29 Jul 2013

Antonio Puri: Resurrection

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posted by John H. Doe @ 12:01 am

26 Jul 2013

to drop into the lap of love
dance within the secret life of flowers
like angels on the head of a pin
and to have within your grasp a mastery of life
(we give concern to the fashion of ephemeral troubles)
have you not heard? what is the Good News?
the best story wins
and the pieces do fit together
we cut no corners
it’s made to crumble at the edges
what tune is it in the susurrus atmosphere of the Movie?
as i waltz with a burning one
i know, for one, luck is no beggar
i to have fashioned my own very hands
to have been meant to dip in the gravity of it all
my card dropped in her lap
and the story brushes aside all anxious first maneuvers
the best story wins

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:01 am

23 Jul 2013

Our Lord Jesus Christ is also known in the book of Revelation as the Lamb slain at the foundation of the world. Even though this was only two thousand years ago that it happened. One might see that that was the turning point of all history: this is the sacrifice that ended all sacrifice, ended the Age of Iron. And all that that Age entailed. And as Christ was two days in the belly of darkness, below, so did the world enter the dark ages for two thousand years — for a thousand years is as a day to God. We just now are awakening, just now entering the new age, the Age of Gold — itself to last from 30 to 50 thousand years… And only then will come the End of Days…

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:01 am

20 Jul 2013

I like to watch birds drink from fountains, small pools, anywhere there is water after a rain. They drink until they are satisfied, dipping their heads, little shivers to shake off the chill. I find it fascinating. The birds fly off — I never encounter them again. They will probably remember nothing of the drink, not really; I will remember it better than they, hold it closer, for it is not always that I see the birds so sip. Somewhere in me, there is a place I can go where the birds are, dipping their heads in little waters. Somewhere in me, I can believe nothing is wasted, not even the smallest drink of water from the tiniest of birds.

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:01 am

17 Jul 2013

i desire something small and sweet
all these numbers have secret properties and whispers
the demon’s keeper strangely silent
to await my more restless nature to get things done
we mark how we are changed by beauty
we are electric in the purified energy of all sacrifices
now is home calling: i have seen it
the chamber within my imagination where i am free
the structure of love in the sunlight
like a dreaming where the numbers combine strangely
to bring about the beginning of all things
never an afterthought in the supply of days, on and on
where shall justice enter the system?
and permeate the courses of good and evil in truth?
i have followed until the road ended
then i went on my way through the wilderness beyond
i found light and darkness in my walking
blazed a trail in crayon for all the children to follow
i desire something small and sweet
the numbers do add up, i found: i tell you, they know

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:01 am

14 Jul 2013

Only when a man tries to live the divine life can the divine Christ manifest Himself to him. Therefore, the true way for you to find Christ is not to go groping in a thousand books. It is not for you to try evidences about a thousand things that people have believed of Him, but it is for you to undertake so great a life, so devoted a life, so pure a life, so serviceable a life, that you cannot do it except by Christ, and then see whether Christ helps you. See then whether there comes to you the certainty that you are a child of God, and the manifestation of the child of God becomes the most credible, the most certain thing to you in all of history.

– Phillips Brooks

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:01 am

11 Jul 2013

jeanne d’arc


i have wondered at the pattern of the leaves
the voices of the rain, so lonely
what have you seen, angel eye? what have you tasted?
we can meet in the skies
before the trees can greet the precipitation
when we are before the God of impossible destinies
to breathe unknown sensations
the mountain rising into the third heaven
the air of haloes slipping the light from their brims
in a dream i flew into your castle
the scent of crushed wildflowers was everywhere
and time was a strange rhythm
like we were meant to dance forever
we forgot all the magic we used to get to this place
because you know, love is the greater art
and i don’t know if you remember
how they tried to end you
smoke upon which your eagle feather rose
opening the book of the neverending tale
and a greater fire lit all the world
that rendered the Maid cast into a thousand statues
that could not speak your name without honor
here, where the clouds splinter
where the atmosphere can only dream higher
hearken, all you creatures!
we have known an immortal heart
we have seen the beginning of a new heaven
the dream to devour the whole of earth
never now to wonder how new a halo is struck

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:01 am

7 Jul 2013

Molenkamp: Untitled

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posted by John H. Doe @ 12:01 am

4 Jul 2013

It seems Christianity is divided into pieces. There are those who are Christians in name only, who have joined as to be part of the mob so they will not be trampled by it, who use the cross like a gang sign. Then there are those who find they cannot in their heart follow what that mob follows, and have given up trying to find the Christ they may have once believed in: Christians all but in name. Then there are the most fortunate, who have the Christ of love in their hearts and minds, who are not ashamed to be a part of a faith of love, peace, mercy, and kindness. If you are of the third, rejoice: for you are found, and no longer lost.

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:01 am

1 Jul 2013

In the dreaming, time stands still, and then flashes ahead, an approximation of eternity.

In the dreaming, I have noticed that I have died, several times, but never looked down.

In the dreaming, light is as pure as the first instant of creation, unmixed with solid things.

In the dreaming, I fell and fell, and I could not wake, and the feeling became as like a womb.

In the dreaming, there is no wind I have ever felt, as if all the air was less than imaginary.

In the dreaming, I leaped high and walked on air, and vowing to use my power for good.

In the dreaming, the shadow of death is like so much paper, easily torn, blown away at whim.

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:01 am

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