THE THREE GENIES/ AN EXCERPT OF 1ST CHAPTER
A Story of Time Travel
I was startled when I heard a motor start up. First off, I was daydreaming a little. Having a cup of freshly brewed coffee and a pop tart. We had been standing in dad’s rather large house, he had built on the outskirts of what would someday become Eudora, Kansas. It even had glass windows. Where he got glass windows, I surely don’t know. This is 1880 after all and that being said, I also have to add the disclaimer that we are living with two Beautiful and Magical Women. There is a third sister, but she neither lives here nor is she much to behold. So, as he whisked past me, I said to my Janie, “that was an excellent homemade pop tart.” To which she just gave me a know it all grin. So, being a social person, I again tried to have a conversation with her. I really hate to say it like this, but they are kind of like dogs. They don’t talk much and mostly they wait for you orders. So, I said, “well, it sounds like dad is going to mow the yard.” But then I cocked my head to the left. A move that sort of signifies that I didn’t understand. “What? No, no, he can’t have a motorized lawn mower in this century. But I was mistaken all the way around. She smiled this time quite sheepishly and added a cute little chuckle. “No, I think not, Master.” Even when they disagree, you can’t fault them, it’s unnerving.
The Three Genies, all sisters, Janie, Jeni and Hector naturally coordinated between themselves, with their telepathic abilities. In a very short amount of time Beth and her bodyguard, Tim-Tim, had showed up at “Muddy Gap” Stage Depot and Trading Post. Dad had flown in under his powered hang glider with “Trumpet” our family Dachshund/Beagle designer dog, strapped in as well. Instead of having to take a long trail ride on “Big Bertha” a giant plow horse, I was Genie Ported there, in what I guessed was a few seconds. It was just a flash to me. Quite literally, that was all I saw. A flash of light and ‘poof’ we were at the Mud Creek Depot. Unfortunately, this was a family meeting and my murderous sister Henrietta, sometimes called Henri had been summoned as well.
Well, I was somewhat right, it wasn’t a lawn mower. But a powered hang glider. Out into the pasture it went. Then I realized why his pasture looked strange. It was a runway for his power hang glider. Holy catfish bait dad. Wait up.” I ran out the back door, faster than I thought possible. He was already beginning his take off down the runway, when I caught him. “What the hell?” Dad had just turned 92. I was flabbergasted. I got right up next to him and I noticed my little dog wedged in under him and wearing aviator goggles. I had to laugh, it was just too funny. I wished him well and yelled over the motor noise, “Take care of my boy” Dad chuckled, patted the dog on the head and pushed the throttle forward. He took off, just as I got to the barn.
I watched, until he was gone. It was slow. Moving towards the distant horizon. In the 1880’s, if a drinking man sees him floating in that contraption it will scare his last beer right out of him. He looked more like a giant moth more than anything that was known in the time period. He wasn’t dangling his feet like some do. He was sitting under a contraption that looked like a giant kite from the army navy surplus store. Finally, it turned west and headed towards the river. The Indian village, that dad allowed to live on his property was in that direction too.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. My old man, flying a hang glider, motorized no less. I said he was an amazing man. I stood, paralyzed, my mouth gaping at the ridiculousness of what I had just seen. If a small flock of bats had flown into my cavernous maw, I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised. Gawd Amighty, how did that old man learn to fly that thing and a better question is how did he get it into the late eighteen-hundreds? Where would he get the gas for it? What if someone thought he was a giant bird and tried to shoot him? I ran out to saddle a horse. Although trying to follow him would be near impossible.
By the time I got to the horse out and pulled the saddle from the tack room, he had already gone over a row of trees and a hill on the west side of his property. That was as far as I could see anyway. Man, I wish I had something with a motor on it instead of a horse. I tied the horse to the fence and headed for dad’s barn. What else did he have in there from the twenty first century. He left in such a hurry he left the barn doors wide open. I had to investigate.
HOPE YOU DON’T MIND, IF I TALK TO YOU TODAY
I’M FEELING FINE, BUT I’VE GOT A LOT ON MY MIND
YOU KNOW YOU’VE ALWAYS MEAN A LOT TO ME
AND WITH HER LOVE MY MOMMA INSTILLED IN ME
A GREAT BEGINNING AND YOU ARE THE ENDING
IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE I’VE TALKED TO YOU THIS WAY
PLEASE HELP ME TO FIND THE LOVE THAT I LEFT BEHIND
YOU KNOW YOU’VE ALWAYS MEANT A LOT TO ME
AND WITH HER LOVE MY MOMMA INSTILLED IN ME
A GREAT BEBINNING AND YOU ARE THE ENDING
I’M GLAD I COULD FIND SOMETIME TO TALK TO YOU THIS WAY
YOU ARE DIVINE, AND YOU TOOK A LOT OFF MY MIND
YOU KNOW YOU’VE ALWAYS MEANT A LOT TO ME
AND WITH HER LOVE MY MOMMA INSTILLED IN ME
A GREAT BEGINNING AND YOU ARE THE ENDING
©2004 Randal cobleigh all rights reserved any reproduction requires my permission
I was wondering:
Does God really care?
Is He, really there?
Is He in me or me in He?
I was wondering:
If one thing is possible
What then is impossible
Is love Divine revolution
Or merely inner evolution?
I was wondering:
If your road and mine
Both lead to the divine
How can anyone say
Who’s going the wrong way?
I was wondering:
I can constantly battle
The mind and its prattle
But what of the ego
Does it lead or follow?
Isn’t it time for us to move on
To sparkle and shine and face the dawn?
I was wondering:
About all of God’s plans
Are they as many as the infinite sands?
By Randy Cobleigh Copyright 2019 all rights reserved
I am quite sure that women’s opinions are that all men are liars and full of the devil. If you watch a woman’s face when she is lied to, you can tell she doesn’t belive a word of it. But, the reaction is always one of, o k a a ay, yeah, unh huh. She will let you think you got away with it, but you both know you didn’t. That look on her face will tell you her true feelings. She might let you get away with it for now, but believe me, she will make you pay later. Never doubt that for a second. �W��
Which is the most exciting? Most of the time, certainly not all of the time I would have thought it was the touch that delivered the most excitement. Time was, maybe that was true enough. Unfortunately, I am not a strutting rooster in the prime of my hormonal fireworks. No indeed. Aging does that to a man. Women, well I am not so sure. Ladies seem to be able to function if not as scorching hot as the original, certainly a more refined and sensuous version of their earlier selves.
I am all about the anticipation of my wife’s warm touch. Her gentle hand, the brush of her full lips on my cheek creates a rosy glow. Probably the most important tool in her arsenal, is the radiance brought to bear on any of my grey days. She need only to grace me with her lovely and enticing smile. Bird songs of red breasted robins fill the morning. The chill of the air warms with the fluttering of tiny wings of the Ruby Throat humming birds dancing on the wind. My hand in hers, as it has been for forty three years, creates the balance and the intertwining or our spirits and melodious rhapsody of our souls.
property of and created by randy cobleigh copyright 2019
A BEAUTIFUL VOICE THAT FEW WILL EVER HEAR
IS HIDDEN DEEP INSIDE THE THUNDER’S ROAR
WITHIN THE DEEP AND DARKEST HOWL
A BEAUTIFUL VOICE IS LONGING TO BE NEAR
A BEAUTIFUL VOICE IN RAINBOW’S SONG
A BREATH OF LOVE TO DRY YOUR EYES
A SMILE OF LIGHT TO WARM YOUR HEART
A BEAUTIFUL VOICE SINGS MERRILY ON
TOTAL PROPERTY AND CREATION OF RANDY COBLEIGH
So, we just had lunch at the Red Door Restaurant and I have to say I was very well behaved for being in such a nice eatery. If you know me at all. You know that for many years I have been a big eater. But since April of 2019 I have lost 200lbs.That’s in just eleven months. Pretty damn good. I was good at lunch today too.So, I guess if I’m going to talk about it, well, let’s get on with it…right? Shouldn’t dance around the subject or make too light of my situation. I have ALWAYS BEEN A BIG GUY, but I wasn’t always a huge man. That just happened in the last twenty five years. Since I am now seventy , yep, that gives me fifty years of being normal. I’ll have to surmise that I used food to pacify my desires for a bigger spot light in the world. So there is that. I will say I always wanted to have fame, but not for being the largest human in Kansas City. I am sure there are others larger some where around this town, but, I’ve never seen any that weighed in like I did at a little over five hundred pounds. That is dangerous to say the least and mostly it is just sad. I am now down to a trim three hundred and that means I have lost two hundred of those lb’s in just eleven months. As I said in the above paragraph we went out to a great little eatery in overland park and I impressed myself and the wife, because for the first time in a decade I was able to fit in a booth. I think that especially in this country of America people are getting fatter all the time. I also understand that many countries across the world are still hungry. I personally have never had that problem to be really hungry, well other that for a late night snack and I curtailed that along time back. I’ve had to throw all of my clothes out and get a few that I can wear right now. Thinking back on my fiftieth high school reunion..I went but it was an embarassment of course. At that time I was in a wheel chair and couldn’t really walk at all. Now I can get around with a cane but the damage is done to my hips, for sure. my knees have been replaced twice. Well I don’t really have more to say on this subject. So this evening of march 6th, I have been fighting with the local cable company. The show I look forward to all week is Survivor and so guess which channel is not playing? CBS of course…so no survivor show for us tonight. I am not very good at this blogging stuff I would rather write a story. Nobody comes and reads my stuff anyway so I am just going to go on and write more publishable stories. But in truth what good will that do me either? I write and write but mostly just to please my self. Over the years I have written poems, stories, books a couple of one act plays and then when I was much younger I wanted to be a music star, so I wrote a couple hundred songs too. But you know here I am at 70 yrs old and nobody has really seen or heard any of my stuff…well other than my wife and a few family members. It sucks that I have no real outlet for my creativity other than to write or sing for my wife to enjoy. Oh yeah and my dog like it too. Word Press ? I have been here a few days and still learning the ropes which means I am pretty much on my own. It was tough to set this stuff up but I had help from my seventh grade neighbor boy. He wasn’t put off at all…no big deal for him…funny. That pic of a boy in the life is what I had intended to use as a blog cover pic. But I haven’t gotten really a satisfactory hold or lock on this website yet. I am just kind of floundering around and feeling my way. I feel that most of the people are youths and old guys like me are out of our territory. Maybe..I dunno.The thing is I am bored. Not too much happens in the life at 70 yrs old. Unless I can manufacture it. The onus is on me. Yeah well it has always been on me I guess. There will come a time this spring when the weather will cooperate and I…well I won’t be hanging around here much. When the warmth of spring returns, the wife and I will return to our life of adventure on the road. For many years as youth we traveled and camped throughout the country. Quite enjoyable. some of the best times of our lives were had in the wild. Some of the best sex was had there too but I really don’t want to go there. That’s a private memory or memories that I enjoy only in the confines of my mind anymore. Like I said I am 70, so I don’t think I need to say more. But maybe i can regale this blog…not that anybody reads it…but still I can tell some good stories of trips down the rivers of Missouri and Arkansas. Have you ever been? Well the most important thing you need is a canoe. I suppose these days many people use kayaks. I’ve never had the enjoyment of that one. Canoes are great, two people and a dog plus gear can fit in a seventeen foot one and there is enough room for several days of packed goods. A leisurely float is what I always liked. Many people…kids mostly…didn’t feel they were doing their trip justice unless the paddled so much their arms almost fell off. Not for me. It’s called a float, not a race. Although there are races in canoes, but that is not for me. I prefer the float…leisurely floating along with the speed of the river’s current. I never had to work at it much, unless the water was in a rapid state. That can be fun too, just not when loaded with packs and food and a dog. As I recall…and it has been forty years since I have been…a typical float would consist of three to four days and traveling with the current our time would consist of approximately 22 to 25 miles, for a three and a half day trip. Of course we always fished along the way and that takes up some time too. If we found a deep hole we would often stop and break out the trout gear. There is nothing like a fresh one pound trout cooked on a river bank. I’m sure you are going to think that bigger is better, but it just isn’t so. The younger fish under two lbs are the tastiest. anything bigger and they get kind of super fishy and strong tasting. So, that is on my radar for this spring. Canoeing down a cold river and attempting to catch some trout for my lunch and maybe for dinner too. Bad thing is the wife hates fish..so I guess she will eat something else. That’s her problem. Yeah well, can I make it happen this year? I’m not sure. I’m really going to try.
It seems to be warming up some. Maybe spring is on its way. I need to find out how to submit items to the View/read thingy. Maybe I will ask my new friends.
I love it when green starts popping up out of the cold winter soil. I can’t hardly wait to see my flowers blooming or the trees showing their little buds. I don’t normally like ants but when the begin stomping all over my peony plants..I know the snow is gone for good, at least for this winter season. I don’t know why this winter weather bothered me so much but I have cabin fever this year. I am anxious for the smell of wild garlic and newly mown yards. The smell of the ozone just before a summer shower. Camping season can’t come soon enough. I’m ready to uncork my little tiny travel trailer and visit a few cool areas I haven’t been to before or in a long time.I envy those of you traveling great distances or floating in massive water cities. Sounds like fun, but my little trailer means I can enjoy the grat outdoors again. Smell the flowers and other aromas of spring awakening. I can’t hardly wait. grandadstorys.blog
March 28th, 2019
What is it with age 70 that causes every one to freak out?
😭😭….when I turned 70 in Feb. It felt like any other birthday. But seems like so many of those near have turned into worrisome old ninnies. Its just another day. I feel better now than i have inthe last te n years of ailments and serious illnesses. I have lost 210lbs …lost 16 inches from my waist and down 5 shirt sizes from 8x to 3x and pant size from 64 to 48…still a big boy yes indeed…but so much more normal than i have been in yrs. I wasnt always huge like that as i worked in construction for 35 yrs…but when i got sick i went from hospitals to nursing homes and back. 3 knee replacements and a bad infection on the right knee. One replacement on the left, a broken hip with 4 screws to fix it. Gall bladder, two cataracts, a hernia, and a bariatric bypass. All of that led to many trips in the recovery facilities. And in turn…lots of eating. So now as I read on another blog…”onwards and upwards.”
So, one day in the scheme of our lives we will come to the realization that life isnt anywhere near what we dreamed for ourselves…well at leadt for many of us. I know first hand about that as I always dreamed of being an entertainer in many different ways. When I was a youth I of course idolized the rock and roll enigmas of that time period. Any where along the line from Chuck Berry to the Beatles. Oh, I was good..
Just not good enough or persistent…which gets you farther than being good sometimes. Then came the next phase, which was music and comedy together..and of course on to the next pie in the sky which was acting. Small stage and a commercial. But then on to the next songwriting and now I fancy being an author of poems and fictional short stories. I have tried a few novels that only got half finished.
But now at 70 yrs old, I wonder if any thing I write really matters at all. A few people get to see them in my family and since I joined the blog life a few more good folks have seen them. But what do I really think I want to happen? Is anything more important now than my good health I enjoy now or my beautiful wife of 43 years.? I am enjoying my life now…is there need for dreams to come true….still? I just don` t really know. Money? I don’t have that much..just safely situated. What more does there need to be? An airplane in my yard?
Sometimes giving someone a second chance is like giving them an extra bullet for their gun because they missed you the first time.
For five long bone-crunching years, I was confined to prison, one that had no equals and showed no mercy. There was no thought of escape and I knew not even God would help me, because this was his domain. The warden and all the hand-picked guards were His personal representatives in this facility. This was a Catholic school in the early nineteen sixties, and I was stuck there without reprieve. The nuns were said to be Christ’s Brides. I never could understand why they would marry a dead man and why in the world The Lord would want a plethora of NFL linebackers to be his personal harem. Possibly, out of the thirty nuns that ran the school, five or less could be considered pleasant to look at. Now that’s not to say they were ugly. No not really. They just weren’t appealing or pleasant to look at except in a motherly or even a grandmotherly sort of way. They were a tough bunch. Nobody got anything over on them. I honestly can’t say that any one of them was sharper than another. Nope, huh-uh. They all had eyes that could penetrate you and pluck those thoughts right out of your head.
They were sisters of the B.V.M. which was an abbreviation of the Blessed Virgin Mary, but most of the students called them the Black Veiled Monsters. “God will strike you dead with a lightning bolt.” That was their motto. It applied to any circumstance that was out of reach of the black board pointer, yard stick and twelve inch ruler. But that was really not the end of it. Many times my friends and I were slapped or sent to the pricipals office for swats. That tiny little lady who sat behind the principal’s desk was no bigger that my ten year old sister, but she could make your backside blister and your anus pucker in defense of the pain for the next two days. I recall on early spring days the nuns would listen to local baseball games. You had better be on your best behavior and not interupt those games. In the spirit of baseball my eighth grade teaching nun could throw a chalk eraser or even a small piece of chalk and easily miss the little kids in the front four rows and hit me between the eyes. After I was pelted with either item she stared at me until my mouth flew open as I was gasping for air. My giant maw was stretched so far out that she always made the same comment. “Nice looking esophagus, Mr Cobleigh.” The fact that I was hiding behind a bigger boy and the nun waited until the precise moment to strike like a hunter on a tree stand. When I barely peeked out from behind the big kid, it was indeed as if lightening had struck. Whap. Right between the eyes.
The last year I spent as an inmate of this suburban parochial prison, found me under the watchful, bulging eyes of Sister Mary Angelica. The term “Angel” implies a certain amount of peace, beauty and well, a loving nature. This was not Sister Angelica. She stood an entire head above most of us eighth grade boys, which would have made her a six footer and carried three hundred pounds. She was a forty five year old cross between a linebacker and a Marine drill seargent. Dressed daily in long black flowing robes and a white heavily starched fabric known as a Habit, that wrapped the face tightly enough that it looked pinched and puckery, like a prune. All of this was covered with a long black veil that hung from the top of her head to the middle of the back. In truth she was very good as an umpire behind home plate during our school yard games. Sometimes she would take flight and follow a runner to first base just to make sure he had been legally tagged out. That woman could run like the wind on and off the field. I can attest to that fact because I was the stupid kid that tried putting one over on her. A beautiful spring morning. The sun was bright and the day seemed full of the promise that all young boys want, pretty girls. There was a slight problem though. These pretty girls weren’t the flesh and blood type but in a brown lunch bag on pornographic playing cards. I was carrying two lunch bags up the stairs to the second floor classroom and through the door guarded by our own heavenly representative, Sister Angelica.
“Extra hungry today Mister Cobleigh?” she asked , giving my dual lunch sacks a visual inspection.
“No sister,” I replied as my right hand tightened around the top of the old wrinkled bag. Sister Angelica mut have sensed my fear and anxiety as I stood there trmembling and wondering who would get me first. God or Sister Angelica. God wasn’t fast enough. With the speed of a cobra, Sister made a lunge for my sack of naked women just as I jumped backwards. Miniature naked ladies spewed into the air and landed on the floor all around us, exactly the same as a game of 52 card pickup.
The nuns eyes turned to flaming crucifixes as her index and middle finger lodged securely in my nostrils. I slid down the hallway on my heels as she drug me to the pricipals office. After a satisfied retelling of the episode, Sister Angelica grabbed the swat board from the Mother Superior’s hand and asked with a maniacal grin, “Mother May I?”
I still remember those swats and those feisty women to this day. I still wonder if they had many a laugh at their students antics.
I looked across the room at Henrietta, sitting cross legged on my couch. She fancied herself to be royalty. Even with her greeting to me, the look in her eyes was dismissive.
I had to disagree on the idea of royalty. She was vile, hateful, vengeful and totally disregarded the feelings of others. She no longer cared about the importance of any life and quick to use anyone else to her distinct advantage. I took two steps toward the couch, when my slow freight train mind finally recognized the similarities. I had stopped in mid stride and my hand massaged my chin, “My God,” I shook my head and muttered, “definitely has the attitude.”
“Admiring my aura and demeanor of loveliness, big brother?”
“Where will you go from here, Henri? You have nothing left. Your connection to magic, Hilda was taken from you.”
“I DO have dad. You remember, DAD?”
“You have access TO him, but you don’t HAVE him.”
She looked hard into my eyes, plunging through the pupils into the depths of my darkness. Her expressed love and understanding reeked of fakery.
An attempted positive attitude to persuade me of her seriousness, only fueled my resolve to thwart any access she might have, to dad.
“You do have your own house. Is that on your list of possibilities or do you plan on creating havoc for me, like you did for our other brother, Tim?”
“You mean that skinny little bastard child in 1888? He’s not MY brother. Come to think of it, neither are you. My resolve, that I have clearly failed at, was in not ever speaking to you again.”
“Well then I see no reason for you to stay here, and waste one more tiny iota of your precious time.”
I motioned to Janie and “Henrietta the Kansas Assassin” vanished in a haze of lemon verbena mist, cast off when the two genies spun her around twice before deciding who got to snap their fingers first.
Diligently writing 4 hours daily for several months allowed me to finish my 2nd novel.
Titled: Kidnapping the Future. – The Kansas Assassin.
Now I need to find a good literary agent to spinster me. Any good ideas from my writer friends?
There is only one question on my mind at the present and it coincides with the novel I am about to finish…Titled..”Kidnapping The Future”….and of course you thought it would be titled ….
What if? How wrong you would be. That is the premise of the story though. WHAT IF?
WHAT IF, YOU DISCOVERED YOUR WIFE HAD DISAPPEARED AND TAKEN TO 1888? THE MEANS OF DOING SO HAD BEEN AT YOUR FINGER TIPS FOR 20 YEARS, UNKNOWN TO EITHER OF YOU OF COURSE. SHE ACTIVATED IT ACCIDENTLY, AND YOU CANT FIGURE IT OUT. ARE YOU STUPID?
WHAT IF? WHAT ARE THE QUESTIONS THAT COULD FOLLOW THAT ONE? PROBABLY A HUNDRED OR MORE, EASILY.
WHAT ARE YOUR QUESTIONS? IF YOU THINK UP SOME GOOD ONES I WILL ANSWER THEM HERE AND IN MY BOOK.
COME ON IN….WHAT IF? what if I never make it to 1888 and never see my wife again?
Have some fun…..what if?
A snippet from the new book I am writing…entitled ….Kidnapping the Future….
I had not intended to become an old man. Somehow it had just sneaked up on me, and now I was older than my father ever was, when I first started referring to him as old. I think I was in the eighth grade and just a mere 13 when I first thought of him as an old man. That memory makes me laugh, because I know that he was only 35 at the time. He and I, and every old person I know, would pledge ourselves to ten years of back breaking, shovel digging hard labor, if we could be 35 again. That was so long ago. I still remember those days vividly though. The good years, they call them, and indeed they were. How can any of us forget the years of youth? Those good days when breath came forth from our soul. Hot and lusty lover’s breath in our ear. A quivering in our solar plexus. The intake of that youthful aroma, soft flesh, a lover’s touch so gently caressing, and yes…the smile, her smile, the doorway to heaven, my heaven.
Where are the people that make a difference in this world? They certainly aren’t our present worldwide crop of politicians Our blogs reach across worlds and impact live of others. Lives and minds and hearts need to be changed with love . Where are the great leaders of peace and kindness? I don’t see them anywhere. Turf squabbles are all in the news across the globe. The spirit of love that guides me, cries. There is no understanding in this worldly plane of the bounty that could be ours. No wars, famine, hunger or hate. Will there ever be a time of great peace throughout our lands? Old souls like me don’t see it coming soon. The children and youth of the world own the future. Make things better, become the stars of peace and love. It’s YOU that bring the changes into this realm. Where are you?
Randal Cobleigh, all rights reserved.
a few weeks back. my knee popped out of place and I asked for prayers
yesterday in went back where it belonged and now I am walking again.
This after dr.s told me there was nothing wrong with it.
Thanks to those of you that helped me.
What is it that you feel about infinity? Does it contain all the knowledge in the Cosmos? If, you answered, in the affirmative, then the next question should be…is the entirety of the universe filled with God? Is God such a large being that the universal Cosmos is his being? I think these are questions which have been asked for as long as God has been in our minds, hearts and souls. If you have taken the time to read this then you are like me, a curious God seeker. I have been there all of my seventy years. Well, let’s say sixty years because until around ten years old we can barely think for ourselves. I was raised with the life’s energy directed to knowing the Almighty.
I spent many arduous years in the study of God in a private school. It wasn’t an easy time. Those teachers in the fifties and sixties had more leeway than schools do now, I have been beat, pummeled and paddled so many times I would sooner forget those times than mull them over with you. Suffice to say I could write a book just on those experiences alone. But, the saving grace of all that punishing style of teaching, served us quite effectively. We learned both manners and good study habits along with an appreciation of the more elusive and deeper paths to finding our own personal heaven on earth or nirvana. Certainly depends on your physical up bringing during childhood and who was your mentor in life’s sacred directions. You want to find God…look inside of yourself, to the God particle inside. That’s where you will connect and grow into a Christlike being in your own rite.
Where is it? Where do you stand? Your hard-fixed opinion on that giant universal spirit of…well let’s see, can we call it Love? Or does it by necessity need that three letter word attached to it? Just for comfort sake? Can’t you get around that and realize that this being we call God, mostly likely doesn’t even have a name. Not really. Who would have given it to him? His momma? Supposedly from everything we’ve been taught that Supreme being never had parents. He just always …WAS. No beginning and no ending. I have a theory on that too. Suppose this wonderous being was all alone, nothing to feel or touch or taste. No emotions or sunrises and certainly no children to warm his heart. That is if he has a heart? If he is all spirit why would he need a heart? Okay, think along these lines for a moment. God, the great and wonderous being was alone, floating in space and could dream. Dream of all the things this world has become, but in no way, could he experience them. Remember he is a spirit, not flesh and blood with feelings of pain when the knee get old. Or carpal tunnel from too much working with his hands. No, he was a spirit and spirits don’t feel the pain of human living. But he had an answer. Explore those thing through the human that come back to him with their God particle still intact and clean enough o connect with your spirits father. Like the so called chip off the old block. SO, WHEN DEATH FOR US COMES AROUND, SHOULD WE BE FRIGHTENED? No, because we will soon be in the bosom of God and sharing your life’s tales with the being that can’t feel them himself.
You can talk and learn and believe that you know God. Dance and swirl in circles and cry or sing while dancing with your arms raised high screaming, Praises to the Almighty or Jesus or Allah. Will that method of communing with the Divine work? Quite possibly. They never worked for me. But we aren’t the same. If it works for you and you know God through other methodologies, I wish you the best that God has to offer. I prefer a more quiet style. I am a quiet man and it works for me. If I am yelling and dancing, how will I hear him when that small still voice in the wilderness calls my name? By the way, I have heard that voice. Many times it has called me and shared enlightenments with me. There is no way I could have brought such spiritual poetry into this world, or have the means to forth writings and ideas with such depth. I wouldn’t and couldn’t have known how to work my computer and type down things that come to me, when I am still and listen. When I was in school I didn’t get good grades. I actually received a failing grade in science. That grade would have kept me from graduating but the teacher was a good man and a believer in passing on the love of God when he had the chance. It was not a big deal but he gave me a passing grade and I was free from learning. Two subjects have always been my downfall when in school. Science and Math. They are loaded with logic and I apparently have only a small thimble full of that substance. I was always an artist or writer or singer. Things that require intuition and a belief in more than just me, knowing it all. No I was always a listener and an observer and now I use my intuition and beliefs in God to listen to that voice that cries out in the wilderness. I have hear my name called in the wind.
I found no answers, in all the places I was told he could be found. Nothing but singing and dancing much like the pagans did when Moses came down from the mountain with the Ten Commandments. How can God be on a mountain and speak to one old man? But He did. I believe he also did so with me. I was given a poem that guides me to this day.
These words I give to you as a token of my solemn promise THAT YOUR SOULS CAN SOAR TO ECSTASSY, ON THE WINGS OF MY WHISPERED NAME. CLAIM YOUR VISION BY BURSTING THROUGH THE FOG OF HUMAN DERISION
“To love, is to live in me! To live is to Love, in me”
Randy cobleigh copyright 2019 all rights reserved
Unfortunately, this old man fell and sprained my right knee quite badly
I am currently unable to walk, but I have many responsibilities and things to accomplish.
I know God loves me and I will certainly ask for help and healing, myself.
I also know the power of prayer is enormous.
I have many new friends across the world thanks to this blog…
please, send your healing prayers my way. I thank you ever so much.
Randy Cobleigh 4/26/19 -11:00pm – Kansas City Missouri/USA
I have never heard that particular saying before but it certainly plays to my opinions on life. I only have my mother to blame as she taught me at young age to never look down my nose at any one else, simply because…I had been lucky to be born with certain benefits others lack. suffice to say she said that its was only dumb luck tha I was born