground and the well they stand on.

I cannot fight control with control,

I cannot shout in the face of being silenced

I cannot pretend the threat is absent

I cannot put my fists up and punch it
I cannot avoid the promise of inheritance
And I cannot be powerless to remove the thief.

But, I can bypass this 'attention seeker' who apprehends me in contention.
Amidst the constant barking and growling, I would drink from the well beneath
So that I connect to a finished work and all that has been won for me.
My own strength will not connect me, only my reliance on truth will align me,
The burden is light and the yoke is easy, a vintage truth of pure wine that I must imbibe.

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Apostolic

2010-06-02T20:16:00.002+01:00

He was busy, I could see that. Huge coils of chain were on the floor either side of him and hefty cast iron, as thick as my wrist formed link after link. He was passing it through His hands and inspecting every section of this enormous chain, at close range. He peered at each link and constantly pulled the chain with His hands to see if it would give way. It dripped with the water it had been retrieved from, leaving pools all over the floor. Behind him were closed curtains which seemed to be drawn on a hive of activity producing a clattering, industrious racket. I was hesitant but too curious to just watch, 'What are you doing?' I asked bluntly.

'The chains of the apostolic...' He continued His inspection, 'I am holding the chains of the apostolic in my hands...the entire length is to run through my hands. Each link is vital and to be strengthened to hold and not give way.'

He yanked the iron but it held fast while my heart missed a beat and I nervously jumped back from what He was sharing. I looked around hoping someone else was listening as well. My feet suddenly felt heavy like boulders, the memories of sights like this had ground me to a halt before now. The responsibility had been overwhelming and for a few years I decided to stop 'looking' so as not to 'see' such insights. It had taken months of tears to loosen and finally dislodge the grave cloth wrapped around my eyes. This was a risky moment when I dared to 'peek' once more.

.... And He just picked up where we had left off, as if I have been there all along... no softly, softly....give an inch and He takes a mile....my 'preciousness' did not even figure.

Disconcerted, I boldly walked round Him and pushed back the curtain. The noise was deafening as massive machinery was hoisting reels of iron chain and running it through, line upon line to be wound and rewound on huge winches. I could smell the sea and overhead screeching seagulls added to the cacophony. Some chain was still being winched on board from the sea to add to the mighty collection being prepared.

It was a trawler ship. He always was at home when fishing... and this was getting ready for the haul of all hauls. The chains of the Apostolic were being aligned and every link was vital to hold fast.
Rather than break with the responsibility, I held fast by watching and enjoying the view. I can simply line up with what He is already up to in this fun and 'fishy' place and not worry about 'how'.
Like a child that has been promoted to the 'play' room or elevated to the 'nursery' with lots of amazing toys that the Creator has left lying around for me to trip over. I do not have to tidy up or try to be clever but enjoy the ride.

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Bullyboys

2010-05-08T20:15:00.005+01:00

His Mane hung down like trestles and from behind them I could see out without being seen. I hugged His leg and hid. Here they came again hurling stones and yelling abuse. They looked like a gang of school boys so angry inside, they did not know what else to do but use violence to offload their utter frustration.

Earlier I had looked up at Him puzzled, 'But there are those who profess You who make me feel like a dart board, they are so angry with 'You' it feels like taking a dagger in the side. Why does it rake my core when You have not done what they wanted?'

He took a sideways look down at me and smiled,

'Yes, I am afraid I have not been doing as I was told,' he said with a wink.

He continued to answer, 'You and I are one, I am you and you are Me. We are one and the same and our covenant is Oneness.'

'If you hate yourself you will hate me also, if they are angry with me they will also be angry with you.

If you imbibe my love, you will love you, them and Me also. Our covenant is literal Oneness.'

So here they were again spitting with anger and their monologue of blame as I peered out at them unseen, shrinking back even further behind His leg.

'Come out and stand beside me.....let's face them out!' ...I thought I detected a steely excitement in His voice, but I had better ideas and buried my face in His fur...not today, not at the moment, I could not bear facing that lot.

He relented as if He knew I had no intention of stepping out into full view but still wanted to give me the opportunity or even the thought that it is possible. It was like a rehearsal where He will never push me out from behind the curtain, but the day will come when it will be necessary to step out to stand beside Him... and I knew it.

The bullyboys had run out of steam and retreated. I was relieved the moment had passed,

'That's ok for now but at some point you will have to face them, maybe not right now but that time will come.....' We turned and walked away in a silent understanding that hiding would not always be the answer.

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Keys

2010-04-29T11:56:00.015+01:00

There are those who follow a dream, ignited by a hope that is yet 'unseen', but the eyes of their heart unmistakably saw it. Such dreams uproot the dreamer from their home and peel back every comfort zone, manoeuvring them into position to bring about fulfilment. In this place they stand carrying the dream like the blood that coarses through their veins.
They are surrounded by 'what is seen' being contrary in every way to the expectation of how this dream would come about. Gradually over the years it seems as if they have run out of ideas and been mistaken, slowly laying down their hopes and dreams to seep into the ground. Still, they remain in position as they know there is no other place to be or go. They are unable to unsee what they have seen and ruined for seeking past safety, so they continue even if it means voluntarily laying down.

A coffin yawns at their feet drawing them into a subterranean place where death entombs and locks up the dreamer. An imprisoning burial, hidden in a dead lock.
...But the dream belongs to the Lifegiver whose law is always 'death to Life'. It has deliberately been placed in a living 'Key', a soul who is able to breathe life on the dreams of others and ultimately give-in to The Way of the Lifegiver, even if it begins in a tomb. These 'living Keys' contain the Life DNA and timing is crucial, so the lock-down is permitted if only to keep the 'living Key' in place without premature movement.

It is on the Lifegiver's say so, after years, maybe decades of waiting, that the 'Key' placed in the lock begins to turn. The 'Key' in the deadest of locks, is alive and well. Hard-wired to the ignition that put them there in the first place, once 'turned' begins to move every lever, every bolt and every lock around them. What the impostor worked for ill, the Lifegiver intends for good as the 'living Key' turns and turns, unlocking not only themselves and their household but a whole geographical region where they are located.... for the sole purpose of bringing life.

These dreamers, these 'living Keys', these faithful gatekeepers are rising out of the ground, hidden unknowns with the jurisdiction over regions and areas. They will operate from their living rooms without platform or podium.

In step with the Lifegiver they will be the Key to opening gates, disassembling control, unblocking wells and the redistribution of spiritual wealth. They will orchestrate a return to indigenous ways, reconnecting with the gifts in the land and conducting
heaven to earth
outside the bounds of man-made religion.

Where death is..... there is always a deeper magic.... waiting to turn it into life.

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Right

2010-04-18T10:13:00.004+01:00

There is a tightrope of rules
Riddled with 'musts, oughts and shoulds'.
An addiction to being 'right',
Creating a hopeless imbalance.

If one is 'right' the default is 'wrong'
And every conviction sways
On that fault line, seeking
To influence and be understood.

I am neither right nor wrong
I just 'am', warts and all,
And be it my fault or flaw
This is my song for an audience of One.

So I return to the crevice
Of the hand that formed me,
Trusting the conviction that His rightness
Will influence me as I tarry a while here.

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I Am

2010-04-13T13:40:00.013+01:00

Your way is so good, so other.
You are upright, I am upside down.
I glimpse and get a flash of You,
You are so good, amazingly good
I am so flawed, so other.

In an instant I'd caught His attention,
His face zoomed into mine

'I did not make you to know that I Am good'

Stunned and stumped for words, I froze
Leaning back from His invasion.

'But You Are always good' said my silence,
I was definitely upside down now.
This was so 'other' coming from the upright One,
'I never made you to know what evil is....

In order for you to know I Am good....'

I slowly came round, if I did not know evil
I would not know 'good' in comparison...
You would just be 'You'
Without the flagellation of the Impostor
Without the backdrop of evil itself

So then what would I call You?

The 'I Am' peered at me

Waiting for the penny to drop...
It dropped..... 'You just Are'
....I was awestruck,
'You are the 'I Am'
And...... I just am because You Are'

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Wells

2010-03-30T23:36:00.019+01:00

He flew down with a pitcher of liquid and plonked it on the floor in front of me, 'Drink that', He said. It had been 3 days now of struggling to consume anything and time was running out.

Damascus had called for an ancient well to be opened. So we walked through its nation and finally through its gates, to the feast it set before travellers, wooing them into its intoxicating embrace. This was the place where my Grandfather had found refuge from certain death and I immediately felt at home. The sky yawned wide open with possibilities and the mysteries of old ancient places hummed within its walls, causing my bones to resonate with its deep history.

The concoction of colours and smells seemed to swirl around hypnotically drawing the senses as if I was drifting through the Souq markets on an underwater journey. Resting in the great Umayyad Mosque to keep an appointment with heaven's will on earth, a haunting song from a beautiful voice hooked into my core. It's beseeching wail reeled me upwards as if my insides had been caught. My mind was whisked off with the song high above while the rest of me draped downwards toward the floor. Meeting Damascus was an overwhelming encounter that filled the lungs with a heady oxygen, but would she give up her wares so easily beneath this surface?

We were here for a deeper connection.
When the head is above the clouds and the feet are firmly on the ground, it is the gut that takes the hits; the connection point between heaven and earth is challenged by a place and becomes restricted. I became very unwell and could digest nothing. The squeeze may come but it is only to clear the blockages so that heaven's clarity can run freely through us on to the earth.

Months before, the only instruction I had, was to go and 'open up a well'. At that time I had stood with a white lamb in my arm while lifting up a surface of land where black lambs were grazing. Underneath I placed a giant key into the ground and easily spun it round with one finger. This had opened an old well that was in remarkably good condition.

But now, I was flustered, with only one day left in this ancient city and having been laid up with stomach sickness, there had been no more download on this assignment to 'open a well'. I had no clue what to do, so with my furrowed brow in tact I had to drink from the heavenly well even though I was not impressed by the lack of further instructions. As I set my sights on the 'One whom this is all for', it was then the heavenly juice pitcher arrived on angels wings. I reached down and tipping it on end swigged the lot. It was liquid joy; I went from 'furrowed brow rut' to 'floating feather freeway' and tripped out the door on to the street. I sat with my friends to ponder 'what to do' over a coffee and I understood their familiar furrowed brows...if there is a key called 'it's ok to not have a clue', we had yet to trust it, in order to turn it.

So Paul of Acts had been here long before, waiting for sight, three days he waited without food and drink, and then Ananias came to where he was on Straight Street. We were near the same place and it still carried the name, Straight Street, so we went there. Furrowed brows lightened somewhat but the questioned still remains, how do we open a well? So we sat in the dust on the side of this undeviating street with no answers and began to drink-in the undiluted presence of the 'One whom this is all for'. We drew... we drank... we rested and slouched...and drank some more becoming increasingly slumped into the dust as Syrians all around us went on with their daily routine. As we drank we drew more on the 'One from whom all rivers flow' until the density of His presence weighed on us like honey and saturated us like oil.

In this place sight did come, Ananias' prayer poured out over us and the instructions fluttered past on an empty piece of paper...

To open a well, you simply have rest and drink beside it....after all, that is what Wells are for.

The key 'It is OK to not have a clue' was spun round with the strength of one finger and with ease an ancient well was opened on Straight Street in Damascus, that has been conserved for such a time as this.

So if you are in need of some directions, just go 'straight on' and remember that grace must be drunk straight in order to go where you do not have a clue.

Do not Deviate or Dilute :D

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Apathy

2010-03-12T09:05:00.011Z

Surrounded by incredible song and caught up in a rush of devotion, many stood while I seemed to be almost upside down. Having been caught up in what was now a forceful sound way above me, my body had bent in two with an intensity that weighted my head to the ground. On my knees I could not go any lower but if I could have stuck my head through the ground I would have because what was affecting me was below the surface. The pressure on my forehead felt like it might burst blood vessels.

It was as if hands and voices were clambering for my attention and had grabbed my consciousness in their one chance to cause an ear to hear what they had to say. My ears grew hot and it was all I could do to place each ear flat to the ground alternately while an impartation of painful truths took place. Being on the receiving end caused such a wrenching groan as I was told of a crushing tale and of the blood spilt that was keeping this story alive. I could see fires lit up and down the land burning freely, a story of an indigenous land alight with truth. Ignition was taking place rapidly increasing the light and warmth until the nation was covered.

Then I watched as an imported order came across the sea exerting its power with an influence that looked like a blanket layer being thrown over the land. At first the fires spat and kept burning but the layers just kept coming forming a superficial surface that was so thick it began to look like dough. Slowly all the fires were put out, smothered by the pastry-like substance and buried beneath its weight. For all those who died in this disaster seeking to keep the fires alight it was like being buried alive and their blood was crying out for justice. True martyr blood can be buried but not got rid of. It remains in the ground calling for the truth to out, waiting for such a time when the fire starts to burn through the 'pillsbury' coating that killed everything off.

I looked down on this 'dough-covered' landmass draped in apathy; a cloggy ceiling on life, quenching spirituality. Compared to other lands where there is a spiritual 'buzz' of activity embracing a concoction of faith, this was just a nothingness like a spiritual death.
Staring at the floury stodge I began to notice a black mark appear. It started as a dot but emanated from there into a dark circle right where London should be. The blackened area began to harden and crack, the scorched surface then peeled back as flames licked through what was now a hole.

With my head still to the ground, this history lesson was all I knew of the original war for Christianity in these islands; the words 'Celt' and 'Roman' were new to me as I stood up unable to stop muttering them. Now, fifteen years since that encounter much has been in motion behind the scenes. Maybe now it is time for a dark patch to appear over 'all consuming' London, as an indigenous fire burns a hole right through the layers of control, some of which are at least 17 centuries old.

The blood of martyrs has a song and it is of redemption and forgiveness...the song of the lamb. They are singing with a quiver of excitment in their voice as this is their time to be justified.

Their sound above ground.... unleashing a wild fire that cannot be contained, harnessed or quenched.

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Control

2010-03-06T14:54:00.017Z

THE FINAL FRONTIER....

THE RULE OF CONTROL IS TO DIVIDE AND CONQUER

To hinder all that is divided in two from being ONE.

The 'V' for 'verses' and opposition

Holds two sides apart

Lest that which has been split up

REJOINS FORCES
Squeezing out the splinter,

The wedge of control....

In the knowledge that if they reform

CONTROL IS LOST

Control uses deception and lies to separate two halves of the whole,

It turns each against the other whilst ruling from the vantage point

Favouring one above the other,

It is like a CANCER riddling one half with it's favour

And ostracising the other, causing deep wounds of offence.

Neither half is the true enemy however cancered or deformed

But rather THIS dividing wedge promoting enmity is....

These divides operate on many different levels

Presenting a way of life that is habitual

Designed to keep Creation from knowing its Maker

And the sons and daughters from coming into their own,

This is the root of injustice.

This is why we walk calling for 2 to become 1,

A walking heaven to earth connection

In intimacy with Jesus and inhabitants of His Glory.

A mystery, an unknown way flowing with The Holy Spirit.

This is a time of Jubilee where divides are healed.

That which has dominated and forced it's Rightness

Will be redeemed, reborn and have a fresh start.

That which was crushed will be enabled to embrace

It's counterpart and bring it up in a new way

As now ALL must come out of THE REST.

Hourglass

2010-02-17T13:49:00.008Z

I had picked up the tall wooden box that had been put on the floor in front of me, turned it over and placed it on my mantle piece without even thinking. It took a while to recognise what I had done. The object was an hourglass encased in the most beautifully carved wood and I had set it in motion on the first day of 2008. This sand-timer, this figure of 8 that ushers in new eras had arrived with the words..... 'It is Time'.

'It is time for heaven to come to earth,' He said, 'and the download starts now.'

From that point, day after day I would hold two broken halves of an hourglass in my hands; they would move totally independently of each other never coming together as one. The breakage was at the most fragile point that joins the two glass chambers together. So they would rest as two halves, separated on my left and right hands, co-existing, weaving in and out of each other but never connecting.

It was half way through this year of 2008 when I encountered the connection of these two halves....
I became aware that I was holding an immense sphere above my head that was so vast it reached up into space from where I stood. I was fascinated and transfixed by it. I even began to move my arms wondering if I could affect or bend this extraordinary 'bubble' above me that seemed to contain space and time. It was then that I became very conscious of this world, this incredible sphere of earth beneath my feet while above me was this other dimension. I suddenly realised that I was connecting these two worlds, forming a shape....an hourglass....a figure of 8.

As I stood there at the 'crossing over' point of two worlds, in the 'Cross' that connects what is above to what is below, in the very place where The Cross completed and joined heaven and earth, I knew that this is what intimacy is all about. Why it is critical!

He began to pace around me like an empassioned lecturer as I straddled a couple of globes as part of His demonstration. He pointed at me with His stick and waved it up and down ....
'You are the connection.... the bit in the middle.... and I am down loading through you! I am coming to earth through you just like the sand running through the timer from above to below... you are the channel. When there is no more of me to download, I will have emptied myself out on to the earth through you. Then time will have run out and I will appear, because the only thing left to download... will be my body suit!'
As He was speaking my body voluntarily began to bend in the middle as if this was the axis point, a pivot by which two symetrical shapes become one. The top half of me moved downwards and the sphere held in my hands came with me slowly moving towards the world below me, until they overlapped so fully that the figure of '8' then became a '0'...as 2 halves totally became one and '0' was the completion, it was done and time had run out.
There was a saying God gave me that I offen refer to but only now understood...'Keep your head above the clouds and your feet on the ground but it is the stomach that takes the hits'....to break the connection and prevent two from becoming one.

Later on that year on the date 08.08.08 especially at 08.08 a.m. and 08.08 p.m. was a special sign of this new era when heaven begins to come to earth. It was somewhat amusing to ponder on what an hourglass figure really is!
I had constantly wondered when the broken halves would come together in my hands until I realised the answer is in me. I still hold them here and there but now they have changed. They look like two blue pearls but I have come to realise what I am seeing are two earths. The mending, connecting and downloading is through Intimacy that learns to simply remain in Him at the Cross-over that brought everything back together that was divided. All the power and all the glory is coming through us....just as long as we remember.... all He needs is our 'body suit'.

The Hourglass nebula, MyCn 18 (above left) is a young planetary nebula about 8000 light years away from earth!

In2MeC

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Fireball

2010-02-05T20:34:00.004Z

Sober discussion bounced around the room as honest hearts and meaningful effort sort to unwrap the chord that had been struck by all present. It begins with 'the fear of the Lord' said one to the others causing a pondering on the word 'fear' and an increase in sobriety. Heads bowed lower still as the ways of fear were examined, then translated on to the Creator, so that we could respond with authenticity to this aspect of our existence and the recognised need to go deeper.

The clouds were low that afternoon and rested heavily on this hilltop surrounded by unseen uplands and valleys as if they were hovering, creating a mood. In the midst of the conversation I became distracted by the cloud and a growing unease that we may be missing something vital. We were talking as if the answer to the equation was not in the room and our wordy thoughts would be enough to decipher Him.

If I could, I would have got up and walked horizontally around the walls of the room just to defy logic and snap my mind out of conventional assumptions. As the words continued, every utterance became like a nails being scrapped down a blackboard, creating a building agitation that became almost frenzied. The small pile of ash on my seat would have been all that remained of my self combustion if this did not stop.

'But we are talking about You as if you are not here' I screamed inside, 'I cannot bare missing You... You are The Point... fitting You into us?... I would rather explode, blow-up, disassemble than seek to contain You and therefore miss You.....'

Somewhere between immense internal discomfort and outwardly quaking I became aware of a ball of fire coming towards me in the room. This fiery sphere paused in front of me and I could hear the flames crackling as they licked the round surface. A voice was speaking and a hand was being offered from the centre of this fireball inviting me to climb inside..."Climb into me....get inside of me....come inside.....climb in...come into me and see"

So I left my body sitting on the chair behind me and stepped forward. I lifted one leg as if climbing into a boat and pushed it through the circumference of fire to see what would happen. It was like I was a piece of paper sliding into a sphere... me of one dimension going into another. So I climbed right inside, it felt so good to get away from all the words and step into this place. There was the One we had been talking about sitting on His throne and He beckoned me to climb up on to Him. His knees where level with my head so I grabbed at swathes of cloth and began to yank my way onto His lap like a one year old. He helped me scramble up then He sat me down facing outwards and said the words in my ear, 'Into me and see'.

I saw that the secret to fearing Him was knowing Him, I saw that I could not fear Him without knowing him. I saw a truth that turned our rational discussion on its head. This awe and respect can only come from safety and trust. A place of Intimacy where we are loved, where we love being loved and fall in love over and over again in return....'Climb inside Me...Get inside of me....Into Me and then see....Intimacy...In2MeC'.

Journey

2010-01-31T08:00:00.002Z

Overhead and looking down, a beauty of an old train was moving along its track at speed with steam and smoke billowing and puffing thickly. It was nearing a huge station ahead and began to slow down for arrival. This station was remarkable, regal even, with massive arches and pillars through which gold light glowed. Heady architecture mixed Greek, Roman and Victorian in grand structures with breathtaking height and scale. People thronged throughout this place of arrival swathed in the golden light and surrounded by a green paradise that steeply rose like an enclosure around this thoroughfare.

The train slowed right down as if to stop but it did not. It chugged in slow motion but never halted, deliberately taking in the beauty and soaking up the glorious atmosphere that was in this place. The whole scene seemed to depict the golden years of an era at its height. Gradually the train moved through the station, small movements all the while inching its way forward as if reluctant to leave this platform.... but the journey could not, would not stop here.
The speed picked up bit by bit until the direction turned definitely away from the golden station so that it was no longer in sight. The surroundings changed, the track was slightly up hill and headed into a dense wooded area, it was damp and the trees were full of green leaves. Even the track was made of wood; everything seemed busy with growth that it literally hummed with life. The way forward had lots of twists and turns but the train just kept going, following the rickety track upwards through the thick undergrowth.

Finally the train emerged from the wood and the track went into a steep up hill climb. The landscape was more sparse with autumnal trees of orange and red, the season was changing rapidly and winter was near as I could see mountains in the background already with snow on their peaks.
Reaching the top of its climb the train levelled out. Straight ahead was the deepest of ravines with the most delicate of bridges traversing it that lead into a tunnel hewn of rock. This black hole entered an intimidating mountain with no obvious exit.

Everything happened at once, as the train crossed the ravine the bridge broke, the back end of the train was dangling in mid-air and threatening to fall. The next moment, the engine used all its strength to pull itself to safety, which it managed to do plunging straight into the black tunnel at speed. There was no choice but to enter this dark place and there was no way back. It was frightening as nothing could be seen and it was completely hidden. The only way forward was unknown so every movement was hesitant, every turn was taken with the greatest care and no assumptions could be made. The darkness had swallowed up the journey in this immovable mountainous Rock taking it deep into its belly. This was where what is hidden and dark came to the surface to be resolved, to be left here before moving on. This journey through the mountain brought the train down from the heights and through the heart of the Rock eradicating all selfish ambition and dizzy vanity. When this discarding and throwing overboard had been entirely realised then the track became straight. An immediate decent began until the train gathered momentum and at great speed burst out of the foot of the mountain.... looking utterly different! It was re-rendered and streamlined, it had been re-shaped in a dark bronze metal that had no joins and looked like a formidable machine. The metal it was made of was like nothing I have seen before, it was not a material from this world and nor was the construction. The old steam train was gone and in its place was a wonderful futuristic work of art that looked captivatingly supernatural in natural surroundings.

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Burnt

2010-01-23T14:21:00.099Z

I sensed someone walk in the room and I automatically put my hands out to hold and pray for them as they stood in front of me. There was great need in them as if the oil and honey pouring from my hands was unusual and the first relief in a long while. Drawn and travel worn this person seemed to rattle like the breath of the dying...bone shakers I call them. I continued to reach out while a heavenly substance ran through my arms and over them. Then for the first time I saw their face, it was skeletal even though they were alive the head was mostly blackened and skull-like with barely any flesh. Somehow I knew this individual had come in from the fields of toil and labour spending years in the heat of the noon day sun. They looked so burnt I was amazed that such bereftness had managed to reach this point.

Here I was fresh, full and ready to go, although having laid in what felt like a tomb of the shadows for years my release papers had been dispatched. It was a bit like the crossing of two paths, one on the way in and one on the way out.

As we connected this burnt person continued to receive the rich touch of heaven and slowly, slowly it began to penetrate into their soul and they gently drifted to the ground and lay down. They were very much alive but their condition was critical, new skin grafts and new flesh needed to be administered immediately. My prayers were simply the coverings in order to prepare this admission for full restoration. This condition seemed to be the result of a great labour and a punishing schedule, as if the toil was to work out of their system a poison they refused to give in to. I waited beside my visitor now resting. Then the River came, gathered them up and carried them into heavens intensive care. It was a privilege to provide safe passage for such a person, whoever they were.

Now there are others who have been seconded, and this labour of love must continue within a different environment... in the garden...and in cool of the day. Meanwhile the burnt labourer is 'filling out' and learning to live with a new body.

Soon, those who laboured in the heat of the day will join with those who labour in the cool of the day and then the ones who are yet to come will rise. Together all three will join forces bringing about the days of the three-in-one and the one-in-three.

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Highwayman

2010-01-21T08:07:00.012Z

I scrambled up the bank, stones flying behind me and ended up on all fours to reach the top with my sign still in hand. Blasted thing was such a weight but I had to have it with me so that I could get him to stop. Nicked from a roadside it had become my companion on the journey a bit like a walking stick except that I was more like the support. This thing towered above me with a red triangle at the top saying the words 'Give Way'. If it had been from Ireland it would have said 'Yield' which would have been even better.

Now I had found the highway I was looking for, this is where the sign was to have its starring role as I dragged it with all my might up on to the road to set it in place. This highway rose out of the land as far as the eye could see, totally distinct from its surroundings. I had heard a rumour about this way but never came across it until I decided to look, now I was here how could I ever have missed it?

So I positioned myself right by the road with my sign beside me facing all on coming traffic and waited. I waited a long, long time until finally I could see a dust cloud in the distance. My heart started to race and with sweaty palms as if going into an exam I clung to my sign. I edged on to the road so that I was in the way and stood boldly with the words 'Give Way' above my head. The commotion came nearer and a thundering sound could be heard. It was almost upon me before I could make out a chariot being pulled by horses and just as I was loosing my nerve it pulled to a halt right in front of me.

I felt a bit small and sheepish standing there but the driver had stopped so I sprung into action. Laying down the sign I scuttled over to the now huge chariot and clambered up into it. There he was sitting inside, reins in hand waiting for me to explain what I wanted. I searched his face for impatience or annoyance or surprise but all I could see was a willingness to wait for just a moment. I reached for the document I had carried all this way and unrolled it so that he could see. It was headed 'Terms and Conditions' and I told him that I would go with him if he would sign the bottom of the document and handed him a pen. There were statements on that piece of paper that really mattered to me like being able to understand what was going on or being understood by others. I had noted a number of likes and dislikes alongside several necessities and if he could assure me that all these conditions could be met then I would be more than happy to accompany him wherever.

I might as well have put it simply....'Do what I want you to do in the way I expect you to do it.'...but he made no attempt to sign or assure me. I looked at the reins in his hands and it suddenly dawned on me why I had carried the sign all this way. This message was for me to give way, a warning incase I should miss the ride of a lifetime. Here I was audaciously in the way and he had graciously stopped when I am the one that should be yielding. I was suddenly very humbled, he did not need me on board but he obviously did want my company.

I could not believe I had held him up on his own highway. Trampling on my terms that had slipped from my hand I dashed back to the sign and removed it from the road. Then running back to the chariot with my mind repeatedly hammering at me 'Yield! Yield, yield, yield...for Gods sake yield girl!' I leapt up on to the passenger seat glad for the ride and the company.

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Darkness

2010-01-08T09:11:00.007Z

The party was in full swing with a 'gold' theme and everything shimmered, even the air. The sheer amount of music and revelry filled the atmosphere with light and seemed to roll like a wave around and around. It was not over crowded but those filling the halls exuded such a joy that it dazzled from the inside out, then like beautiful raiment it gently rested on your skin and enriched you by just being there. I loved the party, it resonated with a presence that shone and took my breath away. This beautiful atmosphere unearthed a longing for more and a deep seated yearning for the reason for being. The arrival here quickly became a stepping stone.

I found the host of the party, the one from whom all rivers flow, and enquired about a door I had noticed. It was not obvious but I knew a deeper place lay behind it. He said he would come and find me in a while. As the party continued the host came and stood me in front of the door. He handed me keys which shimmered so brightly I could not see them properly, they were almost evanescent.

Everything around me paused as the host stood back watchful and quiet. I was free to stay or go, taking one last sweep of where I was I stepped forward opened the door and went through.

It was pitch black but I carried on leaving the golden place behind me and found myself standing with no light at all. It was so dark I could not see my hand in front of my face. I must have stood for what felt an age shocked at my surroundings, this was not what I expected at all. I thought it would be like the gold place but more beautiful and more depth, different but more. Instead I could have been standing in a closet it was so dark and silent.

I suddenly realised that the darkness was because this was a place where no-one came. It was unfrequented and unvisited so the emptiness did not shine and the silence did not sing. I did not know what to do but being alone was distressing and engulfed me. I was desperate to find others or just someone. Maybe it was my fault no-one came here, maybe I had not tried hard enough to bring them with me. Shocked, confused, lost and failed I stood for a long long time disconnected to the reason I had gone there in the first place and preoccupied with the darkness inside and out.

Even if I had been misguided the 'yearning' remained present somewhere in the gloom holding me in this reality and unable to go back. When enough time had passed and the party a distant memory, in the darkness the host came and sat with me. I was so relieved and pleased to see him I swallowed the angry blame that rose in my throat; Why has it been like this? Where have you been?

The reason for being here had arrived and I was so wowed by his presence. So a journey began... to stay in his presence and not lose that connection with him again. No matter what darkness, discomfort or alarm it was to be ignored because He is the party and therefore the golden place is mobile and accessible at all times.

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Welts

2009-12-31T12:35:00.015Z

I hovered over the landmass staring at red lines interrupting what otherwise looked like smooth skin. These lines criss-crossed one another as they ploughed diagonally from the south across the land. From above it looked like many divisions cutting up the surface and separating areas. As I moved closer I began to realise these red markings were lacerations as if the land's surface had been lashed with a whip repeatedly. These wounds marked out communities and geography parted by bloody grooves.

As I lowered toward one of the open welts I could see the torn skin and the flesh that was deeply cut like a red raw ravine. I moved closer to the laceration until the walls of the exposed flesh were on either side. On entering this living gorge it seemed there could be no natural healing process that would ever mend so great a wound. I peered down into the cut, it was dark and hard to see. Lowered still into the crux of this red ravine I watched, waiting. At first I heard laughter and giggling coming towards me. As I focused on the deepest part, and there was the tiniest amount of water trickling slowly through the wound like the beginnings of a stream.

This slither of silver water was actually laughing! It continued to flow through the entire wound and then began to increase welling up gurgling and bubbling still full of laughter. The level of silver water rose up the walls of the wound flooding this fleshy ravine.

Below the surface of the giggling water the laceration was healing and the flesh was coming together.

Once this process was fully in motion the healing accelerated with such speed where upon the walls of open flesh literally snapped back together swallowing up all wounding and watery joy. The skin sealed up without a trace of weald or scar and was like new.

Consecutively, the lacerations across the land were healed up and red lines disappeared one by one until there were none. The surface looked completely clear like pure skin with no blemish or division.

The healing is greater than the wound which is why it laughs with pure joy, carrying a complete work that has already been finished.

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Dam

2009-12-23T02:17:00.014Z

Water hit my face at I gazed upwards from the base of a massive wall, it was spilling over the top from the other side. On close inspection water was also seeping from small cracks appearing in the wall. I climbed up a hillside to get a better view of what was going on, as I stopped and turned to survey the scene I could see individuals arriving at the base of the wall. They began to repair the wall and attended to every crack smoothing it over and making it as new. However these cracks did not stop appearing but every effort to repair the wall continued with a great sense of achievement wherever the wall was renewed.

I looked with horror as it was obvious that these builders were completely unaware of what they were up against. There was a reservoir behind the wall that was burgeoning with fullness and the shear weight of water threatened this dam. I began to yell trying to warn them because they were in danger but I was too high up. There were words in large letters written across the wall;

'CONTROL - THE FINAL FRONTIER'

As I watched the repairers seemed to be succeeding in maintaining the dam but then something else happened. A white light appeared to be circling in the sky like a swirl of sun and cloud which grew until it hovered over and covered the water. Drawn to this breathtaking formation my view point was now between the cloud and the water. The light intensified and radiated outward as a ball of white fire flew through this heavenly chute and dive-bombed straight into the water. For a second I saw the image of a 'Just William' dressed mischievous school boy curled up in the tightest ball he could manage, full of sheer delight to disturb and bomb such a vast expanse of water.

This white fire ball entered the water and kept going deeper and deeper like a depth charge. Somewhere far below the surface it exploded pushing the water before it like pyroclastic cloud. Instantaneously the surface was lit with dancing blue purple flame as the wall began to hopelessly gave way. This huge reservoir surged forward pouring out with incredible density and force.

Manmade artificial storage contains a river and the heart of heaven is for the river to push over the dam wall!

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River

2009-12-15T23:11:00.015Z

There was a flash flood in a stable of a place,
A Torrent poured out at the end of a runway,
Marking arrival and departure,
A beginning and an end.
A river flows where there was no river bed
And even takes flight around the world

Catalysing flash floods all over the globe.

Like kids we jumped into the river,

We could swim where there had been no water,
A phenomenon that changed the terrain forever.
I began to notice the water level dropping
But carried on trying to float and swim,
Slowly the water ebbed away until I lay in a puddle.

It was more dry than before and there are those
Who despised this occurrence that took place
Saying that it was an error and a waste of time.
When signs come and go there are those
Who are too quick to speak, label then shelve
A commodity that did not fulfil requirements.

The river did not come to stay,
It did not come to remain in external form,
It came to teach us how to be a river.

It came to get us in the river and then

Become the river so that when it is gone

We carry on flowing with the river in us.

There is no more need for the flash flood
The people have become the channel and

The pour out is the flow of those saturated.

Forming a river that cannot be crossed

And courses from the temple to the desert

Into a sea that is dead causing it to swarm with life.

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Falling

2009-12-08T19:53:00.016Z

I paced up and down at the back of the room listening to one person after another take the hot seat in the spot light and expound on what they thought and wanted. God it was awful. The curtains were closed and we were stuffed away in some lofty high rise structure way up on the fortieth floor. The more opinions were voiced, the more I wanted to scratch the very skin off my arms with agitation. I waited and waited for someone to mention the real reason why we were there and the connection with the One whom this was all for but there was none.
As I reached my silent threshold there was a break in the proceedings and we stepped into a side room which revealed daylight. In desperation I went to the window and looked down on the city far below. To my amazement and relief I could see a lion standing in the downtown area easily as tall as the regular buildings. He was perfectly still....waiting. I knew He must know I was there; just my thought must have been enough for Him to be aware of me so I willed Him to look up but He did not move. I tried every way to divert His attention without making a commotion in the room, but to no avail. In frustration I spontaneously slid opened a window which allowed a gale force wind into the breakout room. Papers went every where and people were dismayed at my behaviour but I had lost control. I lent out of the window shouting, every word wind-whipped from my mouth at such a height but I just knew He could hear me.
'Oi!' I yelled, 'You!.....I love you! I can't live without you..... look up here, I know you can hear me....I'd rather die than not be with you...' I hollered and waved but it was useless, He did not even flinch.

By this time I had caused such chaos in the room and people were urging me to close the window. It was a matter of seconds as I looked back at them and then below at the Lion in the city, such a wave of desperation exploded and I knew what I had to do. I was convinced He knew I was there. If I jumped surely He would have to catch me and if He did not then I would rather die falling. With that I scrambled over the ledge, let go and leapt into mid-air. I was hoping He would rush across the city to catch me, that eventually I would land on Him and be rescued. Instead I just fell and fell, plummeting through the air, tears of despair pouring from me because I felt no landing and did not know whether I had been caught or not.
Five long years passed by and the despair of ‘not knowing’ was buried.
Early one morning as I walked in the Dordogne hills, it surfaced. The Lion came and padded beside me which was now a usual occurrence and as I remembered the sadness of falling…

With sudden recognition and wonderment I gasped at Him, 'It was You...so You did see me.... You did catch me and I did land in your mane....I was just falling for all that time...falling for years.'

The Lion immediately turned His face towards me as if He had been waiting for this realisation to dawn. A deep, bone shaking roar reverberated through my body causing me to judder sideways across the road. The unpronounced words thundered through me as a force from His mouth, the word of The Word hit me like a wall of sound.

'Don't even think for one moment that I would not have caught you....there is not one moment when I would have not caught you...'
It was violent as it was truth, causing everything to shake and loose balance in its path. I staggered, winded, rocking with this encouter and remained in complete silence as the comprehension of such devotion surrounded and steadied me.
I still keep falling .....falling for the One I come from, and the One I go to, I cannot help falling, falling in love.

Ripcurl

2009-12-03T09:53:00.005Z

He put lead weights on my feet and down I went leaving the surface, my reliance on breath and staying afloat behind. One fathom, two fathom, deeper and deeper I went until it was cold and dark. I had asked to go deeper but became more and more confused by the place I found myself in. I knew the steps I had taken and could not turn back but it increasingly felt so isolating, so far away from the action and all the things I wanted.

Before long I stood on the ocean floor with feet like lead staring at the empty space.

'This is where waves are made,' He said and proceeded to take me on a lengthy circular path through the water eventually arriving back to where I had started. Then it was my turn to take the same course, I had to walk in time with Him and follow His instructions as we went. At first I could hardly hear Him for thinking about the surface and trying to keep my steps in time was abysmal. He seemed to move so slowly it was irritating.
After completing this path He sent me round again correcting me and keeping me on course. Round and round I would go supposedly holding the same pattern in the same way. My timing was the killer; I just could not get it right or stop the urge to speed up.
As time went by, this deep dark place became my home and I became used to being there. I had to learn to walk in step and in time with Him through impatience, frustration and despair and it seemed to go on forever.

The ocean depths are where the pressure chambers are and they are great enough to eventually crush and dissolve the body. It disintegrates and becomes one with the ocean. Self is crushed, undone to become like Him and I am held broken in the vast ocean of His presence.

One day, as usual I was doing the circuit without even thinking and suddenly noticed the pull of a current that was new. I turned to Him and He nodded smiling. Day after day the current came and the sway in the water was turning my holding pattern into a whirlpool of bubbles. The timing and discipline remained the same and yet the effect it was having was growing powerfully. Life was becoming fun but I had learned to be still inside and wait. There was no need to hurry or fear missing the moment, these years had taught me well; it was all in His hands and He knows better than I.

Just a while longer and that moment arrived when I knew everything was in place. I looked at Him grinning as I felt the familiar surge of the water,

‘Can we go now?’

With His permission I was hurled into the current somersaulting over and over shooting upwards toward the light. Being allowed to rise back to the surface was exhilaration itself. As the wave and I broke the surface its rip curl rose over my head like a canopy. We were both laughing as I stood in its grasp running my fingers through the water ceiling with delight.

The wave gathered up full strength while I remained in stasis at its centre. I stretched out touching the sides of the curl, upright as if surfing. The wave began to move picking up speed until we were hurtling across the surface surrounded by flashes of sunlight dancing, weaving and racing through the water. At breakneck speed and screaming with pure joy we travelled over the ocean heading towards land somewhere ahead.

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Creative word

2009-11-28T21:22:00.005Z

He flew in and landed crouched beside me as if on starters orders. I was surprised by his sudden arrival next to me as I sat on the floor taken up with Jesus.
I turned to him, 'Hello...what are you doing?'
He looked upwards at something and then directly at me saying 'You must not forget to use the creative word....'
I stared at him in disbelief as if to say what on earth are you talking about....
'You cannot just have the suffering, the obedience or the wisdom....you cannot just have part of Jesus and not the rest of Him. You cannot just have some of who He is without all of Him. If you receive His Sacrifice and His Suffering, you also have to receive His Sceptre and His Rulership.'
'You have to use the creative word,
You must not forget this,
It is the same as everything else that comes from Jesus'
I looked up to the space above him and I could see the words being spoken into the atmosphere....

'Let there be Light.....'
I was so shocked....I knew he was on about the very same creative word... to be used and not negated.
There was definite urgency and insistence in his clear message, 'You must not forget the creative word,' and with that delivery he fluttered off as quick as he had arrived.
Since that moment there have been times when I have called to God do something and I have sensed Him draw a quick breath of frustration and get in my face with a 'do it yourself!' So I am learning to quit palming off the responsibility to speak the word of authority straight to situations, to straighten up my crown and call for change.

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Excavation

2009-11-26T00:17:00.037Z

On the surface and deep underground
Where the excavation has been done,
Little remains in those dug out places.
But there is yet an untouched seam
Inbetween, it sits there hidden, undiscovered
By those who stay above or below it.

Two ways, two emphases, two sides split,
Above or below, surface or deep, seen or unseen.....
Word or Spirit, Spirit or Word, Word or Spirit.....
A way with an emphasis on just one of these
Cannot continue and has run out of fuel
But there is a New Way yet unexcavated.

There is a place inbetween the lines
Of 'Both And', that meets in the middle,
Neither up nor down but half way
Where the untouched seam is to be found,
Where two becomes one without compromise,
Where Spirit and Word fuse seamlessly.

We have to lose our way to find 'The Way'
And get out of the way to follow
An untrodden path inbetween two ways.
'One Way' where we get out of our heads
On Jesus Intimacy, His Head, His Way
To begin excavation of the untouched seam.

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Bliss

2009-11-20T15:01:00.008Z

It was for the joy set before Him
To get us back together
That took Him through all that bloody death.
He did it, He apprehended the joy
Of reuniting us again.

This is the bliss
This is the kiss
Nothing comes between us,
Nothing.
Not death, nor life,
Nor angels or demons,
Poverty or riches,
Loss or fulfillment
Beauty or venom,
Atrocity or blessing.

All these can come between us
Unless I am willing to put them down.
No matter how lovely or awful
They get in the way,
He is not to be found in them
He is in Himself.
Just me and Him, no more, no less,
No lists, no demands, eyes off me
And on Him because He knows.
He hears every longing, every need,
Every heartbeat but He is more important.

He is first and all else will find it's place.
The more I am able to let go,
The more I am able to step into His shoes
And exist in what should be
Because I am in Daddy's heart
Even tho I have no clue how, why or when
The answer will come but He is more important.

(Picture: Sunset on Lebanese mountains)

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Bottom of the boat

2009-11-17T21:59:00.004Z

I made my way slowly across the deck holding on for dear life and almost fell down the steps leading into the boat. Everything was about to fall apart and everyone was desperately trying to survive but it looked hopeless. The waves were just too big.
As I slid down into the darkness I felt my way...sensed my way to find what I was looking for. He was there somewhere, I knew He was as I now crawled slowly across the bottom of the boat. Then I could feel fur and cushions, there He was fast asleep so I snuggled down in the same place and went sleep as well. I knew He would be here, He always is and I have to be with Him otherwise the fear and the fragility life is overwhelming.

He is with me in the storm but that is not where He is and I cannot bear to miss Him.

I would be where He is and stay there until His peace and lightness is in me.

I am because He is, He is the I Am and I am in Him.

I share His rest and His creative word to command the storm to be silent so that the wind runs out of breath and the sea is smooth as glass.

Levitation

2009-11-16T09:23:00.018Z

Officially dismissed, relieved, replaced and off duty.
I have officially been relieved from the duty of looking to myself,
I have been dismissed from my post and taken off duty.

There is such a pull to believe that our efforts are required,
That without us Jesus would not get His kingdom built.
There is such a temptation to look to ourselves.
That surely, somewhere something in me is the answer
That I should, must and ought be doing something.
You can't just do nothing and expect something to happen!

As Peter levitated above the churning waves with Jesus
Looking down and back at himself he immediately sank.
There was nothing about himself that kept him in mid-air.
Taken up with Jesus kept him in the realm of impossibility
Where all becomes possible just by staying with the One.
No boat, not distant, looking to where He is, transfixed.

Even then the temptation comes to feed our endeavour
That we must fix our eyes on Jesus and what failures we are at it!
Nay, it is the other way round, it means that we are free.
Free to not look to ourselves, Free to not even take a peek,

Relieved from the duty of looking to self, off the hook.
Happily distracted by who He is rather than what we are not.

Allowed to gaze at Jesus and be taken up with Him,

Without being distracted by the storm below.

Safe to switch off and drink in His presence.

Because the One who permissions the sick to touch His cloak
And feeds thousands from a boys lunchbox is in control.
Heaven rules OK so drink, don't think don't sink.

Roots

2009-11-12T17:37:00.014Z

What if deposits are on the move?
Places where God history has been established for centuries.

Places where a touch of heaven was renowned and for so long now,
There has been something to be recaptured that belongs to that location.

The gifting that has been resident there,

Disappearing back into the ground as if swallowed by its root and

Like a runner, moving rapidly underneath the surface.

To pop up somewhere completely different,
Where nothing of the like has ever been seen before.
Appearing in strange places that have been in reserve until now.

Places kept so that what breaks through the surface

Belongs to what happened before but is entirely new.

So new, it may not even be recognised as the same root.

Awake

2009-11-11T11:46:00.008Z

Today I attended a wake, it was painful yet bliss.
The body is in the room and there is a heavy silent lament.
Those that had been connected with the family paid their respects
With their presence around this gathering of now ailing individuals.

Twelve years have past since I sat as part of this family
Concerned, anxious, troubled at the lack of intimacy

And the large conceited gestures this group inspired.

Back then these influencers appeared invincible.

Today they look unwell meeting to reenact what was

As if to will it back from the dead, but it is too late.

They are painfully unaware of the naked dead body and

That this is a funeral to conclude all that has led to this grave.

It is uncomfortable but there is bliss to be found in the pain

It is in the Great Architects rules; death to life is the formula.

Pain can lead to a Dali-esque world of dead clocks and surreal sky

Or provoke a hunger for the life source and the bliss of dying to myself.

These graveyards are full of mans works, mans take over bid

To play God in a world already full of too many gods.

I would be God and God would be me, but covenant is only oneness

In my consumed, dissolved and supplicated state of being loved.

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Antidote

2009-11-10T09:11:00.004Z

THIS HAS BEEN MOVED....See http://www.pinkypirate.com/antidote/

But I hear a whisper, a quiet voice that says,
'Do not despise the day of small things'.....

Pirate

2009-11-07T14:06:00.006Z

There is nothing new under the sun,
Only A Creator can create ooooargh!
A pretender can only counterfeit
To twist that which was already made.
Illegitimate claims to ownership is only a matter of time,
All is to be returned to the One from whom All came.

All territory is to be chartered for Jesus,
What was intended is to be rediscovered,

All treasure is to be found and recovered

Effecting a redistribution of spiritual wealth.

What has been land will be at sea

And at sea will feel like land.

New maps will be drawn up

By those seeking what has been hidden

Where X marks the spot of

The kiss of life out of all death.

Even death is to be celebrated

Where the Creator took on the grave,

I dance on my crossed bones
Co-died, co-crucified,
As a complete work that raids religion
And plunders wormridden deathworks.....shiver me timbers....ooooooarrgh!

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Pink

2009-11-05T11:42:00.008Z

Favourite colours have always been transient until I hit pink. I waited for myself to get sick of the colour, wondering if I was stuck in more ways than one.
In September'09 I walked with friends following the river Lee from Edmonton to Luton. I was so struck by being surrounded by this colour. A pink bus, a pink billboard, a pink train, even the railings to the underground were bright pink. The further we walked the more I noticed ridiculous amounts of this colour. Silly moments like walking past a small gap in the fence and at that split second a pink bus drives past.
Arrival into the racial hot bed that is Luton, the centre met us with an array of pink flowers, pink seats and even a pink pushchair. It caused me to ask the question...why pink?

Red and white make pink.

I had placed white roses in St Albans earlier in the year to signify the pure love that lays down it's life selflessly for another. That is the amazing root underneath the religious crud in that place.

A white rose and a red rose?

The war of the roses......civil war......that which is divided against itself.

That which is divided must come together in order to be whole.

Not in its separate entities of a red cross on a white background that unites against an enemy.

Not as a self righteousness that hides behind a bloody cross as an excuse for war. Not as a crusader mutilating the east or an english defense league member ordering an asian to leave this nation.

No, Pink is a coming together without compromise. A clean white sheet of selflessness and a full bloodied drop of redemption.

The call that 'two must become one' is found in the pink for England.

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