unbroken things lacking edges,
if we augment our eyes, look close
to see creted places
fractured into

jagged edges/
Jagged edges prove the brokenness

the brokennesses prove the whole,

not that the whole was finished then as it is now.

Which phor you living for?
Of course,
the discourse of madness
self-improvement

DIY gettin' past crazy for good.

There is a crazy place, way past any we imagine,
crazier than hell, by virtue
of the fact

ya' gotta go through hell t' get there.
Practically every sage from Moses to Mises,
says that's the price we pay

for ignoring those chances, op portune tidbits of time,
to pay attention to
everything at once,

and see what seers have always said's truistic,
we find what's sought.

If nought were sought,

what did we miss?

Missing
Nothing,
ought not that
be enough to carry on with
for now?

Fret not, oughts are nullifed here,
it's a pretty crazy place.
Nothing's broken.

With the Hebrew letters of MEM,
VAV, LAMED and SHIN, one finds
an inner meaning overlooked by
most people; it also condemns

those who are following Satan.
Although its primary influence
is a declaration of serenity  
and peace, souls may be shaken-

as they learn about the prayer’s
prophetic nature; its numeric and
pictographic language contributes
another, sizable spiritual layer

to its foundational definition.
At its core, it translates to:
“Destroy all authority connected
with any chaos and confusion.”

Go empty handed and be fruitful
Lay on hands and be liberal
When you pour your oil
Spit in the soil if you have to
Whatever it takes to
Bring healing and restoration
To those who have a notion
To listen to you who I have chosen
To bring good news to the nations.
And to each family which shows willing
Give greetings
With a voice ringing
True and bringing
Peace and blessings
To all who reside in their dwelling
For you are a herald of the most high King
Sent to ensure His shalom and kingdom
Hits home before you move on.
Go empty handed and be fruitful
Lay on hands and be liberal
When you pour your oil
Spit in the soil if you have to
Whatever it takes....

I am hurtling through tight pressed air,
524 miles per hour, 33,000 feet;
all recycled oxygen and stiff limbs,
with miles below and miles above.
These are miles that think;
miles that raise questions
leave the answers floating
like clouds; peaceful, turbulent.
I know the boy next to me,
deep thoughts muddled and made murky
in the midst of the changes;  
and I hear the kid behind me,
screams of laughter
or maybe terror, I can’t tell which;
and I see the girl across the aisle,
flinching with every turbulent cloud;
and I wonder if we are all in the same boat,
or plane, if you will.
My clouds are much the same,
murky and turbulent
thinking about where I have been
where I am going,
returning only to leave again,
this time unfamiliar, unwanted, not understood.
But I am now winged with new friendships
ready to test time,
and a strong prayer for faithfulness
to outlast all.
I am not ready for what lies ahead,
but I have come to find
that I often never am,
and never will be.
I am one for whom
peace is not easily found,
thus instead I am practicing patience;
and I have begun to say shalom.