Seduction of the Sacrifice

To conjure evil, to hurt another, to kick God in the face, is to be human.  Yet, sin is expensive.  It costs something.  The bull brought for sacrifice can no longer breed quality livestock.  Remember, that God demands the best of the best, to forgive the sin, that is the worst of the worst.  So why do we ask for the Bull back.  Sin, does damage.  Wounded hands, thorned brow, whipped back, loss of so much blood, and death.  We trade a sacrifice with God for forgiveness.  The magnitude of sin is measured by the magnitude of the loss of the sacrifice.  We beg God for forgiveness, yet sometimes we ask to get back the sacrifice.  The vile vomit that God pulled us up from by answering another prayer, we ask to go back into that viscous chunky rot to regain something we think we have lost.  To acknowledge the sacrifice is to move away from the sin.  Perhaps a job, a really good job is left by choice because of an intolerance for stealing, anger evoked, or a time commitment that causes a disconnect from family or church, or affair with a co-worker.  Whatever the case, if God delivers and calls for a sacrifice, it is over.  Done.  I don’t believe that God would ever call for a marriage, a church, or a child.  But Christians must realize that he may demand a building, money, pride, jobs, cars, perhaps even health.  Sin is expensive, and the bill was so high that only the son of the judge could offer a sacrifice to exceed the magnitude of evil.  Accept it and honor it.  To beg for the bull in prayer is to insult the ultimate sacrifice.  Jesus doesn’t belong to us.  We didn’t earn his sacrifice, or even deserve it.  He offered up himself, all we can do is accept, and allow sin to be murdered on an alter and burned, never to be tasted of again.

Copyright © 2018 Zachary W. Gilbert

 

Fate of Bones in Darkness

Pulling my hand from the pit I felt the dominant breath of evil, that lurked deep below.  Hot wind burned my face, whipped my peppered hair, and murdered tears before they could roll.  Darkness flew up and grabbed me like a thick blanket of melted rubber.   My flesh became devoured with invisible teeth and an unquenchable thirst drank the powdery remains of my crushed bones.

. . .

Copyright © 2018 Zachary W. Gilbert

Someone else…

It was about nine months or so, that I couldn’t survive without the care, of someone else.

Then, for some eighteen years or so, I ate, I slept, my bills were paid in full, by someone else.

On a rainy Saturday afternoon, I asked her to marry me, my entire life, was in the hands, of someone else.

After the interview, when I walked out of the door, my career was being decided by someone else.

In life, I think perhaps the best thing we can do, is cherish, and take care of, someone else.

. . .

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert

Snippet of Life

Time sips slowly, on the invisible fluid of my soul.  I sit, and sit, and sit… trapped in a  concrete belly.   Cold metal teeth close tight , close forever.  Smiling under a small one way door.  I am swallowed. The quiet blanket of night holds my screaming mind.  No one is calling out for me as the world sleeps.  I am forgotten, left only with the memory of my deeds to keep me company.  One spark in my mind,  exploded in a moment. 17 raged seconds traded for a lifetime.   I close my eyes, the theater of my mind is covered in blood, while the orchestra plays only the wails of the dead.  I open my eyes hoping the walls will spasm all around me and digest me.  Finish me.  The bars hard bite hold. Silence.  I wait.  My broken mind trapped in a welded skull, kicks and scratches the walls.  Looking down at my fingers I see dusty concrete under my broken nails.  I slide my shoes off wet socks.  My broken toes throb under caked blood.  Time sips slowly.

. . .

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert

 

The Difficult Drink

I was in a coffee shop and I saw an old man quietly reading a book in the corner.   A pair of women argued at a nearby table.   One was aged and haggard, her face showed lines from years of frowning.  The other was young, her eyes were puffy, and her tears wet the wood of the table.

“God wants you to give him another change,” the old woman’s shrill voice stung the air.

The young woman stared at the floor, “I can’t, I can’t he has hurt me for the last time.”

I grow tired of this sludge poisoning the mood,”  his eyes never left the pages as he spoke to the two women.  “God wants?  An arrogant notion indeed…”  he turned the page and  laughed to himself.

“This is none of your business, please don’t interrupt me!  I am doing God’s work!”

Ahh yes, I see…” his atheistic mind churned behind his steady eyes, as he placed his book on arm of the chair he was sitting in.

Everyone in the coffee shop grew quiet, and listened to the booming roll of the old man’s voice. “I find it interesting, the concept of God.   How is it that those who claim to know and love an all powerful creator, take matters into their own hands?  If there exists an immeasurable amount of power what could humanity possibly add?  I assume you are trying to save a doomed marriage.  I have seen the angry people yelling, killing, and hurting those who would deny their God.  Yet, if in fact the peopled world is the belongings of a Creator, who has the right to disturb or disrupt on behalf of said Creator.  If you believed that which you squawk, your anger would subside, and the only action you would have left to take is the only action you are supposed to take, talk to your Creator.  Yet, you impose your will.  You mettle and wound the weak on God’s behalf.  Show me  your mandates, do you have any documentation of your divine orders?  Who has given you authority over creation?  If you trust and believe as you have said, then perhaps you should wait and watch to see the proof of God in his response to your praying.  Yet you pray, and then you meddle and talk and meddle.  Do you wait for this God of yours to have a chance?   If you are always moving, then perhaps the stage behind the curtain is truly an empty void, but if there is something beyond life, behind the curtain, maybe you should get off of the stage of humanity, and be quiet while the rest of us have a look. Isn’t your job to get people off the streets and into the theater?  You ask me to believe, yet how can I, when you do not believe yourself?

The old man rose to leave, and the angry old woman blocked his path, “The bible is my authority!  You are going to hell!”

He smiled as he slung his coat over his arm, “No my dear, it is 1 in the afternoon, I am going home to take a nap.”

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert

Panacea of Shadow

Shadows dance and argue deep within the cold cave.  Some shout “No object.”  Laughing they whisper, “Fire isn’t real”.   Other shadows, in folly attempt to describe the fire they have never seen.  Yet, some know.  Yet, some feel.  Their object is the bridge to the fire.   They hold it close to the warmth and peace.   Invisible strings tug and pull, some shadows toward the fire.  Wispy fingers of grey push away the dusty wall.  Do shadows seep out and rise from the stone?  Or perhaps, are they only there for a season? Some shadows dig their claws deep into the wall, lodging dirt into temporary fingernails.  Denying their object, laughing at the notion of a Fire, they embrace only the shadow.  One day Fire gathers up objects who’s shadows have placed their backs to the stone.  They are carefully wrapped in a golden blanket of light and placed in the blue sky.  The shadows left behind still cling to the wall deep within the abyss of the cave.   Shadows with dry throats try to drink up the darkness, but without fire, only objects remain.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert