WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE? That Jesus died on a cross is plausible. That his family and friends watched as he died is also believable. That Jesus is the Son of God begs many questions, yet, Jesus himself said so. Was he mad? Was he a Charlatan? From all accounts as far as I have read he does not appear to have been mentally deranged, and because he wasn’t collecting funds in return for any of his good deeds, I cannot…
MAXIMUM MADNESS Very recently I had a late night after a very trying day. Being at home is not always a nice place to be. Sure you have all your creature comforts but there are also those you call relatives and there are domestic situations and there are sometimes care-giving situations, and you are the care-giver. Under the care-giving banner on this occasion, my anxieties piled up to vex my spirit so badly that I found myself at 1am wide…
THE GOOD FRIDAY TRADITION. As far back as my memory will accommodate, I remember the story of Good Friday and all the things that were bad on Good Friday. First of all, I was told that Jesus was, and still is the Son of God. This God is the God that made the Universe and everything within the Universe. I was told that God is good and holy and sees everything and knows everything. Every good Friday since that very…
The horse drawn bread cart came down the road I lived on when I was a child, very early, every day. By six o’clock each morning you would hear the clip clop of the mule’s shoe, on the asphalt. The animal always looked sad, as if it did not like its job. It looked the same way the horses that pulled the hearses looked. I could be wrong but I did not think these animals enjoyed what they were doing….
When you are telling a story, you should not omit any of the facts or you will turn the whole thing into a lie. Sometimes the facts maybe hard to accept and appear suspiciously close to being a lie, nevertheless, just tell it, as that is all the truth there is. This story is about a fisherman. He had seven children and a fat, pleasant wife. Very early every morning, he would leave home and go down to the sea,…
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WORDS ARE WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION. Some words are hard to say They have come from a deep place and not accustomed to showing themselves. Words are for speaking feeling and loving. I write words in musical notes, in verses that don’t rhyme, I speak words in the air or at YOU Words are loveable but can cut like a machete leave you bleeding like a slaughtered hog, Ponding deep blood-red-stained places almost purple with pain, Your words, clashing with…
He came toward me, a gun in his hand. Tatoos littered his fleshy arms that bulged with anger. Anger towards me. The concrete wall chafed my back. I was trapped. His lips drooled blood mixed with saliva. I had kicked him in the mouth when he grabbed at my blouse. Knee kick, step back, high kick connect. I could still feel the painful stretch in my right hip from that round house I landed. It has been years since I…