50:28 Meeting a Stranger

Years ago I wrote this silly talk about myself. Thankfully emptiness no longer hangs on my bones. I am Spirit filled.


Once there was this man named Sammy, he was a shy man, a fearful man, a recalcitrant man. Sammy was so afraid of life that he decided to pretend to be someone else, for you see, that gave him invisibility powers.

So Sammy feigned confidence and panache. All the while tempting fate, with his carelessness and daredevil behavior; to perhaps intervene and end his suffering. Because, as most do not know, invisibility is voracious, and bite by bite it eats the hand that feeds it, until there is nothing left but bone structure to hang the emptiness upon.

During Sammy’s foray into recklessness, the only thing that gave him pause were the three most dreaded words in the universe, “Are you sure?”¬†Their power to unmask even the wildest schemer, to reveal the false bravado of the timid, was to be avoided at all costs. Therefore to lessen the risk of exposure, Sammy withdrew to a private world of his own making.

Dwelling in this insulated cocoon of silence initiated reconstruction of the poor lost man’s confidence, causing invisibility to slowly slip into a pool at his feet, consequently exposing Sammy to himself. Unfortunately they did not recognize each other, and to this day, neither one is sure what to do about it.


Oh Bonnie Foo Foo


Little Bonnie Foo Foo is dying for the evenings, so she can go hop, hop, hopping through the blog fields, joining with all the people, frolicking in the words of play pouring from her head.

But later after midnight, the panic it awakens, it¬†doesn’t play well with others, causing¬†Bonnie Foo Foo to gather up her playmates, and bop, bop, bop them on the head.

Therefore¬†with a sigh of sorrow, down came the Blog Fairy¬†and said, “Little Bonnie Foo Foo I don’t want to see you, deleting all your playmates, please, please, please try loving them instead.”

So along came the next night, and what do we find but, Little Bonnie Foo Foo panicking through the blog fields, desperately wanting all her playmates, but deleting them in dread.

Heavy sigh, not again. So down came the Blog Fairy and kindly explained.

Little Bonnie Foo Foo do you really not realize what controls your life, and no amount of boot strapping will ever change this fact, so stop being a goon.

Wait, wait, wait, Little Bonnie Foo Foo! don’t panic and please do be still, and try to listen to this close.

Little Bonnie Foo Foo you have found an outlet, so please stop hop, hop, hopping, through the blog fields gathering up the people, and bopping them on the head.

And Little Bonnie Foo Foo said,


Again and Again and Again……sigh



Silly Talk


Something Borrowed, Something Blue

It was the sunset which did Fred in. He often overstayed, it was his unfortunate bad habit to be the last man still present long after all other guest had politely departed. He had mistakenly thought he was so witty and clever hosts wanted him to themselves, thus never requested his departure, when it actuality Fred was just too dense to pickup on their subtle shooing.

This time it was not like that. For Fred had been clued in by a friend of courage just that morning, about not borrowing trouble. To start being the first to depart, that is if he wanted to quench the rumbles of weariness his lingering was generating; if he still wanted to continue to be one of the lucky privileged ones with access to the soirees of the rich and famous.

So that twilight when Fred wandered out onto the kitchen porch of his latest social obligation in search of some solitude, he set to pondering whether he did want to be invited and tortured with artificial friendliness for evermore. He gleefully came to the conclusion that he didn’t really like parties much, that it was his estranged wife¬†who did, not himself. With this happy release of expectation,¬†Fred found himself waiting for a lull in arrivals, so he could slip away, unassailed by the inbound, to freedom.

But then, the sun set, darkness ensued, Fred tripped, choked on the olive in his martini, turned bluer than the sun, and with borrowed sorrow was celebrated in posterity as the life of the party.




A small tale of woe for sure and for certain is the one of Ralph and Diane. For empty heartfelt promises was their modus of relationship killing operandi, and it must be known that they shared equally in the execution. Hence disillusion and regret with a liberal sprinkling of anger was all that was left when they finally crept away from the rotting corpse and parted ways.

Only to be swept up into the arms of the One whose promises are steadfast and eternal, thus receiving peace and healing in His veracity, surety, and unconditional love, guaranteed eternally by the resurrection of his Son. A treasure worth all costs, even years of walking through fire and ice.

Still, it is not a case of alls well that ends well, for the still small voice of the One was not heeded before the multitudes of killing thrusts were administered to what could, and should have been, thus, even though Ralph and Diane are happily alive in Him, they remain today, and forevermore, uncharted universes apart.

The End


Journey’s End

The dark monsters grip was suffocating her spirit, and causing a lack of blood flow to the brain. Thus she was continually falling asleep where she stood every time she paused the battle long enough to be still. And even when she was lucid, the deceptive weight of her visiting oppressor, managed to compress what was left of her joy into the tiniest of spaces. So, for survivals sake, she paused, and wrapped herself within and proceeded to wait, quietly, patiently, for this unwelcome presence to journey back into the hell hole it had crawled out of in search of who knows what. Praying when she remembered to, that this would not go on forever, for she was so very much afraid that she would forget what outside looked like as she waited, and thus would by default, opt to pass on into the warm and comfortable, slumber of dreams.



Doubting Thomas

Well, Thomas chose poorly for sure and for certain. He chose by his inability to choose, or act beyond his imagination. Thus he remains on the speeding ship, held fast by doubting gobs of mire, which will hold him steady to the gangplank, whilst all the while sucking him deeper and deeper into a sea of tension and unbecoming behavior, altering him permanently into a bitter rancorous old man, sucking all the life out of him, particle by particle through his cracked and neglected toenails, in an agonizing slow soul sucking whirlpool of stress. Oh where is the pleasure in that I ask.