Nothing ever goes away until it has taught us what we need to know.
Forgive yourself for the blindness that put you in the path of those that betrayed you. Sometimes a good heart doesn’t see the bad.
Why do we act blind? Seeing demands action. To act is to risk one’s comfort and attachments. Blindness is our play against right action.
Blessed is he, that readeth and heareth the words of this prophecy; and keepeth those things which are written in it; for the time is at hand.
It is strange to me how in modern times the undead have been depicted as flesh eating, soul murdering zombies. It is not away from the undead, but to their defense, that I feel compelled to run. Those we speak of as “dead but not dead” are simply those souls who, having survived their own personal Book of Revelation, advanced to a reality more real than this present state.
In my opinion, fear of ghosts (if it involves gratuitous images of shooting them dead once, twice, three times, if necessary, oh damn it, just nuke the entire zombie pavilion) suggests an attempt at eradication of the possibility of our own death, and judgment. It also suggests attempted eradication of any chance that the already dead will talk and tell tales of our own iniquity – truths thought long buried, but like the body of a murder victim dug in too shallow a grave, tending to resurface during an early spring rain.
Because, truly, the words of the Holy Dead never cease themselves.
The words of the Holy Dead are sacred, constant, and omnipresent.
Those who have neglected the now deceased in life (their just thoughts and their just wills) will spend an eternity knowing it.
For the deceased, their words, before death and after, become part of Whatever Is that continually expresses truth in glorification of God, and if they weren’t doing this, repeatedly expressing themselves, albeit in some manner foreign to most, a guilty mankind would not be obsessed with setting himself at odds with the deceased, or feel compelled in any manner to mock them.
In my opinion, to mock the Holy Dead is like the scene in the Zombie movie where the living forego escape in the car, to hide out in the zombie house, and one step less perilous than mocking one’s very Creator. I believe that’s what man should worry about – their own behavior – rather than wasting time inventing sexy security operatives turned rogue (who will arrive in a slick, black leotard to save us.)
The words of the Holy Dead are Holy Powerful.
The words of the Dead Just are so powerful (albeit silent) precisely because their souls are now free from their bodies. Subsequently, their voices are free from erroneous interpretation by family members and others. No one can twist what the deceased says, or assert that one knows what their words “really” mean, or even attempt to twist what they “really” meant, right before they died.
Like my cousin Ray, who brilliantly willed that his brother Steven, who had been his caretaker, should inherit his house. Because Steven was also an inhabitant of the residence he inherited at the time, he would have been exempt from any unpaid medical debts incurred by the estate. Yet, family members have actually tried to assert that dying (but lucid) Ray made a mistake, and really meant to hand over his house to his father (who was absent for much of Ray’s illness and was the abuser that Ray felt “did a job on” Steven). Someone arranged so a thief should inherit the house for investment profit, and have the real inheritee, grown Steven, do all the maintenance and renovation for him, while paying the house thief (his own father) rent from a disability check.
That might fly in a court of law when the victim chugs down victimhood like he chugs down nutritional supplements in a power drink, but no thinking human who has not happened to have their brain eaten out just quite yet can really swallow it.
We pre-physical death spirits cannot even begin to ascertain the power of the words the Holy Dead speak, though we may never literally hear them. We cannot begin to fully understand the infinite and unexpected meaning of their constant spiritual language, and what effect it has on this world. For though mankind goes around stealing houses and painting the Holy Dead as flesh-eating zombies, he has an ancient over self-confident instinct to think of the silent voices of the deceased as harmless as the pinion of a bird’s wing, repeatedly sweeping the inside of a turret wall.
What is that noise… static? Did you hear a bump in the night? Who’s in my kitchen, frying something in a pan?
Some think they can wait a long time before a bird’s wings erode a wall, with their constant, repetitive effort, much as they put off dealing with the narcissists in their personal familial quagmire… but I wonder how well they sleep at night.
For this is a misconception, that ghosts want to invade out homes, erode our castles, or steal our rightful life and security out from underneath us. It is a misconception of reality induced because of our own self-imposed distractions, and because so few can actually hear the dead, see their influence in our lives, or understand what their motives could possibly be. We therefore make the mistake of thinking of the undead as the ones trapped, half here, and half there. That analogy is more true for us, and those souls who have not yet escaped the cleansing place (and are just asking for our prayers) but it can never really apply to those who have escaped earth and achieved heaven. For these good souls still love us and all of humanity not in a manner of bondage by chain, but with a longing for us to share in the homeland they now possess, because their love has been purified by all manners – God.
God will allow them then, with their wings so like the wings of celestial angels, not to erode castles, but to write within the Truth we need to hear in huge plain lettering – on the very inside of our castle walls.
David, my cousin with the big heart, I think this message is for you.
to roar a will
and humble a will
I was wondering what you were going to do with this
You have two minutes
Without changing the subject
and you could always say more
Bring me a flashlight and a lance
fitted in the costume of the church
like a giant knight throwing a steed
I actually know folks who have geese
roaming in their back yards, like yours
[I love you, Raymond, I say]
Wake up David, coffee
the notes are still in there
Give them to him
I didn’t have a sour face
when I wrote that
You should be happy
all the times we went to bands
do not fear the ghost
shedding light on your tunnel
Escape from it
lessons you needed to fall back on
all the time
Don’t make it harder than it is
She bought a house
she transpired from him
we have a warrant for your arrest
said the watchman
[“watchman” I believe is a reference to Reynolds, cyber detective/ criminal investigator/my boyfriend]
like a linkage on a chain of events
Very few people have this gift
(and it’s) not yours to keep
Don’t be a moron.