God make you Mighty

How are you Gentlemen? Perhaps merry? Perhaps joyful? Mayhaps cheery? At times peaceful? Tis Christmas day, for some this day is full of light and life, for others it is lonely and dark, and for yet more just a reason to party and get completely innebriated. I find it sad when I see many who I know and care for spend a Christmas poorly either in themselves or in their actions and if I had a prayer granted unto me it would be that all I love (the love which Christ gave to me) would pass this Holyday with joy and peace. Each of them knowing the truth of salvation, all of them sharing in the race that I run, and every one God blessed and blessing others. This is the Stranger's cry, all of you who read here, God make you mighty, God make you well, God make you holy, and God make you rebel. Rebel from conforming to the darkness in this world, and make you an heir with Christ himself for eternity.

Mighty Christ, merry Christmas.

Dt

Honor Among Thieves

Some say there are only two absolutes in this world, death and taxes. This is fairly same as saying there is only one absolute of many eventualities, sin and the consequences thereof. Now, you might be saying to yourself just now, taxes? Sin? Where's bad? Well, wonder no more my fine friend. I, the Stranger, shall make apparent to you the connections using economic principles combined with biblical truth.

When sin entered into the world it carried with it certain partners in crime. Death, first among them, followed directly on sin's heels with it's big, scary scythe. Also with it came a world of scarcity and hardship. This scarcity was coupled with something we humans had even before the fall, which was infinite desire. This is how we now understand economics as the decisions made by individuals in a world of scarce resources and infinite desires.

If there were no scarcity there would be no need for economics for all would have just what they wanted. This is the proposition upon which my reasoning shall rest, before the fall of man there was no lack of anything for man and therefore little or no reason for an economy. Thereby economics, while not evil or sinful, is a product of a sinful world.

Economics as an idea has no sin within it. It simply states a truth, people act the way they do because they want something in a world with a limited number of things. People can use either good or bad economics for evil purposes to do things which would normally be illegal. For instance, some taxes do what is called redistribution. That is, take from one group of people and give to another group. It could be the group receiving the money is in legitimate crises and without the money provided by the tax would either disburse or suffer. Yet, as Bastiat once said, what special immunity does the government have which protect them from prosecution of simple burglary? If a man were to go to the houses of the rich, plunder them for their jewels and money, and spread the resources among the poor and needy then he would still be prosecuted for committing an illegal act.

Some would argue that this is indeed not illegal yet perhaps it is merely convenient to do so when you appear to be in the altruistic position and you are not harmed by the transaction. It seems a bit funny that many of the people who argue this way are by no means rich or simply have constituents who are not rich. I digress, back to the point. An office of government which has legitimate use and purpose in a society of rarity and sin is by no means immune from corruption. Many of them cause actions like unto the example previously given.

It is in this way that taxes, which have many useful purposes, can be twisted to the purpose of those who claim to protect the interests of the people yet are in actuality merely using popular ideas to promote their own position. For sin is common to men and with sin come greed, pride, and deceit. As in every field of this world full of conflict politics and taxes is filled with goodness and evil alike. And just as in every situation when power and influence are injected in the people within the situation tend to show their pride by craving more and abusing what they have been given. As a famous saying describes, power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

The question which remains is, is there not a better way in which to have a government of accountability and of effectiveness within the society by which it stands?

Dt

Prelude

Salud fellow cyber surfers!  Tis I, the Stranger, who bids thee welcome here.  This is a prelude and nothing more, but a messenger for things to come.  Soon I shall be on winter break and I aim to do some serious logging.  I have thought and experienced much this past semester, much which needs telling.  Among these experiences I have found I lack the formal skills I once had, my papers this semester were good but more difficult to write than usual.  To remedy this I will post more commentaries than stories (or at least, that's the plan).  If the mood for a story strikes I will simply store it and use it later during the school year so as to keep on my formal writing plan.  Some may be rejoicing at my return from the lucid eccentricities of my mind and into more logical and real things.  Although I would contest my stories to be just as real in their own way as my commentaries are, but that is another matter.

To get back to the point, I will be posting again soon and you may expect it to be as strange and out of the ordinary as it tends to be just without the scintillating imagery.  Until then,

Dt

BLOOD

Alright! Finally I, the Stranger, present to you the conclusion to the Marie experiment. I hope to hear from you, Marie, and from you others who have held your comments until now. I eagerly await them, please enjoy the end of From Everlasting to Everlasting.

Sparks and lightning filled the nebulous void of earth that was, specters and shades swirled through the high and keening winds, whilst the spheres vied in battle. Superiority, or the position of highest influence was the goal of each and every one. Some claimed to be better in their beings, some in their weaponry, and still others by their ideals. Yet each sphere was filled with beings hell-bent on the fulfillment of their own goals no matter the cost.

The space of the land of none was charged in hostile energy. Chaotic energies were siphoned and stored for fiendish uses while all plotted their way to become the Princeps, the one whose influence caused all others to servitude. The word in its essence meant the beginning and those who chose it full well knew what title they really were taking.

Electric currents from the skies were being allured as if by siren's song to differing spheres, wafting downwards to earth like a lazy serpent. The hideous chimera's and unspeakable mutants of the earth that was were being tamed and trained for the kill, and every being whether visible or not eagerly awaited for the destruction to come. Every being, including Peter and those with him.

More had joined their causes to his and the size of their combined influence seemed as a mountain. A mountain perhaps, yet a mountain in full battle readiness. Sections of the sphere were filled with rods of light, others with wyverns or other flying beasts, and yet more with various elemental powers or mechanized structures. Each and all of them deadly, every one of them ready. The imPure there had constructed all of them from the substance of chaos in the void, all of the death dealing devices were the stuff of dreams and imagination. Just as they had thought it, then it was.

The imPure in the sphere where Peter was sat at council to discuss the hardest portion of their battle plan. "We are agreed then, upon the giving of surrender that we accept it only if they fight with us." Said Peter. Those there all nodded sagely. "I propose that in order to greatly increase our degree of success we must have a command center and with it a general." The wyvern master said and all agreed to this as well, it could not but make sense. Yet all the common sense and logic in the world did not triumph over the problem which caused them and every other war machine sphere to pop like an overfilled balloon. None would agree to any but themselves.

Havoc ensued. Each one left with their means of destruction and left Peter in his sphere alone once more. Peter had not created any weapon because his role had been to maintain the unity of the sphere and to strengthen the shield of its influence. He was reasonably confident he could defend himself adequately from any weapon but to make war now was impossible for him. So he watched as the void of the earth, already full of pandemonium, became a land fit only for devils.

All the others wasted no time in claiming the title of Princeps and launching what attack they could against all others. Lightning seared and cut through many spheres, the beasts mauled and rampaged across the void, fire, swords, mortars, and things of an unspeakable nature decimated the remaining imPure. Few indeed survived, when the abominations had all lost the wills of their masters, the elements their stock, and they had no more weapons to command was the time when the blood ceased to flow.

Spheres with broken husks were slowly fading and all the survivors came to meet. Peter was among them including some he had known but most of them he had only spoken to once or twice before. In total 325 had survived the carnage in one way or another. "Shall we agree to speak?" Peter asked them, and they all agreed. "In this manner is it not clear to all that none shall be the Princeps? Truly, it is impossible to conceive of the way. We live in this null zone, this place of suffering and torment. Yet once we lived in the Holy City, among the Pure. If only there were some one, some mediator to place one hand upon me and one upon..." Peter's speech could not continue when he tried to say that name. Yet all there saw his words to be true.

"We cannot change and we are doomed to struggle for eternity against each other. For though we desire a better way our selfishness will push us to malice. What we need more than anything else is for our very selves to change." Articulated Peter. One by one, all those still living voiced their consent. The shriek of the air, the lightning in the skies, and the turbulence in the foundations of the earth stilled. The shadows fled and every sphere suddenly popped. A door appeared in the air and all around it the ground was solid allowing the imPure to stand.

The door itself was for them to look upon but it obviously had a use. So Peter went forth from them and grasped the knob. It was locked. He tried knocking but received a fist full of splinters as a reward. He had not noticed there was an iron knocker so he lifted it from the door frame and pounded powerfully on the door. At each peal of the iron on the plate beneath it the door shuddered and their expectations were filled with some secret knowledge they could not identify. The imPure waited and Peter bled.

After a time or an eternity the sound of agony could be discerned. The closer it sounded the more they retreated from the door and when it seemed to come from their very throats the door swung gently open. They all witnessed the history and life of a single man through the portal. It sped past them in a coherent but swift stream. Perfection, miracles, kindness, torment, and death. The life and death of a man was witnessed by them as well as something still better.

Those who killed the man, for it was the imPure themselves, had buried him and walked off to rejoice together. Yet the scene did not fade, a day passed and a night, again it passed, and then it seemed as if they had caught up with time and were watching it now in the present. Two beings, who looked like what the imPure had once been, appeared and dug out the dirt covering the man. He then stood up from the grave and came towards the door and walked through it. From then on not all followed, but all knew that from everlasting to everlasting YHWH is God.

Dt

CHAOS

Now for part two of the Marie experiment...

Darkness appeared as surely as when a light has gone out, and for a while it remained dark. A heavy wind drew in and out and the air was filled with the sound of labored breath. A hissing sound started in the background, while the sensation of vertigo descended on all who yet lived, and the dismal earth was filled with sounds of agony and insanity. Then, slowly, as flowers blooming in the morn, the spheres began appearing.

Peter had been laughing all the while. Too full of shadows and shades, too many thoughts and emotions to process, too much... He could not handle it and remain even remotely sane, so he abandoned sanity and began to laugh as the condition worsened steadily. Then all at once every shadow save one shot out of him as so many rockets, ready to do ill. Finding himself almost alone, Peter could actually think for a moment. "Peter needs to consider and remember, he does." Peter began to recite to himself, "We promise you influence and control, Peter. That's what they said to Peter when he talked to them first." Peter no longer recognized his own persona, but still he was smart.

"Influence, Peter has influence now over the earth." So Peter thought, since there was darkness, and there was vertigo, as well as the strange feeling like nothing around him was all there, and he imagined. Peter thought a sphere would do nicely, something with light in it and gravity, something that causes substance to form around it, and something he can see and hear through and past. Just as he visualized it, it was. A transparent sphere with a unidentifiable source of light illuminating about 30 yards of space around it with semi-clarity. Peter was in the center of the ten foot diameter sphere, his sphere of influence.

As soon as the others who were still conscious saw Peter's sphere, they immediately made their own, some exactly as his was but many with variations. Some emitted a different color light, or had a larger sphere, or a different shape, some made flying spheres or spheres that varied constantly in shape and color. Yet even if it was a square everyone still called it a sphere, because they merely made their actual sphere appear to be something other than what it was.

In this manner many were able to survive the beginning of the period of pandemonium. People began moving about and exploring, although there was never anything new to see. The Holy City had turned into a wasteland and no animal had retained its original form. They had all become chimera, many creatures merging into one, and by so doing formed an abomination. The lions now had talons instead of claws, wings as well, some of them had snakes or scorpions where their tales once were, and in the same manner all the animals had become more deadly and aggressive.

Yet even more hideous were those in their spherical prisons, all of the impure. It was not their appearance which deterred interaction but rather their self serving nature. For from the moment you met one you wanted to leave because of their conceitedness. Many could be seen forming mirrors of their spheres and fixing their appearance, others could be seen using their sphere to increase their physical strength, and others still studied the ways in which they could manipulate matter or perception by the power of the sphere. All they did was to serve themselves and Peter was no exception.

"The world flees from the touch of my sphere." Peter murmured, now that he had time to become reacquainted with himself Peter no longer referred to himself in the third person. "All things around me are shadows and dust and influence is as nothing in the face of the void. It is true, I have control over the way of things around me but if I am the king of infinite space and everything within it is but myself, a thousand other kings, and the nothingness why I think I'd rather find a better way." So Peter pondered on the issue, how could he expand the influence to the extent by which he could enjoy the power he theoretically had.

"Perhaps, if I convince another that it is in their best interest to join their influence with mine, then perhaps we shall change the nature of the void." So Peter propelled himself from sphere to sphere, from one self serving individual to another, and somehow managed to convince two others to join themselves to his cause. James and Mary were their names and they looked eager to grow their power. "Do we agree with one another?" Peter asked them both, they responded, "Yes, we agree."

With that Peter imagined their spheres merging and expanding to create a much larger sphere, covering perhaps 500 yards, and in the center of the sphere they stood upon ground with trees, light, water, and other plants. No matter which direction the sphere swam the gravity and centrality of the land remained, and others around them saw the land and it appeared to them as an island floating in the sky. Just as he thought it, it was. But could he and they continue to agree?

Find out next time in the Stranger's (hopefully) final installment in the serious, From Everlasting to Everlasting. ^_^

ORDER

My good friend, sister to Sonic (she shall be known as... Marie) had an incredibly good idea as to a central plot to a novel. You must have patience with my, what is planned to be, three part series. Please enjoy, and Marie don't be angry with my experimentation... hopefully if you plan to execute your idea my shorts shall help guide you as to what and what not to do. Now to the first part, ORDER.


The black clothed ones watched over the city of YHWH and light burst forth like the sun from its center. Even in the midst of the Rest song could be heard being raised. Speckled across the fields like so many stars were the Pure glorifying YHWH even by their slumber. The melodies of various choirs intermingled in harmony of purpose and of melody. In the midst of it all, the center of attention, and the focal point of all the universe, stood the court of the Almighty. The Spirit was heaviest there and the fragrance like unto vanilla and lavender mixed in some sublime manner. Smoke always obscured it and to go there was to be prostrate before the throne in worship.

The holy city surpassed explanation in its glory and majesty though the Pure have eternity they shall never exhaust its depths. It was then, when the Rest was full of slumber, that those in black melted like shadows into the ground and sped across the ground. One of the Pure stood at the gate of the city, watching the Shades gather. Thousands of them, small and great, thickened the darkness in front of the Pure to a level beyond pitch. Finally one last shadow of enormous size and hideous in shape joined the abysmal conglomerate.

Then the Pure one laughed, his white robes changed to black, and he stepped into the black mass. At first he tried to move and could not, but then some more powerful will asserted itself and he, they, it, moved towards the court of the Almighty with a deliberate step. Around him the city watched in silence, all the choirs lost their voice in astonishment, and to the imPure everything looked like an unfulfilled promise. The brilliant jewels and awesome skies were like beggars change and clouded twilight.

He, they, it, reached the center and stood outside the smoke for a moment. The sweet fragrance like rank death, and the glorious texture as a hideous shape to him. "Part in my path." He said calmly. The smoke was separated by an unseen force and He, they, it, cracked a sinister smile. Confident he walked towards the throne but try as he might he could not keep his head raised when he drew near. There, YHWH, looked at him, them, it, and spoke, "Ah, Peter, do you not enjoy the perfection that is my creation?" YHWH sounded like something incomparable, deeper than the waters, higher than the skies, his voice came from everywhere at once and from YHWH alone. Along with its mysterious quality the voice carried with it a whole range of emotions, Love, sadness, longing, knowing... So that Peter knew exactly what YHWH wanted him to hear.

Even so, he, they, it, did not change the plan. They said, "Remember when you gave to me dominion of this earth?" YHWH kept silent, and he said, "Because I am ready to make use of that dominion now, if you would keep your promise." YHWH made no sound, and it said, "I would like for you to remove your influence completely from this earth." YHWH responded, "Is it Peter who asks me this?" The awesome voice once again conveyed more than mere words, even though it was a question the tone said YHWH already knew, and had always known. Peter replied, "Of course."

"It is done." Said YHWH, and even while the voice faded all the luster from every thing of beauty faded to ashes, him, they, it, spoke, "Finally brothers, chaos is ours to rule and discord shall be from now to till the end of all things! Pandemonium for eternity!"

To be continued...

Dt

P.s.

Endure through this part and the next till the end, and know why the title is as it is.

Not up to 50!

Yes, that's right. My blog may not be an otherworldly torture device which sucks away the years of one's life, but we have just passed the 50th mark in blog posts. Congratulations, readers, on sticking with me so long. I am working on some interesting shorts, which I hope you enjoy, but they may or may not end up causing you to shriek in ultimate suffering. But if it pans out as planned then may actually cause you delight.

Dt

New layout

As if you already did not notice, but just in case. This is my new layout (to be modified in the future) now as some of you know, I know nothing about the fine art of coding. This layout was graciously done for me by a good friend of mine who shall for now remain anonymous. That besides, please enjoy and tell me what you think. Likes? Dislikes?

Dt

Light of the World

Salutations fellow cyber nomads. Tis I, the Stranger, and welcome to the blue oasis of my words. I hope you may find no poisonous insects or venomous snakes among my beach like denizens, except those already defanged and made examples to the determent of their fellows. This next short story is great in length, so please do not be deterred by its size. I've decided I shall attempt to fight the fatigue which threatens to engulf me so completely by singing the breath in my soul to all of you. It might be a faint wind, but even the faintest winds bring refreshment and stir the branches from their...

Silvan sleep, the majestic trees crowned the dark forest floor. Nighttime hung like a sheet along the way and every resting thing sighed in unison with the breeze. Many a sloth rocked as so many hammocks and the great bird of flames itself slumbered amidst its dancing ashes whilst the retarded flames in its feathers twinkled and sparked with a madness peculiar to fire.

As the Sun hid his face and the Moon, that love struck maiden, chased after him a native traversed the hushed woods with reverence. For he feared to stir some ill spirit or awaken those yellow eyes which spare none. So he walked softly and let his eyes look for patterns and shapes instead of colors or movement. If he was being stalked at any time looking for movement was sure to get one killed. With only his thin but sharp spear as his defense he would have but one sure strike at any large predator before it would kill him.

He rested against a giant tree and opened his ears for the sounds of the night. The deep resonant tone of river frogs could be heard nearby, the occasional night bird sounded its voice at the stars, and the snap of a twig nearby was what he heard. The twig, such a small branch but by its sound has saved many lives. The huntsman was high in the tree only seconds later and he peered into the depths of the darkness for any fellow hunter. He saw only shadows, he heard only the restless wind, but the hairs on his neck said something lurked upon the earth.

He continued to travel, more like an arboreal creature now, leaping among the trees with the ease of long practice. Often he stopped to look and listen and just as often did he see and hear nothing. Finally he approached a break in the trees, a small river and one which must needs be crossed. The water was gray in the moonlight and by its property acted like a vanity for the lunar face. The jungle bred warrior hid himself in the leaves and listened long. Only the usual sounds of the soft water met his sharp ears. Quickly he left the protection of his tree and faster still he forded the waters.

As he climbed his next fortress he checked behind him for his pursuer, because it must show itself in order to cross as well. Some bushes parted and into the silver light stepped a proud tiger. His eyes were clearly locked onto the traveler, while a deep rumble emanated from his throat, and he began to gingerly attempt the river. Apparently the big cat was not overfond of water and he decided there was easier prey in the massive jungle. For the woods were his water, and as he slipped past the surface of the greenery no trace of his presence remained.

Feeling much safer now the quester traveled swiftly upon the ground, he had lost precious time to being stalked but now he must do his own stalking. The faint predawn ghost-light began to make all colors equal in their blur, and the time for spying was finally upon him. He located a particularly tall tree and practically ran up it. When he reached the top his eyes began their search, flames, where are the flames? In a nearby valley he spotted a dim flicker and he smiled. Finally, perhaps he may touch his destiny.

He traveled quickly towards his mark and the scenery itself joined the blend of its colors. When the tale of fire's light began to tell against the night he slowed and stole his way to it. And in the recess of the darkness the grim eve was pierced by the living light. Sparks rose with joyous dance, flame brightened and softened in a rhythm, and the mystical creature of feathers and spirit breathed in slumber. Its feathers all glowed in an awesome light, so purely, and the peace of its security was evident in the choice of its bed. On the ground, in the night, in the jungle of predators. The phoenix feared not any of those things.

The native's final task was to somehow master this great bird. Yet how could he? It smoldered and he could feel the heat from thirty yards away. It was massive in form and he perceived when it would awaken its strength and size would only increase. It seemed like such a beast suffered not to be mastered, but try he must or die at the hands of his own tribe. He approached its head, gingerly stepping so as not to make a sound, and when he was close enough to touch it he did so.

In a flurry of bright and sudden movements he found himself on his back, and a burning talon pinning him there, between earth and flames. The glory of the awakened phoenix was mesmerizing, fire of so many colors chased across its wings, and the morning itself was hidden by the light which tore it. Then the tribesman looked into its eyes, and was met by a scrutinizing stare. The massive depths he found there froze his soul even as his body was burning, already burning. Then their meeting was truly inaugurated by the heavens themselves, for the moon had caught up to the sun and the world was thrown into shadows.

Now, the man thought, now perhaps its strength will wane. But instead the creature cocked its head as though listening and in its talons he grasped the sweltering man. Into the sky it dived, and ascended beyond any mark or boundary. It was there the phoenix gave life to its call and the beauty of it made the man weep, the beauty he wanted for himself. They flew for a time and the firebird increased its flame to become the sole light of the world and its brilliance surpassed the Sun.

The man was let down inside his own village and the magnificent thing suffered itself to stay. The chieftain cried in delight, and a sort of mania. "Now our great sacrifice is arrived!" He shouted into the seeming day. He motioned for him and told him because he had brought it he had the honor to kill it. Yet how, why, should it be sacrificed to appease our village god, thought the man. He stood there torn, gazing into the eyes of all his fellows pleading and begging them with his thoughts. A cold wall they seemed to him, urging him on with their existence.

Then he took his spear, raised it to the heavens, and drove it into the phoenix. They danced around its black corpse while the Sun left the Moon's shadowed embrace and in the sunlight he saw a white object underneath the bird. An egg, great and lovely to behold like a gem of many colors, and also like a frozen flame. He took it and ran from his homeland, and lost himself in the trees. He spent his days hiding from his former family and soon from the egg burst a bird, small, but with its life his own was replenished, and by its flames he felt the coal in his heart be replaced with jewels.

Dt

Brilliant Aprisal Begins Yon

Dear readers, I the Stranger have an announcement of enormous proportions to share with you. I am an uncle, an uncle to a yet unborn child. This child carried by my beloved and beautiful sister shall be nurtured and cared for by loving and wonderful parents, as well as an oddball uncle. This update is simply to huge to not be cataloged here, so here it is. In accordance with my sister's wishes I have not used certain electronic means of notification (such as facebook or myspace etc.) to communicate this joyous news and I would ask you to refrain from doing the same. But nevertheless, I must proclaim, I am an uncle and an uncle I shall remain.

Dt

Unclean

A small, iron bell was ringing and the market square emptied rapidly, as a band of men shuffled dejectedly through the town. They moved like convicts, even though they wore the free man's garb. Every time I see them, I am disgusted, every time I see myself, I simply cannot believe it. "Unclean! Unclean! Do not touch, do not walk on tainted ground before the priest comes! Unclean! Unclean!" Called the town crier, and the folk were not slow to obey his directions. The pack of the unclean ambled through the town, and I with them.



"Don't be such a bitter herb!" My brother's voice came calling me to a memory. Years ago, before winter fell onto my skin forever, I had happiness of a sort. My brother and I would wander the countryside in search of game or fun. We would... talk for days at a time, or so it seemed. Golden days, languid days, far gone days. A shriek of terror brought me back to the present, only to see the face of a cowering woman rejecting my presence with her fear.



Why, why did we have to go to town? Why must we be revealed for all to see, for all our memories of goodness and life to be squashed and tainted in the greedy flames of hatred. I could smell their fear, and I could see the question in their eyes as well, why, why must we bear the presence of the unclean? Better to die than to be infected with the winter skin, with the ice burning away all feeling and mobility.



True, all true. Many times I had contemplated the knife, or simply wandering into the wilderness where the bear lived, and wolves prowled. Yet still, somehow, I held on. Not to hope, but to the slim chance of some cure or a reverse of my malady. It was known to happen rare, as it was, but I never dwelt on these thoughts of escape or rescue. For as soon as I looked upon the scales on my skin I knew, all the way down to my bones, I knew I was stuck. Stuck to live the thrice cursed life, with no feeling in my body, no feeling in my heart, and no feeling in my soul. I was numb, frozen to the core.



Every friend I had in life, for I had died even though I live, was now a sworn enemy, every cherished memory or treasured gift was turned into ashes in my mouth. I was useless, and worse, my only use was to be reviled and rejected. While the group of lepers were lingering in the town a stranger approached the place where we were gathered. He wore tattered clothes and walked with a sure stride. It seemed to me he looked only at me, even as he scrutinized someone else.

My eyes betrayed me and followed his every movement. I heard someone whisper a name, Jeshua, and then my own legs had no more strength in them. I wept, I had not the slightest strength in me except for sadness. I knew I had no right to even look at him, to even think or hope he would heal me. What was I but an abomination of hate? What was I but someone degrading into a living corpse? I had no right to ask... but I could mention. "Lord, if you will you can make me clean." I said, sounding dejected and forlorn.

"I will, be clean."

Dt

Being Truly Numb

Yesterday my pinkie and ring finger on my left hand went completely numb on the third joint. Whenever I use them it feels like they are "asleep". I have retained the dexterity inherent in them but not the ability to feel much heat or cold. I can tell when something is touching the tip by the way it travels like a wave up my finger. Because of this I can sympathize with people who live with numb appendages or paralyzation, or even leprosy. I don't believe the numbness will last very long but I intend to write a short story on the subject from the point of view of someone who suffers a condition similar to this. It is not ready yet, so be patient.

Until then,

The Stranger

Reset

Greetings, this is the Stranger and hopefully the following will not cause you to flee and come again no more. Poetry for me is... like standing underneath a waterfall and causing some of the water to flow in a certain direction using your arms and shoulders pointed in a uniform direction and angle. In other words, it comes when it wants and it rarely meets the emotion that spawned it. This short story is a free style poem who met a biography. Guess who it's about and I'll tell you if you're right! So enjoy the fruits of what the Gaelic would call the "awen" or the breath of the soul.

Green symbols danced randomly in the screen while a strange and rhythmic synthesized sound repeated on the speakers placed around the desk. The room was dimly lit by the half moon lazily sending its rays through the only window. One door led in, it was shut and had many locks placed upon it. All else was vague in the semi-darkness which covered everything with an obscuring haze. All else, except for a sleeping figure collapsed half on the desk and half in an office chair.

The teen aged boy had greatly unkempt hair, an old and well worn shirt, and long slightly baggy jeans on. He looked like he had been sleeping for a great while because dust had settled on his shirt. The haunting sound on the speakers changed its tune to something more akin to an Indian settar and the tempo became random and quick. The inscrutable green letters reduced in their haste to appear at various places and times and to just as quickly vanish; and upon the completion of their total banishment and the descent of a blank screen these words became evident in a white text.

Server reboot system online... Please wait... Please wait... Server reboot complete, Server self diagnostic initialized, running... Server self diagnostic complete. The Server is ready to operate the System, Server contacting System. Please wait...

When the Server was contacting the System the boy awoke and was coherent in time to read the words. What he saw next was this, Server System link initialized, transmitting data at 800 mbps, Server System link stable at 800 mbps. After a few more moments the boy stretched and turned on the light. Only one of the bulbs in the ceiling fan was working and the light produced was only slightly more powerful than the moonlight but the dark haze did draw back from the obscure objects and the boy quickly categorized them into their proper place in his brain. The box full of keepsakes, a chair with a bin of cds on it, a cabinet full of various useless items, and a tiny fridge and microwave.

He foraged in the fridge and salvaged some food from what may or may not be safe to eat. When he sat back down the following words were awaiting him on the screen.

Server System ready for operation: Command?

He began to dialog with the system.

Enter subnet drive number 6, run self diagnostic program 3. Execute.

Server System diagnosing subnet drive number 6. Please wait...

The boy had been having trouble getting online lately and because of the unresponsiveness of the computer he had been running diagnostic programs on every function of the computer. He ate his unidentified food as he waited and just as he finished the computer signalled its completion.

Subnet drive number 6 has a malfunction in .dll file number 777. Warning, if you attempt to repair the file the subnet drive may totally fail. Do you wish to run repair? Y/N.

Y.

Server System running repair program on subnet drive number 6. Running...

There was at this point no music from the speakers and the only sound was a rapid succession of high toned clicks. The screen blanked out for a moment and then reinitialized. When it did these red words appeared on the screen.

Server System repair of subnet drive number 6 a failure, the subnet drive has been scrambled. Server System recommends tech support. Server System will reinitialize Safe Mode in 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1... Goodbye.

The boy, having finally run out of other options went to his door, unlocked every one of his many locks and called for tech support. Who also happened to be his father. From then on out the Server and the System were in repair and the boy could e-mail his invisible friend who was now so close even though he was so far away.

Dt

Romanticism

Hile, Stranger here, and make yourself comfortable for what may be one of the more interesting commentaries I have yet posted. Upon post-modernism A.K.A. Romanticism. Bon apetite.



The truth is constant, always valid, and unable to change or fluctuate. If a truth is accepted then necessarily it becomes a foundation for thought. Yet if truth be only partially rejected then no idea or thought, no argument or construction, nothing will be completely true or even mostly true. This is merely the first phase of whit is now known as post-modernism. The relentless dismantling of any absolute has a plethora of consequences in society at large.



The fatal and first stroke of post-modernism is taking objective truth and making it subjective from a first person view. Or, in other words, denying any absolute and accepting truth to be a personal quest in which all differ in what fact they discover and accept. This places the acquisition and substantiation of any verity solely on the choice of the individual. Meaning everyone is their own god making for themselves their own purposes.



A society founded on this principle shall surely degrade into anarchic chaos. For all ideas would be equally invalid as well as equally valued. Only the amount of people accepting an idea as more or less fact would differ. It seems post-modernism's primary goal is to remove error by quietly killing any standard. The saving of pride done by this act is tremendous, simply because one might hold an opinion opposite to my own does not subtract any credence to what I hold to. If by some chance I adopt their viewpoint then my idea was more of an experiment than a rule.



By removing the possibility of wrong this world view adds into society a general feeling of "why bother?" Few shall see the need for rigor, or hard work for non can, in the end, succeed. There is now no longer any goal other than a sort of self propelling. A slothful tendency will pervade those who believe in nothing and anything.



What seems to be on of the main reasons for accepting such a mindset is the denial of God. It becomes an ultimate atheism, there being now no absolute there is necessarily no prime being. There is now no final judgment, no accountability for deeds or thoughts, and no life after death. They shall become their own law and accept their ultimate fate.



Having accepted their end they shall descend into hopelessness. What in the beginning was an attempt to substantiate whatever lifestyle they wished to lead shall be what they wished to avoid all along. All pursue happiness, those who do so through post-modernism will realize they are chasing only sorrow, and gaining it.



Romantics, this is what they are. Post-modernism emphasizes the experience, the emotion, and the journey over the truth, the logic, and the destination. Thinking if they travel wide enough, and experience many cultures and ideas humanity will gain a peace and balance. In its search, society will embrace countless radical and possibly dangerous ideas to reach this purpose.



My sister composed with this theme, "What you feel isn't what is real." Many would disagree. In fact, the denial of truth must place faith in the subjective and the emotional. This makes the experiential and the transient a temporary truth. People will take an action for as long as they 'feel like it' and then they shall move on to another area in hopes of a more fulfilling experience.



This lifestyle denies logic at its core and when confronted by either truth or logic will simply exercise the authority of self. Their main defense will be along the lines of, that may work for you but it doesn't mean it's true for me as well. In the face of this defiance no arguing shall prevail for they have hardened their hearts to change.



Proceeding hand in hand with the denial of logic is the assertion truth can only be personal. A truth you hold to is simply that, and my truth does not have to spread any further than me to be valid. Creating within society millions of tiny bastions, broadcasting their own ideas while ignoring whatever does not fit with their perception.



Already knowing life to be short as well as final the shall endeavor to live every moment for their own pleasure. Why should they waste time on others? Society will surely become steeped in greed as well as perverse and wild deeds. People will go to extra-ordinary lengths to enjoy every moment and they shall also become bitter or even violent when they cannot.



In the end post-modernism is a world view constructed to distract entire nations from God for as long as possible.



Dt

Quiet Tears

In the land where all is shadows and mist, where a bird's song is ne'er heard, and where there are no rainbows when a storm passes. In this land, the Heartland it was called, journeyed a wanderer across the barrenness of the frigid plains. The moon is always shining there and sunlight stays hidden behind great mountains. In order to survive the nomad killed all creatures he encountered and hastily ate them. It was always best to keep moving, to ever be escaping unperceived danger.

A frosty wind cut along the vales and dales penetrating all defense against its slow death. Shelter was nearly impossible to find and nearly as hard to make, for every cave was constantly filled and guarded by ferocious beasts. The landscape itself was full of treacherous pitfalls as well as thin ice over water. It was constantly precipitating, snow, rain, sleet, hail all would fall on a normal day and seemingly hail would fall the most often of all.

The wild and savage wilderness was dangerous beyond all compare yet it held a beauty for the traveler. The moonlight was as many silver threads glistening pale upon the ice capped fields. It was as cold and pale as a dead man yet enchanting despite all association with the grave. The man journeyed away from sunlight, ever to the north and away from other men. Somehow he survived alone, at least for then.

He could not be any more alone in the void and the night than he was in a city of men in the southern latitudes. Each of them was consumed with their own quests and would not deign to share bread with a friend. The pariah had embraced the hinter lands and could better endure the frozen tundra than the frozen smiles of so many men. He adored the places none had been for no where else had he found a place he identified with.

It was there, on the day of unceasing sleet, on the day when the wind howled louder than any train, when no shelter could endure nor comfort made. It was then he made it to the center of the wasteland, the north most point of all the earth. At the core of cold he pitched his tent and waited. He waited for the equinox, the time when sun would overtake moon. He sat for the time when the rim of the earth no longer swam away from the celestial body of heat and light. He waited for two months and ten days but who can tell time in the shadow of the moon? It seemed to be eternity and a lifetime he held his ground.

Yet the sun did rise and when the sun rose it stayed. The athlete no longer would remain only in shadows and moonlight but to be made warm in the full light of day. The wanderer had found a place to be home at, at least while the sun shone. He would now journey only west to remain in sunlight all the longer. For he had enough of being full of an icy soul and now that the thaw had come he yearned for warmth to be his only lot; never more to weep frozen tears in silence, but to run his course with joy.

Dt

Heartfelt apologies

Hello. This is the Stranger and I have written this to you on account of some very... peculiar circumstances in my life which force me to make my posts a little more spaced out. I know the month of June had almost no posts and I apologize for the lapse, but I must cry your pardon once again and ask you to be patient. Thank you, and please don't ask me to explain any further it's rather complicated.

Dt

Broken

He was a guardian, and he did protect.





There stood a Soldier among the crowd of trinkets, to reason with them about the purpose they should aspire to. He had placed himself upon a stage and delivered the speech he had rehearsed over and again. "We are men of few words, but many deeds. Swift to do and quick to deliver we stand in the gap. We are so many princes, with so many steeds charging to victory. We are the guardians and we will protect."



Silence met his passionate words and once more the Soldier walked away hearing only cheers and trumpets. "Reporting for duty!" the Soldier stated with a crisp salute. "At ease Private." responded the Sergeant, with a somehow better salute.



"Is all of your gear checked and double checked?" "Yes sir!" "Have you memorized the map layout of your mission area?" "Yes sir!" "Do you know by instinct the requirements of your mission, and shall you abide and do those requirement and only them?" "Yes sir, and yes again sir!"



The Sergeant nodded and his former official demeanor fell away as a genuine smile lit his face, "God speed private." said the Sergeant. Salutes, departure, and the Soldier fell in with his squad for their mission. The mission for the next five months was survive the first semester of freshman year at a public high school, and his squad was a group of students he didn't know all piled in a giant yellow bus.



Dt



To be continued...

One Standard Day

The fresh scent of pine had won over her senses long ago. She felt the green and knew all of her mute yet weighty desires to be answered. The heaviness of the city she itself from her like water as she danced among the trees. She existed off of the aroma while her spirit rose to heights anew and soared there. She would have been content then, but there was still more in that forest of glory and the morn had only just shed soft light.



The living air sighed past her like so many threads of silk. With every step and every breath her laugh became more wild. Zephyrs which were the foundations for eagles' wings dove down from heaven to grace the forest. The delight she found from them poured form her lips in song. How could it be any better, she asked entranced by the gift, but she knew more than the caress of the sky and more still then the perfume of the earth.



The stillness in the thrushes spoke poetry to her even as water trickled reverently in its stream. The wind's breath stirred the trees to their whispering life and they shared sweet secrets with her. The soft call of the mourning dove enhanced the feeling, welling in her spirit. Then the joy of the morning burst forth coupled with his companion, who is peace like a river. My cup is full, she declared, I cannot take any more in. Yet more there was for creation is no so empty to make known Him part way.



The trumpet of the dawn lit upon the forest there and revealed greater greens and deeper blues like so many gems to her awed eyes. Sparkling in the lake was a treasury made for her, and in the leaves and blades of grass stood captured a beauty beyond knowledge. The great blueness above joined with the earth beneath in their dance of light and dark to remind her of the dew. Just as the dew refreshed all the animals and brought life to so many plants, so did all creation fall like dew to her tired soul. For her there was nothing left but to cry and the tears were lovelier than all the blazes of the sun to He who did for her all this and more.



It was then she asked in her relief, gratefulness, and confusion... Why, why for one as I? For what reason would you create knowing we would deny? How come you toiled and spun with the knowledge of our treason? And all the answer she ever got and all the answer there ever was also happened to be in the great big sky.



Why? Because, and love.



Dt

The Daily Struggle

The long awaited (and hopefully anticipated) second part to my commentary on warfare has come. I pray you benefit.




4 For we know, brothers loved by God, that he has chosen you, 5 because our gospel came to you not simply with words, but also with power, with the Holy Spirit and with deep conviction. You know how we lived among you for your sake.

-- I Thes. 1:4-5

Before going forth into warfare for the sake of others make sure of your own status. Remaining in a good status requires two aspects, these being humility and devotion. For the root problem has been and shall always be sin. Without sin there would be no fallen angels, no entropy, and no war either against the flesh within or the world without. When sin is paid for a person is taken out of the darkness, enslavement, and freed from a mindset for the work of the devil. This does not necessarily mean they are scotch free from hard work (it simply means without the grace provided by the gospel, hard work would never pan out...). This is mostly a recap of what I said earlier in a different form.

What needs to be added is the following, sin led to fallen angels and fallen man, sin can attract the fallen or enticement can be produced by the fallen. Yet with resistance to sin the spirits flee. No matter how you look at the issue the main problem is sin and the only solution is the gospel. This is the essence of humility, with confession humility grows and dependence on God becomes increasingly tangible. Doing so will soak in deeper reliance on God and this stunning realization; if we are faithful in "small" things, He is faithful in big things. Of course remaining pure is no small matter but I propose the "big" area is when we try to expand to helping others. James 4:5-7, 1 Peter 5:4-6, Luke 16:9-11.

Humility keeps us dependant and suppresses pride (like the desire to grab our own glory in deliverance). Devotion to God is very specific to fighting one particular struggle, faithlessness. Unbelief is, in essence, thinking God not big enough, the gospel not good enough, nor the Word effective enough to actually deliver from sin. This mindset can either be veiled in a habitual pattern of sin, because if we had the faith repentance would be possible, or in actual doubting of the goodness or power of God. I have found through observation unbelief often is accompanied by oppression. How or when the oppressor comes is speculation but the symptoms are classic and easily identifiable. Hopelessness, depression, brooding, anxiety, and things like these compound the cause, unbelief. Rom. 10:16-18, Gal. 3:1-9, Matt. 17:17-21, 1 Sam. 15:10; 24-25 16:14-15; 23.

Humility and devotion are merely the evidences of something much better, the gospel. These truths are merely fruits from the double beamed tree. Just as no one ever lived without a heart nor did a car ever start without an engine just so do these truths depend on the Mover for their efficacy. Go and do likewise.

Discernment is required. Some are given the gift of discernment of spirits as their spiritual gifting, but many are not. Whether or not you have (or think you have) been given this gift be sure to pray for discernment when you have reason to think an alien will is influencing you. When a temptation seems to never end, to last beyond reason or normal boundaries, and when prayer and recitation of the scriptures seem not avail much then sometimes this may be the influence of an imp. Be careful to remember our warfare is against our own flesh and that sin is always the root cause and root problem, in addressing the root other powers loose most of their leeway.

This warfare is easiest won by prevention, yet there are times when preventative measures fail and we fall. When this time occurs remember the authority, by the power of the Name, given unto us (in various places, one of which is Mark 16:17) and with faith standing against the deceiver. Remember to repent of your sin (repentance being asking forgiveness as well as the grace to turn away and walk in it no more, and then so doing) which brought you to the place of vulnerability in the first place.

Be devoted to God and thereby faith be inculcated into your heart. For faith is the root of our power, just as pride is the root of theirs. Faith protects when pride subverts, faith makes strong where pride makes vulnerable, faith makes effective where pride exposes, and faith give God the glory where pride seeks its own. Devote yourself to God and believe, whereby you shall stand in the day of darkness. Eph. 6:13.

Dt

P.s. For reasons I shall not say the commentary on deliverance of others shall not be posted now and may never be posted in the future. I sincerely hope the commentary has been beneficial to you but I adjure you to be wise and most of all draw near to God.

An Aside

I know, I know (Stranger here), this is not the second part of the commentary (I'm having trouble condensing everything I want to say) but when I saw this video I just had to share it. Please enjoy. http://www.godtube.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ee73e63418003b47d7d5

Dt

Forging the Sword

Greetings to you, I the Stranger bid you welcome. The following commentary shall be divided into three parts. The first part shall consist of what I hope you are doing. The second what I expect you shall do. And both parts have this as their topic, spiritual warfare. So I shall begin, and I pray you benefit.


1 And you were dead in the trespasses and sins 2 in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience— 3 among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind. 4 But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, 5 even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ— by grace you have been saved— 6 and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus,

Ephesians 2:1-6.


This verse gives to us the basic layout of redemption, but I would point out it also shows the manner in which we wage warfare. This is the progression of man, he is sinful, he follows demons (i.e. either by possession or the ideas put forward by demonic influence), he is dead in his sins. But God, who loved us even while we sinned, raised us out of our death with the Resurrection of His Son, and seated us with Him in heaven.

Warfare is not a difficult concept to grasp, and in its makeup it is rather simple. And it is based on one crucial thing, the furtherance, proclamation, and deliverance of the Gospel.


3 For though we walk in the flesh, we are not waging war according to the flesh. 4 For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. 5 We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ,

2 Cor. 10:3-5


When the gospel is not our central and major theme warfare is nothing. It has no purpose, no destination, no point, and no goal. It is, in essence, degraded to an experiential subject and not given the seriousness it requires. And when the gospel is overlooked the enemy is either unaffected or not very affected (which can really make your life difficult). In light of this I propose the five things you should be doing right now.

1. Be regenerate. I know this isn't exactly a constant action but if you are not a Christian then spiritual warfare is not for you. See Acts 19:13-16. In fact those not bought by His blood are subject to demonic attack, influence, and possession (John 8:43-45). But if you are indeed a son and joint heir with Christ then the following steps are yours to employ.

2. Study the Word. All the time, breathe it in, memorize it, apply it to wage warfare against your own flesh. In fact if you practice warfare against sin then you shall find warfare against spirits follows the same pattern. If you resist long enough and quote scripture at your sin then it disappears. Thus with spirits.
James 4:6-8

3. Become a prayer warrior. If you are practiced in prayer then almost necessarily you are cultivating humility as well as the mindset of prayer. Or in other words, when there are trials in your life prayer comes as your first attempt to rectify your situation. Then when the enemy descends it is natural to turn first to the Father. And our example of humble prayer is found in our Lord;
Matthew 26:39; Psalm 35:1-3

4. Engage in fellowship. In order to build a network for you to rely on as your covering when in the midst of battle. The prayer of others are bolstering in the thick of battle. And having another to stand with you is comforting. Somehow it eases fear and pain. Also our hearts are deceitful, we would be blinded to sin, which makes us vulnerable to attack, and our fellows keep us humble and grounded in God (Proverbs 27:6).
Hebrews 3:12-13; James 5:16; 2 Timothy 2:3.

5. Grow roots in assurance. Faith is vital. In order for you to stand in the day of darkness you must have faith. Without faith you shall quickly fall, and fail despite whatever else you have done to prepare. And faith comes through God's Word as a matter of course, this wraps around to just how important the study of His Word really is.
Romans 10:14-17; Psalm 27:1-3

This is the preparation for battle and it is important for you to be already partaking of these things. For battle may possibly come at any moment, do not live with this in fear but rather may its truthfulness lead you to take this matter seriously. The next part shall be what you need to do when attacked by sin and its consequence.

Dt

Ashes

A tiny flame winks into life. The wood is young and green, so oil is applied. The fire runs across the pine, warming and crisping the bark. And heat is gently felt by the flame bringer. For a time the wood burns but only so long does the new log take to the flames. The oil runs low and a chill wind forces the little blaze to gutter... and fail.

And the wood has ashes, the ashes of its consumed bark float around it like a cry. No heat is felt and only the smoke of the flames could be seen, like a small wisp dissipating into space. And night falls on the world with no fire to meet it.

Wolves howl at first distantly, but drawing nearer. Yellow eyes spy the hiding place and they fear not a man with no fire. The only choice for them remained whether to eat quickly or slow. For their prey already caught could surely not escape.

Ashes still hung in the air, the wind yet whistled through the trees, and the wolves kept creeping up on the cave. Hopeless, depressed, the man stood to face his hunters. When the savage beasts approached the heatless pit another hunter cried a claim.

He came with fire, he came with oil, and he came prepared. Burning wolves and driving them off, the fire maker deftly defeated the canine fiends. He entered the dark cave to find the other man waiting for some sign of friendship. The hero took the unseasoned pine and put in its stead a large log of aged oak. And lighting it he also gave a torch and oil for the flames.

The relieved man took his torch and perceived the cave to be all around them and to stretch on for much farther than his light could reach. But the saving man showed him the endless wonders of the cave, for the ground was always dry and somehow wood was at hand whenever needed. No more to sit in ashes.

Dt

Nova Atitude

I shall be in louisville for quite a few days and will be unable to post, and then almost immediately following said trip is my sister's wedding! *GASP* Yes, I the Stranger shall be a very busy individual. Therefore if a post is made know it was probably the only one I could actually get in.

Dt

Surrender

This is the fate of fatigue, and the cause of slow defeats. The will when sapped no longer arises. Greetings to you, I the Stranger bid you to somberly read this short message. It won't be like my previous commentary, which was more like a rapid dump of many thoughts, but a concentrated topic on a serious theme.

Surrender and fatigue, do they conquer you? Or do you prevail through other means? Here's the skinny. Surrender is necessary, and surrender is to be avoided. Fatigue is a consequence, and fatigue can be banished. Personally one of my greatest enemies is fatigue. The desire to just lay back and slide through it all. But those times I regret bitterly, because the first thing to fall through the woodwork is my time with the Good Book.

It's the slow surrender, the creeping normalcy, the killing sand. And if it goes on long enough struggles become short and seemingly useless. Fatigue, discouragement, and despair go together on the road to sloth.

The only answer is surrender of another sort, but this surrender is a fight, a war. You have to ask for help, and WITH that help defeat your enemy. Not watch that help, not mildly struggle with the help, but using that help, that grace, as the source and tool of your escape. But not necessarily the action thereof. Defeating fatigue is easier at the beginning than at any other point, nip it in the bud and its much less of a hassle. But tearing fatigue up by its roots can be like levelling a mountain with a plastic shovel.

Fortunately our help is not a plastic shovel, but it isn't usually dynamite either. Our help is like the strength in your muscles, integrated into you for a purpose and meant to be used. Our help takes work, but without it we would not succeed even if we worked our entire lives. This grace makes futility possible, but it doesn't always make futility easy. Not that it can't but the most growth occurs when the larger challenges come, to force us to surrender to the right being in the right way.

Dt

Play, Rewind, Repeat

It was pitch black. The only thing I could hear was the sound of a person's footsteps, and the methodical rap of a cane on the concrete. The sound grew slowly louder and in the distance someone played a viola, a lament for something long lost... A soft fiery light was slowly eating at the darkness and a man came into view. Tall he was, and wearing dark clothing but no other features could I see. He spoke, "U pau ruskie?" were his thick and strange sounding words.

"Michael!" The sound of my name broke into my thoughts, like someone suddenly shedding light into tired eyes. My drawings were becoming better, and this project was promising. Time for another normal day. I quickly ate my breakfast, not even tasting the home baked goods, and rushed out the door calling back thanks and well wishes for the day. It was the big yellow doom bringer, and another day of insignificance.

So I took residence in my usual seat, and watched as the tall man drew closer. "Nim noga." I responded, he looked slightly pleased. "Well then my American friend, we shall speak in your language for the sake of courtesy." His accent was heavy, but manageable. "When does the target come into the area?" I asked, seeking to verify my intelligence. "In approximately 2 hours, and I won't bother telling you the other things you already know." He was mildly amused, but also mildly annoyed. Wonderful, I couldn't have received a more... flexible partner for the job. He seemed to be physically fit, and he didn't favor either leg with his cane. So I wondered at the inclusion of such a possibly cumbersome item for an elite man like him.

"Hey! Is it you again? Put your stuff away and come on, or you'll be late for homeroom." The buss driver was kindly, but she always had to put up with me straggling behind. I hurried and made it to homeroom as the bell was ringing. Fortunately it was my best subject, art, unfortunately we had a substitute teacher for the day. "Good morning everyone." I quite literally froze in my chair. He didn't just look like or sound like the man in my drawings, in my imagination, he appeared to actually be him.

"Today," he began, sounding like he had a genuine American accent, "we are going to take a look at pointillism." I didn't have time to worry about my teacher because pointillism happened to be a labor intensive art form. I drew a scene of moonlight falling on a field of wheat and the wind travelling across the plain, almost as if the wheat field was actually a pond and a stone had just created ripples across the once still surface.

At the end of class we each showed our work, apparently none of them satisfied the teacher much. "I know none of you have every used pointillism before, but all of you missed the point of it." The class moaned at his bad pun, I grinned, because I knew he was being hard to please on purpose. I hoped that for the first time, I had met someone who's expectation I could fulfill.

Dt

Muse(sick)

The muse called in sick today, although I can almost hear something in the background... But let's move on shall we? Once again I say greetings to you, for I the Stranger shall compose another commentary.

Welcome to the future. Imagine a world where everyone is sick with the same, crippling, terminal disease. And we all try everything we can think of to escape it. Science, ceremonies, drugs, etc. The cure, the panacea, we're dying for the eradication of our sickness. We even try politics, social restructuring, suicide.

It's all been done. Genocide, eugenics, DNA manipulation... we've done it, thought about it, or tried it all. If only we were not so very, incredibly, incurably infirm. I'm here to say it's happened, it's happening, and the world already knows how to stop it. They just don't want to.

Why would anyone avoid such a cure? Why would anyone reject it? What if, to put in a nice plot twist, only the few actually were aware of the pandemic. How ridiculous, posh you cry, how could anyone not KNOW in their bones they were mortally sick? You would be better off asking a fish what water is. A fish doesn't know what water is, to a fish water is what they have always taken for granted. It's what they live in, but even as they depend on it they are not aware that water is life to them.

In the same way how can someone truly know they are sick if everyone else has the same sickness? Status qou, if everyone is sick, then no one is sick. Welcome to the future, and no body is sick. Here we have an interesting assortment of statements, please follow.

People are desperate to cure something inside them.
People try anything to cure said sickness.
People don't acknowledge said sickness.
If all people ignore said sickness, then no one is sick.

In all of my years I have never seen such a grandiose fallacy of logic which simply flies in the face of all reason. Wait, you say, this is merely conjecture. An interesting argument but nothing solid. I object, strongly. It is easy, in fact, to see the pattern. In your own life, in the life of your best friend, your dad, mother, brother, auntie, President, Congressmen, crook, cop, everyone. Everyone you've ever known or heard of, everyone you've ever met.

Why do they all strive for the same thing? Happiness, contentment, but most of all fulfillment. Oooh, how that word has driven many men insane or worse by its tantalizing but ultimately forbidden fruit. Just barely out of your grasp, I have yet to meet someone who approaches the issue in this manner find his life fulfilled.

Very well, you acquiesce, what then is your answer? The first step to the cure, is admitting you are actually and most assuredly deathly ill. Once you realize you're on your death bed, your point of view tends to change quite a bit. Sure you've sought for answers but once you KNOW you're dying you will really get a move on.

The second step is to acquire the address for relief. Who can cure you? Is it money? Not really, money only wants more money. Is it fame? Fame is self destructive in its efforts for more fame. Is it the ultimate high? You'll climb so high, only to drop so low. Good deeds? Moral straightness? A well lived life? Anything? The second step is really quite a few steps, you must realize it's out of your hands friend.

Nothing you can do, nothing you strive for, work at, accomplish, or any person, ideal, or thing (no matter how noble) shall cure you. This world will suck you dry in this manner. So I ask you, who can you turn to? Material things will only whittle you down to nothingness. What about the non-material? Caution friend, step carefully.

Here the bravest quail, and the wisest lose their way. We have established your sickness, but by who's standard are you sick? Your own? No, you certainly did not know of your infirmity. Others? They are in the same predicament. It is by no standard of the world you are sick, therefore it is by a supra natural standard you are sick.

Yes, the natural is exhausted its usefulness, and it has no answers. We look to things unseen for aid. What can we surmise of such an unseen plane? That it is probably, 1. Like and unlike our own. Unlike our own in that it contains things powerful but invisible, and the answers to all our questions. Like our own in that it also contains those who cause harm and those who bring healing.

How can anyone tell the difference between one and another? How will you know if the one who answers your cry is holy or not so much? If you go straight to the source. You see, the standard is the answer to the question. Who set the standard, by whom is our state of being declared as not well? Either by an ultimate being of infinite good, or an ultimate being of infinite evil.

Someone has to be ultimate, and that being is most certainly not neutral or else there would be no standard at all. If the being was evil then the standard would be this, all things noble, all things good and right and just, all things healthy and honorable are hereby and forthwith deemed as the opposite. Honor is for cowards, justice for the weak, nobility for the craven, and goodness for the criminals.

No, the standard is not set by an evil one, but by a being so very good that He defined good and surpasses it. Very well, you must petition this being, a being so infinitely holy that the slightest hint of His essence would obliterate you entirely. Oh? You no longer wish to be cured? If only there was someone to place his one hand on us, and one hand on Him. Someone pure and holy, but also earthly and human.

A mediator between God and man, the Messiah! But He goes by so many names, Jesus Christ, Moad Dihp, Yeshua Hamashia, and so very many more. Which is the true savior? Which can really mediate effectively? Which is certifiably real? Choose cautiously, for you must choose all the way. No half-heartedness, no missteps, no mistakes on this one.

We already know God to be infinitely holy and good, and it stands to reason that He is ONE. Or something close to a singular being, you see the standard fixes our steps once again. If there is a supreme standard, there is a supreme being. There is one supreme being, there cannot be two equal beings, or many beings some more or less equal. For two equal beings would have two equal but antagonizing standards, and our sickness would not be singular but double. Two ways for being sick, when we only experience one. The same applies to many.

Therefore, there is one supreme and ultimate being. This swiftly destroys several hundred options. Leaving a handful, the Jew, the Muslim, and the Christian. (There are more, but dealing with these would resolve them as well) The Muslim does not, in the end, hold to a consistent god. This god is not really ultimately holy because you can work your way to heaven, making him somewhat less than absolutely good. He is, instead, just a little evil and can therefore accept just a little evil in you to get to heaven.

Such a god cannot have made an implacable standard. What of the Jew? In the Torah the law accurately mimics the standard we each feel in our souls. But there is a catch, only death can pay for breaking the standard. And repeatedly, and always must you sacrifice goat and lamb to have peace with Him.

But what if, what if there is the one we hope for? One who totally and fully sacrificed for all of the times we broke the standard and allowed us into the family of God? The one who completes the Torah in His own life, and satisfies the punishment in His own death. The Mediator between God and Man, the Man Jesus Christ.

Dt

A Bitter Cup

The air beat his ears, his heart grasped in pain. The silence ate at his soul, no response to his pleas. His knees were weak and his body was almost laying on the ground, as if under a great weight. Yet still he asked, he asked for a sweeter cup, if it was the will. Tears fell like rain, and mixed with the blood of his sweat. "My soul is sorrowful, even unto death."

Twice he returned to his friends for comfort, and twice they lay sleeping. Rejected and forgotten he could only weep. Already he was slowly draining a bitter cup, and he could feel the presence retreating. And he staggered onward, past the betrayer, beyond a viper's kiss, carrying splintered beams, upon a slashed back, bearing a fool's crown around a mangled head, yet most of all hearing no father's voice and only feeling wrath.

He hardly felt the whip when it fell, or the thorns when they pierced. He distantly saw the giant nails, and heard the hammer fall. More real to him were the fleeing friends, and those who hung beside him. More important to him were the accusing faces, and all the people behind them. Why? Why have you forsaken me? This was his resounding question, but with it was, father forgive. And as his spirit passed, the temples opened. Enter into the thief's peace, and remember the thrice morn glory.

Dt

The Love Note

I was bent over, leaning on my knees, and breathing hard. I had thought my rebirth would change things permanently, and maybe it did. But I could not see it. After she and I had walked away from the water, I was convinced things would be easier. Maybe not easy, but at least not the constant struggle, not the constant torment. I could not have been more mistaken.

What I thought was a lasting peace was merely a short reprieve before plunging into turmoil. Where only two things had been plaguing my, now stood three. And the third flayed my very soul when it visited. It didn't storm continually, but when the downpour was happening it was as violent as it had ever been. Yet still I strove, and this time I worked on my swordsmanship.

The blade held great potential, but for now it was too heavy for me to use. It was blunt, and rusty as well and whenever I practiced I would accidentally draw my own blood. If I thought the blade was difficult, then I did not know the shield. Where the blade was weighty, the shield crushed. The shield was stout and well suited to defense, the only problem was me, I was not suited to defense. I wasn't suited for anything.

But day in and out she drilled me, sharpening, honing, swinging, and blocking. Always practicing, always hurting. But ever so slowly, through months of failure and trying, I improved. If she didn't say it I wouldn't notice it, but she would not lie to me. So I trusted, and I trained. So that one day, some great and wonderous day, I could rid myself of them. Of the things rending my mind.

And that day did come. After journeying far and wide, after much toil, and after a long endurance. I held a sharp sword with no rust, and a shield. Firmly I confronted the things. The first to attack was the last to arrive, the one who twisted my own words. I could not take it alone and soon it was overwhelming me. But she helped and we slew it. She distracted the second as I faced my former master.

It was slippery, evading my attacks and trying to soothe my anger. I would not be soothed, and while it could run, it could not escape me. Then it too was slain. I turned on the second and she and I struck as one. Leaving it dead we simply journeyed on. At that moment there was a break in the clouds, and sunshine flowed down towards us. It felt like a warm hug, the first one I had ever received. And with it came a note.

It read, the arduous path was necessary, to make you strong in my ways. To give you wisdom and valour, to teach you how to lead others on the same journey. To show you that even in the bleakest times, and in the most dificult of tribulations that I would ever be with you. I, the one who gave you the strength to climb the fence, I the fire in your bones, I the light of the heavens, and I the love of your heart. I chose you, I will always choose you, I have wept with you, and now we will laugh together. Forever then, but your travels are not over, yet in the the moments of great trial remember this note, remember your victories, and remember I have won them all for you.

So we continued down this road, and traveled towards the sky. No more storms, only necessary rain.

Dt

P.s.

This is the end. But I will be re-writing the story sometime in the near future. I want it to be like a collection of entries into a journal of a long journey. It really needs about 5 more short stories in it to be more realistic of the immense amount of time and effort it takes for someone to go from possessed to saved.

Elemental

The light singed me in its radiant heat. The slow press upon me racked me with every moment. I sighed, another normal day. She and I had been traveling for a while now. Or at least that's what I saw, the road never changed and our destination never seemed the nearer. But still we travelled, and she assured me we were going to place that would suddenly appear when we had arrived. I didn't mind the walking, but what I did mind was how nothing happened. I fought and strove, cried and sweat, and no destination was reached. No achievement made.

It was always upon me now, and it had brought a companion. It seemed that before me stood the test of endurance. And even as the things worked together to break me she ever ministered to my wounds and needs. It wasn't impossible, it was just incredibly frustrating. How could I choose any more than I had? I would not allow myself to buckle into doubts and fears. No more despair, not if I could help it.

But I couldn't stop the depression. My road was black as pitch and I could only see because of her. The food she gave me tasted like medicine and simultaneously made me strong and weak. It was as if my determination grew as my body was worn down. I could no longer distinguish night from day nor did the ground change from hard rock. "You're going to have to get wet." She said matter of factly. I groaned, we had talked of this many times. I just knew, somehow it was going to be like dying. But... this road would continue forever if I did not consent to the necessary water death.

And before me the ground rolled up like a scroll and we stood on the banks of a pond. It wasn't like I wasn't wet already, soaked to my marrows from the ever present rain. But this water was different, it was going soak me in something utterly alien to me. I only hope that there is room in this husk for more others. I ignored the frantic clawing of the things and hobbled into the pond. I nodded at her, do it.

It was as if a mountain stood on my body, pressing me hard into her arms. The water swirled around me continually rushing past me. Washing me. Then the pond stilled and the pressure lifted, and in the silence I felt my stomach fill with a smoldering heat. The flame spread, slowly infiltrating all of me. It was then I noticed my puppet strings to be severed. But the flame didn't stop, it escalated exponentially inside of me. Burning all dark things. And when the fire had reached the point of being unbearable I was pulled out.

The things were still for now, and the rain had stopped even though the sky was still black. The land was no longer veiled and the light did not hurt so much. Somehow I had a sword in my hand and a shield was strapped to my back. Blinking away tears, and being filled with something new, but so very good. I had hope, and I was the Phoenix. I had been reborn.

Dt