the sinner and the pentecost

it rolls like smoke from slow burned cloves. sin is easy for me. don't get me wrong, i can't stand it, it makes my skin crawl but sin is easy for me. i have epic problems with the canonization process but i think Paul nailed it just right when he wrote that what "i want to do i do not do and yet what i do not want to do this is what i do. oh what a wretched man i am, who shall save me?' this is the liturgy i have. i am samson's anger, david's lust, paul's prejudice, judas's kiss. there is no doubt about it i am a sinner. there are times when my actions are evil to the brink of as proverbs says, don't chill with those who plan to do bad. which in my layman's tongue translates to don't hang with me.

it whispers like germinating dandelions, their white seeds floating like the Spirit of the One, where ever it pleases. John the Apostle said no one knows which way it comes or which way it goes. there are only whispers, at least you should hope there are only whispers. the terrifying scream of the One kills mortal men. it is not something to be hoped for. like sin, the spirit crawls, but it doesn't crawl on the outer epidermis, it crawls on the inside. since the spirit goes where it please it knows my darkness, no question of the mire it finds. i invited the Spirit to do this and it does it of its own accord. it wants to know me with deep breaths of deep findings, deep pain, deep hells, deep sins. it wants me to have deep love, deep healing, and deep heavens. the heaven the Spirit gives me is not clouds and harps. it is deep wells for a thirsty man, the Spirit takes me to a sinners heaven. a broken man's healing.

there is no doubt that i do not understand it all. i am a broken bodied, mind mutated deviant, sinning, coarse, uncaring loaf, who has perfected hedonism. i do not know why i am still in the corp real state, i should be dead - i was dead. but i am alive. not of my own accord. the Spirit loves to go into the death in me and wring it out. the Spirit loves to woo me, taking hold of me, whispering into my ear things to lure me away from the clove smoke. it is almost physical. the tongue of fire resting on me. the only language is the whispers of the One. it is spoken in the heart. it can not be uttered with the lips. the One knows me, the One is hurt at times because i choose the darkness but the One loves me. i don't know why but i am loved by the One.

the sinner and the pentecost.