"Is the sea of crystal glass
The tears in your eyes
Or the water from your woundings"

"Blood birds come to roost in your hand-tree. Where a nail was, now a nest."

"You call this wine full bodied, but I think you mean full blooded. You have your communion mixed up."


When they say:

"We’ll have this funeral, God willing…"

Do they imagine the UnWilling is impromptu resurrection?



If He had the whole world in His hands
Surely it would fall through the nail hole.

And if not, do you think it would sit there, fit there.
All of Creation is washed in the Blood.


"So You Think God Is A White Dude With A Beard On The Clouds?"

God is a Grandma in the Sky 

Knitting the hearts of Her people together 

Because the world gets cold 

And it needs a scarf 

Sin = Illusion (?)

We give power by our belief
Because He has infused us with His belief
We should not be surprised by the monsters we create

And if we are wrapped up in resurrection
We should not be surprised at what we bring to life
Even something he has already Crucified

That is why repentance is so important
And a misunderstanding thereof so disastrous
Because we need a continuous mind change

Not a focus on our lack
But on His abundance
Because anything otherwise is just another form of arrogance

I feel like I need a constant recalibration
The eternal turning
Spinning upwards in the downwards

Rethinking Repentance

We may batter our chest in a show of penance; but we find that the bruises bloom upon His breast.

We mark the Lilly of The Valley with redundant roses. 

We have made a mockery of metanoia; alchemised into the the ravagement of repentance. 

To offer penance once again, for a company already ransomed. 

He bought the company of this Company in the midst of his fellowship with affliction. 

Did you not hear Him say, ‘Touch not my anointed?’

And yet, in your grafting in to the Olive Tree, you turned your hands upon yourself. 

Hand Holding

This is more than holding my hand
We are hand in hand
Because my hand is hidden in yours

It was a two for one deal
Two hands and one nail

But this was not buy one get one free
You gave away the free
To buy me

Hidden In The Lamb

There was a Lion torn open
His carcass ripped to pieces
And His blood to us is a honey

This is a Lion in Sheep clothing
And a Sheep in Lion clothing

Blood, wine, honey
There is fatness in the lamb and sweetness in the lion

He is the flowing land

From one piercing in the ear
To many upon our body
Nails forced through our limbs
His becomes Ours

The iron of the nail
Kissing the iron of our blood

And why should we be surprised
That blood has a mouth
Surely it needs one to speak
And the redness of those lips
Puts any cosmetics to shame

And in that orifice
We will be swallowed up

Dependant Upon Divinity

To say that the absence of work is rest, or that to not operate in your own works is to cease from work altogether is an interesting idea. 

I say interesting because it’s a polite way to say strange. 

I do not think rest is simply ceasing from work. 

Rather it is a realisation that you can do nothing by yourself. 

And this realisation will not leave you in the place of nothing doing for very long. At least, that is, if it has its full effect. 

Dependance does not always look like lying on our backs in immobilisation.

Though as always with reformation we must not disregard all that has gone before. There is often a place for that which you are kicking against, if you would pause and see it. 

It is first of all the waking up to an internal reality; the revelation of a realisation. 

You can do nothing. 

But that’s fine, because it is no longer you who are doing anything. 

In your Union to Might, you must cease from your fight. He has given you the power in those Dove Eyes to Overwhelm, and we must cease from abusing this power to our detriment. 

In our dependance we realise how we can do nothing, and this empowers us to do everything. 

Even your faith does not belong to you. Though this is a mystery. 

This is not an abdication of responsibility, rather a reckoning of where responsibility rests. Upon the shoulders of Him whom you have been wrapped up in. 

Even the life you’re living is by His faith anyway. So hide whatever you have in that place. 

I hit a roadblock at this point. I don’t even know what this means. 

But perhaps that is because presently I do not have a vision for what it looks like to live in the fullness of an awareness of our Divine Dependance. 

And perhaps that is mercy. 

Because I suspect such a vision of life would be so glorious as to crush me under the bliss of longing. 

And so I must be content with this groping blindness. 

And allow this reality to creep up on me, upon me, over me. 

And what?

God Math Is Messed Up

There is an unhelpful distinction between Community and Individual. 

What is this to be individual? It is impossible. 

The one you call individual is a reflection of the Divine; a mirror of Trinity. 

In the tripartite being there is a composite that re-presents the Trinitarian Community. 

A Three hidden in One.

We are so quick to see the One and dismiss the Three. 

Both as ‘individuals’ and as a Cohesion. 

But we are all walking Collectives. 

And when we come together, we are a collection of collectives.

The spirit, the soul, the body: interface together.

And then there is the One we are Joined to, who carries Another Three. 

We are a Trinity that has been tethered to Trinity. 

Three becomes Three and Three. 

Six Becomes Two. 

Two become One. 

One become Four. 

Humanity is Grafted into the Godhead; tied up in the Trinitarian Life. 

Revealing the Face of God in the Fourth Face of Trinity. 

Personal Ponderings: The Journey And Joy

I will gladly embrace being called ‘out of my mind’. I wish that was a ‘slander’ thrown up against me more often.

If I’m honest, I don’t think I’m far enough gone.  

Perhaps I will allow it to stew and brew a while longer. An internal reality that may one day be seen in the seen. 

Call me an escapist, but I want Out;

Hijack me to the Heights; 

Encased in the Essence of Ecstasy. 

I may, as has been the case lately, become dissatisfied with where I am. In this I have found I loose sight of my source and sustenance. This is dire. 

I have noticed we have a tendency to look at those around us, or those in the Bible, and in the name of faith we get angry at where we are. Dissatisfied in the journey we’re on. We see men like Daniel, Elijah, Paul, take your pick. And wish we were there. But we are looking at a few men that have attained the apex of ascension; that have unfolded the manifestation of what we already carry. And this obsession with the seen can eat us up.

We loose appreciation of where we have been graciously taken. And this dissatisfaction does not propel us as promised, but burns any and all fuel that might have carried us. Far from becoming the Everlasting Burning, we are left burnt out. We have turned faith and desire into the ‘One Good Work’. 

The fact that we could even turn desire into a work baffles not just the mind, but everything in me. 

Dependance is the word of the moment, and possibly all the moments. An unveiling of dependance, this phrase I keep coming back to; even in our dependance, we do not realise how dependant we are for dependance itself. Himself. 

I am fully convinced to live this life, we have to be elsewhere. Out of our minds and hijacked into Paradise. 

People talk of the Circus of the Crazy Charismatics. Some may even affix maniacs onto the end of that word. 

But I intend to bypass it altogether.

Take me outside the Charismatic Camp.

Take me outside Christianity and Christendom.

Take me outside of myself. 

Into Ekstasis. 

'He Grants His Beloved Sleep'

To not stir up or awaken love until it pleases is to allow the one who has been united to Love, and so has become love, to be sustained in the slumber in which ‘I slept, but my heart was awake’.

It is the sleep of contemplation where the bride is rapt in a trance, wrapped in a drunken stupor. It is to dwell in the tabernacle of rest, the pleasing pavilion that the bridegroom would woo us all towards.

Come out from among your place in the Daughters of Jerusalem, into the Body of the Bride. He even provides the Body, in through the wound in the side. One Flesh.

He is Lover and she Loves, the distinction between them blurred as if seen through the eyes of one blind drunk. Her act of love finds its necessary genesis in the overflow of being joined to the very essence of Love. Her unction can only rise from her Union. It is only in being One with Love that she has any to express forth. Truly He has become her source and her supply.

They are Unio Mystica.