This is just one's eclectic style of paddling one's kayak through the torrential streams of the Australian Landscape of humour. Just another mad cow from the Land of Oz humous-ly slipstreaming over the Internet's golden meadows of anathematised sites by the Pharisaical priests of today. One hour to go and the countdown is on, one is at the end of his tether, one laments the clock cannot be turned back, as one was about to throw oneself off the edge of the world, but a thought intervened, if all is meaningless so is throwing oneself off over the edge. And that is true, as one stood at the edge while the stars wheeled in the sky, finding oneself cold and hungry, one beats a retreat. Drunk with the wine of utter defeat, how potent is this wine of impotence, it rises and fills my head. But who is thirsty, shall then drink from the cup of life and then complain about the headiness of its wine? How foolish to follow the folly of prophecy, as the timeline of man's mind is folly, transformation is not in time, through the folly of striving, but when time ceases to be.
Finally fleeing the Aussie shadowlands of wee humour, I will rig my JIBes away from the land of the dream weavers, and leave the harbour of it's turbulent toxic waters, for the might of America's military industrial complex, and the powerful illusions of it's woke cultural and religious mainframe computers. From that I joyfully unplug my multi faceted leads. I will cast my mooring rope from it's Tree of knowledge. I will let the spinnaker of my cast off old humanity be transformed and filled by the New Wind blowing, at high velocity slip streaming through the clouds of the celestial skies billowing this tiny mustard seed into the fullness of Him who fills all things.
Free from all the echoes of tyranny, the agents of propaganda and dogma and deceit. No longer rounded up like frightened cows or long lost sheep terrified by the biting jaws of the good old Aussie Border Collie, or machine like response to the false assembling shout of silver plated trumpets, by these these sooth-sayers and divination Lords implanting these dogmas in their skulls, just like 'silicon chips' . These world universal leaders of darkness seek forever to keep them in their cattle run, separate from others, all forever kept in a tight net of lineage, even from father to son.
Listen, humanity, to the real Quickening/Rapture, not that of a false event horizon that these Lords of darkness know will never come. This shrouded secrecy, gives them the power as dysfunctional anti-Christs to control just like their counterparts in Government.
Let the puffs of the breeze of dawn, send your little skiff way from it's shores, into the blinding rays of the morning Sun. Like the song "I am sailing" a greater celestial song beckons me, .... a heavenly Jacob's ladder anchored firmly and securely in the Father's bosom, reaching out and snatching me up to ONENESS, There forever supping on the heavenly Vine of Divine Humanity. The Vine's royal blood flowing freely through all, sinking your little skiff in the intoxicating waves dancing Ocean of Love, dissolved in the tempest of Calvary's love, you are too inebriated to care. Such is this raging storm of love, I no longer need the Tavern of the castle and the elephant, my own blood is the wine and my heart the roasted meat for Christ to feed on. This is the marriage of the Lamb in all of us.
Yet this drowning of Love is but an awakening to Real Life. What joy is this death of Calvary! Whoever savours it would spit upon all the kingdoms of men! And count all it's wealth as naught. Who wants to drink from this cup? Only those who detox all their false beliefs. Cast aside the holy grail of man's beliefs that blind the sight and inebriate their walk. Those who apply the bellows with all their heart, to burn away all the old embers of past beliefs. This liquor from the King's distillery is free, it bleeds from the wounded side, out of the royal chambers of the King's apartments. Those who drink unite instantly with GOD, the beloved of their soul.
This verdant earth then becomes a paradise, for all who see the New Creation. Those who ruefully, and resplendently and redemptively have done the 180 degree pivot of 'metanoia', and see their previous life as but an oil slick on the Royal King's Highway. Not eliminated, but the shadow returned to it's Source, no longer outsourced, freeze framed in a 3 dimensional holograph in circular time. But restored to 'wholeness' which defines the word Salvation itself.
Here we go beyond the tyranny of having just a 'personal relationship with Jesus', as that implies two separate beings. There has to be an 'a' and a 'b' in any relationship. It is all rooted in the Tree of knowledge, the original fall out of wholeness the Tree of Life in the midst of our garden of consciousness. To this the Christ offers the greatest anti-dote "I and my Father are ONE." "I can do nothing of myself." Let this glorious mystery of Union 'which is great' leech from your mind all thoughts of separation, and drink from the very Wine of the activity of Grace. Let not the fear mongers, the elders amongst us, leave us bleeding on the Jericho road just outside the very walled city of Christendom. Let the Troubadours, the outcasts, the persecuted adullamites, who blow their trumpets, as they mystically/spiritually march around it's walls.
These whited walls, the leaders of Christendom, are just not happy to shear the flock, but are lusting satiating and cannibalising their flock, who have become tombs full of the bones of those whose very flesh has become meat for their table. They have taken the people's power and life for themselves and rule totally over them. They even mesmerise their flock into believing that it is an honour to banquet their table. They care not a tinker for the 'other food' Christ spoke of. Blessed are they who eat and drink His mystical Body, not by regurgitating amongst themselves as at the so called Lord's Table, with their constant themes and vain repetitions. In is only in Silence, without words, without worship or adoration of carnal mind as separate from God. The worshipper and the worshipped never become One.
It is Only by fusion, the burning of the Emmaus fire in their hearts, as they walk by faith and not by sight/senses. These are the charismatic upper room dwellers, who have burnt all man made ideologies in tongues of fire of wHoly Spirit. They have reMEMBERED, they are atONEment and have reversed DOGMA. [AMGOD]God has become ALL IN ALL. For them no freewill just God's Supreme Will running all things NOW, without the judgement of carnal mind.
Leave confusion behind, they only perpetuate the barriers between cause and effect, the Knower and the Known. 'God shall tabernacle amongst and in man', like the waters that cover the sea. The Light has come to the body, the light that all bodies appear and dissolve in, when the single eye has been opened. The eye of the heart surfeits and drops off the scales of myopic Saulish sight.The log jams of fleshly bodies caught and exiled on the banks of the River of Babylon are unfettered. Yet we can gaze on the Beloved's face, and see my our own very likeness as the sweet psalmist discovered when he AWOKE in the morning. No longer to sing the exile's song, by the banks of the River of Babylon, but rather leave our earthly harps strung high in the willows along the banks of the waters of Babylon. For we have become THAT, which we adored in exile! "The fullness of Him, who fills all things." Eph.1:23.
Soul and spirit, marrow and bone severed by the Spirit of Truth, a CROSS over from heaven to earth. To quote St. Paul: "who makes both groups ONE, and broke down the barrier of the dividing wall, abolishing in His flesh the enmity" Eph.2:14. This Vine tolerates no barrier, no division, no sects, no religion, no dogmas! It is the end of all human thought, as it says: "every thought led captive to Christ"2 Cor.10:5. It is revelational, and incarnational in your flesh declaring the Son of God has come. All else is Antichrist! Am I the mystic gadfly concealed in the ointment. Or am I a strange alchemy of chrsitian mystic and redneck heretic, a rebel flag waver of fluttering truths, unable to sustain the interminable unbendable strands of so called truth, unable to carry out the warp and woof of their rapture tapestry that is so UN wholly, exclusive and divisive except for the so called chosen. Thank God Grace gave me a scarlet thread to get out of it's walls. But then they would call this Grace a harlot. And if I fell down bruised and bleeding they would just rush past, this bleeding heretic.
