The clouds roll across, they’re pulled back, folded, crumpled. The movement is smooth. There must have been a build up, an angry festering causing these clumps to come.
The paper she scrunched is above
Watch them move
On the mount she perched
Her hair her fortress
Her eyes a disguise
The window of worth
Of the gaping earth
Look across the empty plains
What plains, you say?
Well, it depends how we frame
Do you frame the seen, or follow belief?
Do you dream, or need a specific scene?
Some plains for you, some plains for me.
The scrawling hills of your hope, the canvas of creativity.
Make your mark at the tip, then start the voyage to the valley.
No uphill motion here, no, only a downward spiral to your death.
Unless you want your life to be kept?
Do you care for your bones, your flesh?
A person who holds onto
their life can never be free.
You can have wealth, materials, experience, a family; but
if you forget your identity…
if you centre your life on temporal fidelity…
then you will never see the freedom that is outside this reality.
If you have good dreams then maybe, just maybe will that save your life from the despair of a fallen identity? If your curiosity and wandering tells you anything, then maybe the condition of your life has more to do with the inner voice, closed inside, than the outer life you show and tell for ‘likes’.
But even then, deep inside, there is a duality to your desires. You are conflicting and contradicting your very own self. So don’t look to self to secure your identity. Deny yourself, deny your dreams. Follow the one who knows you intimately – all your needs. Centre your life on Christ. Your hope. Your identity.
A life held at arms reach.
Sitting on the mountain, feel the wind brush the sides of the vessel you call you.
You move, you shake.
Always on the verge of break.
Thats who you are.
No piece is a masterpiece without the Master. The Master pulls the pieces together, mends the breaks, heals the aches. The Master can mould these fragments into a frame of a new plain.
Ah, the plains, yes the plains.
A new plain.
HE who is Mighty to Save
The Saviour’s feet
All we need
You cannot save yourself.
You cannot create your own destiny.
You cannot shape your own identity.
Your identity is HE
HE who endures
HE who remains
HE who sustains
Regardless of age, fashion, cultural terrain.
HE is the way
HE is the truth
HE is the life
paid the price
to be free
believe this HE
you will receive
There is a whisper
Of a louder symphony