Death is the act of becoming.
Death is the act of birthing.
Death is all that is, creation;;;
And destruction.

Death is love.  
Death is hate.
Death is neutrality.
Death is chaos.

Death is order.
Death is truth.
Death is real.

Only death is real.  

Death, death, death.

Only death is real.

Death is life.
Death is gateways.
Death is magick.
Death is G-D.
The Lord is life,
Thus, The Lord is death.  

Death is endlessness.
Death is the spiral.
Death is forever.  
Spiral. Spiral.  Spiral.
Death is deathless.
Death is holy.
Death is Shiva.
Death is Allah
Death is *******.
Death is Om.
Death is Jesus.
Death is Roman Empires fallen.
Death is the earth fallen.
Death is trees fallen.

Only death is real.
Only The Lord is real.
The Lord is death.

Death. Death. Death.
Only death is real.

Life is illusion.
A testing dream for death.
Death is a gateway to Divinity.

Only death is real.

"Being an introvert in an extroverted
world can absolutely be difficult."
Came across this on some blog.
Think it's more complex to be a mediocre, an extro-intro or an intro-extro...
you can't go all out... you won't remain all in...
you're doomed to be in the twixt. Yet the middle is dangerous...
The middle of the Ocean is the deepest, the middle
of the jungle is the riskiest... the middle of the garden
of Eden doomed an entire race...
for its existence... no driver would drive freely in the middle lane,
most run to the climbing lane soon as they see it.
Some say the Earth is trapped between Heaven and Hell...
maybe we're a compound of Paradisal elements and
the rumbles of the Hades...
the pawns in the Chess between God and Satan, the Jobs in the bible of now...
I'm a Junk of all trades & I'm afraid being in between trades makes me a master of non...
I know too much and yet I know nothing... I am an extro-intro...
I go out only until the plank starts to swing the other way...
I go out until I sense the cold and quickly run back to the lukewarm
betwixt for the hot is as fatal to my kind as the cold.
Am not an Author and neither am I a poet... Am a "Poether'' or an "Auoet", Am not philosophical neither am I Theological...am "philological" or "Theolophical".
I'm trapped at the equator... I'm neither an Eskimo nor an "Antactico"...
Not Ugandan nor Kenyan... Tanzania can't claim me
but there's yet to be a concrete East African...
maybe I'm African.
My point is some people think the middle is safe...
but I believe different. it's my opinion if you want to be a piglet be one,
if you want to be a puppy be a puppy for its fatal to be a Pipet or puppet...
both are instruments... even their use is similar.
My tragedy is am in between, am a mediocre, a pother,
an opssimist, a philothopher, a ctranger or say "Ukantan".
I'm just there... Don't be caught in my place...
find a place to belong... no matter how dangerous and risky...
always choose where you lie...always strive hard to find a prowess...
Go past the lines for History remembers those who are unique...
whether for the worst or the best.
Be the last if you can't be the first...
*Everyone will remember Mabirizi for he knew how to be the last...
And sadly everyone will remember Museveni for he's good at keeping his place.
Who will remember the one in between.
Who will remember Besigye? Who will remember the servant boy that
cautioned Achilles against fighting the Thessalonian?
Who will remember me?

A storm strikes the peaceful world in which I dwell
Shaking the very foundations of my soul
Somehow I forget who I am
My peaceful world shaken, my ignorant bliss erased
And I am left an unknown sojourner, lost in a dark world

So I venture into the forest searching for my home
Greeted by wild animals and wild people
I find trees and habitats, brothers and sisters, but not my home
I find a wonderful place to be yes, but my home it is not
No matter how fond and wonderful a place the forest, still it is not my home

So I take to the countryside in search of my home
Greeted by green fields and countless cattle
I find crops and vegetation, but not my home
I find a place with many brothers and sisters, but my home it is not
No matter how fond and wonderful a place the countryside, still it is not my home

So I set out out for the city in search of my home
Greeted by people more than can be counted
I find even some of my brothers and sisters, but not my home
I find a place bustling with energy and people, but my home it is not
No matter how fond and wonderful a place this city, still it is not my home

So I depart the city for a quaint village, in search of my home
Greeted by wonderful people, many brothers and sisters
I find a many good things and homely people, but my home it is not
I find, to my great pain, that this too is not my home
No matter all the wonderful and fond things, I know I have no home

I fall on the ground and look to the heavens
I clench my fist and shake it crying hateful words
And then my eyes see the glory of the Lord
A cross atop the highest tower of the village
For it all comes back to my pounding head

I return back to the fold of God from which I had wandered
Returning to the home from which I departed
And upon remembering my mother, I am reminded of my Father
Then I am reunited with my many brothers and sisters whom I had met along the way
Truly then, seeing the a glory of the Lord

For I was like the prophet who searched for the Lord
Seeing the great wind; but the Lord was not in the wind
Then the great earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake
Seeing the great fire; but the Lord was not in the fire
Then he heard the Lord come in a low and gentle whisper

I looked for my home in the forest; but it was not in the forest
I looked for my home in the countryside; but it was not in the countryside
I looked for my home in the city; but it was not in the city
And I looked for my home in the village; but it was not in the village
For I found my home, my very self, in the Body of Christ

He reminded me of my baptism
Reminding me of whose mark is upon me
Reminding me of who I am
In a low and gentle whisper
Calling out to me the name I had long forgotten; 'My Beloved'

The tree was split
By the power of an unknown spear.
That night, the orange moon flared;
The blinking eyes of night
Shadowed the forest,
Following him.
What authority clapped the thunderous air
With flailing branches,
Demanding service, obedience, fear.
The simplicities of home and fire
Offered up assurance and warmth.
He returned to think on it;
To resolve questions with more questions
Before sanctifying the place of wrath.

Colossae
April 28, 2016

Oh Colossae, where have you gone to hide yourself from the Lord?
Colossae, why have you wandered away from the fold of God?
Have you forgotten the words of St. Paul, the man who brought you the news
Colossae, why have you departed from the ways of the Lord?
Oh Colossae, where hast thou gone?

Colossae, have you forgotten the Word which became flesh?
Have you Colossae, a city of unholiness, forgotten of the promise of newness
Oh Colossae, how quickly you have fallen into uncleanliness
From dust you came and to dust you shall return
But must you, oh Colossae, so quickly descend to the dirt of the earth?

Oh Colossae, you cut off limbs afraid of the flesh
As if less flesh could make you more holy
You believe that this gnostic theology saves you from your sins
But only God incarnate in flesh can save
Oh Colossae, forget not the Savior who made you new

Colossae, forget not the Spirit of God, the very giver of life
He descends upon you and makes you holy,
He proceeds from the Father and the Son, and is worshiped and glorified
He is not one to worship alone, or to give identity alone
For that you have been united with Christ, who proceeds from the Father

Colossae, remember not this heresy of mysticism
There is this flood of culture and thought
Oh Colossae, be not drowned by this flood
And forget not the great unity the Body is to be
Forget this heresy to which you have come to love

Oh Colossae, you worship angels and men, yet too God
But you know, oh Colossae that the Lord on High is worth the worship
For these messengers from heaven may bring the Word of the Lord
But certainly, oh Colossae, they are not the Word which became flesh
Oh Colossae, forget these ancient heresies, and raise up the Lord Jesus

Oh Colossae, you partook in the Holy Communion of His Body and Blood
And baptized in the death and resurrection
Anointed with oil like the kings of old
Engrafted into the marriage of the Lord Jesus and His bride
Oh Colossae, you are one Body, abandon it not

Oh Colossae, return to the Lord!
Come back to the land of your spiritual fathers
Where they worshipped the Lord in all goodness
Come back to this land of orthodoxy
Oh Colossae, repent of this heresy against the Lord!

Oh Colossae, how we have followed path you have trod
To forget the redemption by which we are saved
To remember not the works of the Lord, perpetrated that we might freely live
That we have forgotten to live holy lives
Oh Colossae, how we have fallen in line with you and the Church of yesterday

Too have we, this Church of the modern age, departed like you, Colossae
We have succumbed to these heresies of forgetting our Lord Jesus
Oh Colossae, we have fallen, like you, and dirtied ourselves from holiness
We have descended to the depths of the sea like the rest of the world
Too we are drowning in our sorrows and our sins and unholiness

Oh come Lord Jesus
And redeem us, like Colossae, back into Your holiness
Come Lord Jesus
And renew our troubled lives, bring us back into Your holiness
Oh come Lord Jesus

Simon, son of Jonah
You sailed the waters seeking fish
You were called from your boat to walk upon dry land seeking men
You were called by the Lord, God of Israel
You were beloved by the Lord of Ages

Oh Simon, denier of the Lord
Simon, you claimed Him to be the Messiah, the Christ
That He was the Son of the Living God, and He gave you a new name
For upon you, Peter the rock, He would build His Church
And like Simon’s father Abram, you became like Abraham a patriarch with a new name

Oh Peter, you saw who He was
Not by flesh revealed
But because the Father above revealed it to you
Peter, how might you ever forget that He loves you?
Oh Peter, how might you forget what you have seen?

Immediately taken up by Satan
For you focus on the things of earth
Oh Simon, have you forgotten who you are?
Have you forgotten, Simon, that He made you new?
Simon, have got forgotten that you are a rock, made not for a boat?

Peter, with faith to move mountains, you served the Living God
But when you walked upon the sea, Simon sunk like the rock Peter was to be
Oh Simon, hadn't you the faith?
Hadn't you known, Simon, that you had the faith to walk on water?
But Simon, you sank fast from the weight of your unbelief

Peter, you sat as the Lord washed your feet
Not understanding why the God of all would wash old Simon's feet
And you broke bread together in the room with the betrayer
Peter, did you know that He would go to die?
Did you know, Simon, that you would deny the Lord?

Oh Simon, He prayed in the garden
And in His last hours with you, could you not keep awake?
For but an hour, Simon, could you not keep awake for the Lord?
Simon, was sleep more precious to you than the life of the Lord?
Oh Simon, such a low place to which you had sunk like the rock Peter was to be!

Then came the soldiers to arrest the Son of Man
Oh Peter, you could not bare for your master to be taken from you
But Simon, must you have cut the ear from a soldier's head?
Must you have, Simon, resorted to such violence and vengeance?
Oh Simon, you could attack a soldier for the Lord, but could you not confess Him?

Oh Simon, a servant girl came and asked of your master
And you denied Him as if you never knew Him
Oh Simon, would you deny the Lord in His time of need?
Simon, saying you never knew the man, God Himself
As if He had never called you Peter, or declared that you were HIs rock to build upon

Oh Simon, would you deny your Lord during the very trial for His death?
Would you, oh Simon, deny that He was the savior to all?
And when the rooster crowed, oh Simon, you knew
Peter, your eyes opened to the sins of Simon
That you awoke a rock sunk by the weight of unbelief gasping for air in the depths of the sea

Then the Lord died, and Simon, you forgot the profession of Peter
That He was the Christ, that He would rise again, Simon wept with the world
But when the girl came, that the body was gone, Peter, you ran
Peter, you hiked up your robe and ran to the tomb
The other disciple may have won the race, but it would not matter

Simon, you went into the tomb, and your blindness kept you
You saw emptiness, and darkness, Simon
How could you not remember the words of His prophecy?
Simon, why did you not laugh with joy at what the scriptures foretold?
Oh Simon, you went home never remembering what even you knew!

Simon, you went upon a ship to seek fish, the treasure of the sea
Oh Simon, have you forgotten who you are?
Have you forgotten that you are Peter, the rock
Simon, remember that rocks belong not on boats
But upon the ground, Simon, that the Church may be built upon you

Simon, you locked yourself in a room with your brothers
Hiding away from the world to which you were to serve
Oh Simon, what did you fear?
Oh Simon, why did you hide away?
Simon, oh Simon, how had you forgotten the promise He made?

Yet still He came in and brought for you peace
Oh Peter, He breathed His breath upon you and indwelled His Spirit within you
Simon, you left and came not back, and were never missed!
And Peter awoke never to give way to Simon ever again!
Oh St. Peter look back on the life you led
Born Simon, a sinner, a lowly sinner
Born again St. Peter, the rock, the patriarch
Oh St. Peter of the Rock, on you has our Church thrived

The theologian's heart sits heavy in his chest.
He has searched, sought, and out-thought the best.
Yet, he has nothing to show for his quest but gray hairs and a book nest.

Scoffers scoff as scoffers do.
Such is expected, for the Way is few.

The theologian needs not a pat on the back.
Nor gold, for he has no lack.

He knows that of making books there is no end,
He has no credit by which to lend.

Still he writes, and still he reads
Still he taps, and still he kneads

Until his heavy heart stops beating.
Now he'll see if his theology was fleeting.
Such it was if not God he's meeting and if not Christ he's greeting.