exit babylon

exit babylon
last chance to exit babylon

Monday, July 28, 2014

the outer relfection of the inner heart's cries

photo credit: MISSynthetic
   A young girl i'll call LittleRose injured her thumb.  The injury was minor, no more than a bruise.. but for some reason she felt compelled to wrap up her entire hand and wrist with a large bandage, layered so thick round about her limb, that it appeared the problem (?) was much worse.  

     Observing this behavior, what seemed an obvious cry for attention, i was reminded of my own childhood, when i wanted so much to become sick or injured.. i remember eyeing my classmates plaster-casts with a mild envy.  i didn't want a broken bone so badly that i was willing to go out of my way to get one, and to this day now in my 30's i've still never had one (and thankfully no longer want one!).   i did, however, occasionally "suffer" sprains.. basically milking them for all they were worth --bring on the wrappings, crutches, and exaggerated limp--.   i was inwardly thrilled when i saw some part of my extremity swollen and discolored; and though i often abhorred school i didn't want to stay home during those times-- i wanted to parade around!  Only somewhat annoyed the injury wasn't more severe, that i might have a cast.


my scar
   Eventually i grew out of that, after dabbling slightly with violent self-harm (usually called "cutting" i think) for which i have a whooping two scars (that's why i said slightly), of which only one remains fairly visible today.   i specify "violent" self-harm because i did get into plenty of other more passive forms of self-harm (like alcoholism, tobacco and drugs to name the main games i lost at for years).   It would be a long list if i tried to account for all the ways and behaviors i see in hindsight were various cries for attention. 



photo credit: unknown
   As i write this, barefoot and sweating in the mid-west summer humidity, the car parked to the side of me is a flashy Ford Mustang.. bright red with racing stripes and all the extra bells and whistles, aftermarket wheels and grills.. and it's really nothing more than an expensive cry for attention.  


© Joern Sackermann
   Looking around it's easy to see lots of people, young and old, silently crying for attention in some form or another, for some reason or another.  

   Meditating on my own past i see more clearly now what was going on then.. i was so painfully broken on the inside, subconsciously my soul wanted that brokenness, that hidden reality, reflected on the outside.  Somewhere, something in my immature mind knew i needed help; and that part of me was silently crying out.  i couldn't understand the language at the time, and i'm only just beginning to now: the outward signs of a spirit that's crying, "look at me, help me, i'm dying." 


these are real women wearing a LOT of make-up
photo credit: unknown
   There's a lot more that could be said about this subject.  There's a lot more i want to say, though i'm thinking this is enough for now.  i feel it's important to keep these posts/blog entries/whatever you want to call them, on the shorter side, if possible.  Most likely i'll be revisiting what has been started here in the future, sharing more about my own personal experiences finally facing the inner darkness where the demons dwelt, and my deliverance from the torment, and process of healing. 

Until then.. Glory to Yah

Shalom.


"...i waited patiently for Yahuah to help me, and He turned to me and heard my cry.  He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out of the mud and the mire. He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as i walked along.  He has given me a new song to sing, a hymn of praise to our Alahim. Many will see what He has done and be amazed. They will put their trust in Yahuah."

Psalm 40:1-3




Monday, July 21, 2014

fried ants

One day when i was a young child, i had an experience that taught me something that remains relevant even to this day.  It was one of those moments of revelation about a fundamental and profound principle of existence that roots itself firmly in the essence of consciousness..  where its lesson extends, rippling through time, touching all future behavior.  
 
It was a warm day good for playing in the backyard, which we often did while at my grandparents house.  For some reason my dad got the idea to bring outside the large magnifying glass my Nana kept on her kitchen countertop for reading mail or the newspaper.   Curious, i watched with fascination as he used the sun, angled carefully through the glass, to make a fiery pinpoint of smoldering dirt on the ground.  Poof! a crinkly dried leaf when up in a brief smoky flash of flame and turned to ash.. then he started chasing a nearby ant on its way somewhere.. poof! the ant smoked and burned for a second or two, and was gone. 
 
i remember being pretty interested at this point, when he handed me the magnifying glass.  Concentrating, i lowered and raised the glass up and down adjusting the angle ever so slightly this way and that, practicing a bit until i too got the circular beam of sunlight to shrink into it's red-hot burning pinpoint.  Soon i was able to hold the point steady and i started chasing another nearby ant with it, halting him in his final scramble, watching him succumb, curl up and burn.  It only took a couple of seconds, and i could smell the faintest hint of burned something in the air.
 
Instantly a sick feeling rose in the pit of my stomach.  Despite the fact i was shown how to do this by my dad, in whom i found safety, and my authority figure, i knew without a trace of doubt that what i had just done was somehow wrong.  A new sense of justice was awakened and i knew in the deepest part of my being that torturing anything, even a little ant, was wrong.  It wasn't as fun as it had looked;  i hated it, i never wanted to and never did it again. 
 
i understand some may say that putting out an ant trap and letting the critters take poison back to their nests so they and all their relatives can die a slow, possibly painful, death is no different.. but i think there is something different about it.  Not so much a physical difference as a spiritual one.  Using the magnifying glass and zeroing in on the little guy as it frantically tried to escape the burning was a form of torture, and it was for entertainment, for a sheer demonstration of power over something, because i was bigger and i could.   
 
image credit: Aideon
Can it be fathomed a young immature child is more righteous, more compassionate or more benevolent than the Creator of life, the universe and everything??  If people would stop to reason with the Source of their being for a moment they'd realize that the only way we could possibly have a sense of justice, mercy, right or wrong, is because we were given them; and we could only be given them from One who had them first.  It doesn't take much logic to understand one cannot give what one does not have.  If you hand someone a dollar, it was possible because you had the dollar.   Simple.
 
The idea that the Creator will keep some of His creatures alive (conscious) for all eternity (endless time) in a place of agony and fiery torture, to endure infinite punishing for a finite life where they refused to love Him, is insanity at its core.