Some things, though not particularly important, remain curiously inexplicable. Like how Carolyn remains my favourite Franklin? By some strange happen-stance, I have retained a soft spot for her. Is it because she sings with child-like candour of her frailty, swinging as she does from sharp to flat? Is it because she was destined to be overshadowed … and underrated? Is it because her life was cut too short? Or does it, perchance, feed into my own paternalistic penchant to temper the ‘overzealous child’? Maybe it’s all those things and that she was fabulous. She’s someone I never met but perhaps always knew. If I had met her, I would — like an annoying father perhaps — have told her to stop yelling into the mic. And, I would have told her that God loves her and that so do I. But there you go.
Did a man called Jesus the Christ really exist? Did he perform miracles? Was he persecuted for his words and deeds? Was he merely misunderstood? Is he the son of God? Is he an extension of astrotheology? Are you confused?
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…
Fear not and just believe I say. For what have you got to lose? And ye have much to gain.
But non-believers – they have much to lose in their analysing and re-analysis and argument.
For non-believers have never been accused of knowing too little.
Nay; rather they suffer from too little faith.
The distinction is in the mind-set. The distinction is critical. The distinction is real.
For the distinction creates a paradigm shift and alters the way one views the world.
And those that belittle and criticise and disparage Christianity, they themselves really suffer the very same complex of Satan.
The complex I speak of is that of self-pride. Pride is the complex of non-believers; it is the complex of the fallen.
A little faith goes a long way; by moving self-pride out of the equation.
It need not be complicated. It’s really very simple.
And that’s it….
And so be it.
Twitch your neck your head turns
And too does mine to meet your eye
And hair rests peacefully, slowly
It is a glorious pendulum
Of soft butter-schnapps
And whipped cream
That catch my mind
You’re one step in-front
I two behind
In lovers embrace
Your net is cast
And what flounder or mulloway is this?
Naught but a full mature omnivore
Bipedal and all
His glory is yours
For now and evermore
I have a spate of ruined relationships. A walk through the history of my love-life is akin to a walk through a wrecking yard.
Old beaten up sedans, late model sports cars, the odd van and a 4WD or two.
Bits and pieces everywhere; and now mostly junk.
Some parts are useful and recyclable though. Others? Well they’re best left alone to gather dust and attract rust until vestiges at best remain.
But the more intimate acquaintances one’s had, and the more they want. It is a self-replicating, self-sporening spiral into decadence and destitution.
Thankful am I that my trailer stopped short of that circus.