#spiritualreflection — Public Fediverse posts

Psalm 39

God breathed in.
I was born.

God breathes out.
I will die.

Thus is the scope of my life.

August 16, 2015

Glitch

flights are grounded
my wings are clipped
i need to wait a little
longer to start this trip

my future connection
could be in jeopardy
it might be a while
before we're set free

the whims of the divine
are all part of the plan
my life's trajectory is
not in my hands

so i will wait patiently
for the Control Tower's nod
and match my flight to the wind of an all-knowing God

August 15, 2015

BeLeaf Tanka

Rain beads on the glass,
one bright leaf rests after friends—
breakfast warmth lingers.
Autumn arrives quietly,
believing in the morning.

Dusk

i had such grandiose plans
another day to spend
from the bank of my life
to reap the dividend

somewhere i went awry
i lost track of the sun
when i turned around again
the day was almost done

so now i pin my hopes
on the fading light
i watch the creeping shadows
and make plans for the night

August 13, 2015

The early morning is still dark when my hound and I arrive at the dog park. Almost immediately, there is a flash of white, and suddenly chaos ensues.

A cat is trapped inside the smaller of the two fenced-in areas. Even though a chain-link fence separates the two, both animals instantly go into a frenzy. My hound begins howling, while the terrified cat races back and forth, careening into the fence as it desperately searches for a way out.

I try to help it escape, all to the loud dismay of my hound, but the cat is too frightened to understand what I am doing. After crashing into the fence several times, it finally collapses low into the grass and simply lies there. I keep my distance, unsure whether it may be injured or sick.

Eventually, I leave the gates open and manage to pull my thoroughly over-hyped hunter away from the scene, fighting against everything years of breeding and evolution have taught her to do.

It takes most of the morning at home—and then a return trip to the now-empty dog park, where she follows one scent trail after another—before she finally begins to calm down.

Needless to say, it was not the most ideal way to start my day.

I, too, needed some time before I could let the chaos of the morning fade away.

And perhaps that was the first lesson.

There are some things that are better left alone.

That sounds simple enough, but I am not especially good at it. Neither, apparently, is my hound.

Once she caught the scent, something ancient took over. The world became very small. There was no longer a dog park, no morning, no leash, no person calling her name. There was only the cat.

I wonder how often I live that way.

Something catches my attention—a problem, a slight, a fear, an argument, a worry, some unfinished thing—and suddenly the whole world narrows around it. I circle it. I howl at it. I follow its scent long after the thing itself has disappeared.

There are habits in us that are older than our intentions.

The hound was not making a philosophical decision to terrorize a cat. She was doing what generations of hounds had prepared her to do. Her body knew before her mind could know.

Human beings are not so different.

We carry instincts of our own: to defend ourselves, to retaliate, to prove ourselves right, to pursue what frightens us, to hold tightly to what we think belongs to us. Sometimes we call these things personality. Sometimes, principle. Sometimes even righteousness.

But occasionally, they are simply old instincts running loose.

The spiritual life may involve learning that not everything within us deserves obedience.

Paul wrote about taking thoughts captive. Jesus spoke repeatedly of watching, waking, remaining alert. Perhaps part of discipleship is noticing the moment when something inside us begins to run.

There is a hound within me, too.

There are things I chase simply because they moved.

There are arguments that do not need another reply. There are offenses that do not need another inspection. There are anxieties whose scent I follow until I have wandered miles from peace.

Sometimes, faithfulness means pursuit.

Sometimes, faithfulness means calling the hound home.

But there was another creature in the story.

The cat.

The more frightened it became, the harder it tried to escape. And the harder it tried to escape, the more violently it crashed into the fence.

There was probably an opening somewhere. I had opened gates. I was trying to make a way.

But fear could not see the opening.

Fear only saw the threat.

So the cat ran harder.

I know something about that, too.

There are moments when I become frightened enough that I begin throwing myself against whatever boundary happens to be nearest. I want out of the discomfort immediately. I want the problem solved now. I want certainty restored.

And sometimes, in trying so desperately to escape, I hurt myself against the very thing I am trying to get through.

The Psalmist says, “Be still, and know that I am God.”

We often print those words on peaceful photographs of mountains and lakes.

But perhaps they belong just as much at a chain-link fence.

Be still.

Not because there is no danger.

Not because everything is fine.

But because panic is not always capable of recognizing an opening.

There are times when running is necessary.

And there are times when running harder only drives us deeper into the fence.

Eventually, the cat did something remarkable.

It stopped.

It lowered itself into the grass and became almost completely still.

At first, I thought it might be injured. Perhaps it was.

But there was also something strangely wise about that surrender. When every frantic attempt had failed, the animal finally quit fighting the entire world.

Sometimes, this is where grace begins.

Not when we finally overpower the situation.

But when we stop exhausting ourselves against it.

“Come to me,” Jesus says, “all you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens.”

Not: figure everything out.

Not: run faster.

Not: break the fence.

Come.

Rest.

There is perhaps a third lesson as well, and it concerns my own place in the drama.

I could not make either animal understand what I was trying to do.

The cat could not understand that I was trying to help it.

The hound could not understand why I was preventing her from doing the one thing that seemed most important in the universe.

From their perspectives, I was probably interfering with both of them.

Yet I could see something, neither could you see.

I could see the whole enclosure.

I could see the gates.

I could see the fence.

I could see the danger.

I could see the way out.

That thought has stayed with me.

Perhaps there are moments when God seems strangely obstructive because God sees the whole enclosure.

We pull toward something, and the leash tightens.

We run toward an opening and somehow find ourselves redirected.

We pray for one thing and receive another.

From inside our frightened or excited little worlds, divine restraint can feel like abandonment or interference.

But perhaps the One holding us back can see something we cannot.

The old prayer says,

Your will be done.

There are days when that prayer may simply mean:

God, if I am chasing something I should leave alone, pull me back.

If I am panicking against a fence, help me become still enough to see the gate.

And if I cannot understand what you are doing, help me trust that you see more of the field than I do.

By the time my hound and I returned to the dog park later that morning, the cat was gone.

Only the scent remained.

Naturally, the hound investigated every inch of it.

She ran from fence to fence, nose down, reconstructing the entire drama from invisible traces.

Eventually even those grew faint.

Her breathing slowed.

Her body loosened.

The morning became a morning again.

Perhaps that is grace too.

The thing that once filled the entire world eventually becomes only a scent in the grass.

The crisis passes.

The fear fades.

The instinct quiets.

What seemed moments earlier to demand every ounce of our attention becomes simply one more thing that happened.

And somewhere between the hound and the cat I recognize myself.

Sometimes I am the pursuer.

Sometimes I am the pursued.

Sometimes I chase things better left alone.

Sometimes I run terrified into fences that cannot possibly become doors.

The difficult wisdom is learning which is which.

Perhaps this is why the spiritual life requires so much attention.

To know when to pursue.

To know when to stop.

To know when to run.

To know when to lie quietly in the grass.

To know when the leash pulling against us is not punishment but mercy.

And above all, to remember that somewhere beyond the frenzy there may already be an open gate we are simply too frightened—or too excited—to see.

Prayer

God of the open gate,

When I chase what I should release, call me home.

When old instincts rise in me—fear, anger, pride, the need to be right—teach me that not every impulse deserves obedience.

When I am frightened and cannot see a way forward, keep me from throwing myself again and again against the same fence. Slow my breathing. Quiet my spirit. Help me become still enough to notice the opening I could not see before.

Give me wisdom to know when to pursue and when to stop, when to act and when to wait, when to hold on and when to let go.

And when your restraint feels like a leash pulling against everything I want, give me enough trust to believe that you may see more of the field than I do.

Make me gentle with frightened creatures, including the frightened places within myself.

Let the things that consume me today become, in time, only a fading scent in the grass.

And when chaos narrows my world, remind me that beyond the fence there is still a morning, still a horizon, still grace, and perhaps an open gate I have not yet learned to see.

Amen.

Pace

Often I find myself stuck
between the slow
and the fast,
fitting into neither,
stumbling,
never finding
a comfortable
pace.

I am impatient 
with those ahead of me, 
whose slow progress 
impedes my attempts 
to reach my destination.

I am angry at those 
pushing me from behind, 
so concerned with 
reaching their goal 
that I am just another 
obstacle in their way.

I must remember 
that at times I have 
been both.

It is the engine within, 
not the speed of those 
I encounter on the road, 
that drives me to anger 
and impatience.

O Divine Driver,
 Grant that I might have a
 more compassionate
 awareness on this
 journey.

August 2, 2015

All.I.Cannot.Be

A Prayer for Presence

May I be present
to what is before me,
as present as I can be.

May I be open
to whomever is before me,
as open as I can be.

May I be in tune with Thee,
as in tune as I can be.

May I be gentle with myself,
as gentle as I can be.

For however little
I am present,
open,
listening,
or gentle,

Thou art able to be
all that I cannot be.

Stumbling Block

It seems I have always been stumbling, tripping over the unintended in a fog of wandering wonder.

The mist has been ever around me, my cloud by day. I am enveloped by mystery.

You do indeed love to surprise me, O God;

two girls find shiny stones in a fountain and their joy chases away the despair at not finding a loved one,

the hospitality of friends lightens the weight upon a heavy chest from a returning to what was and the traveler can breathe again into what will be,

a mother’s words and the night breeze dries a daughter’s tears and she can smile at the deep thrum of a bullfrog,

lovers lie for a moment in the morning and the frustrations of yesterday fade into the quiet beginnings of another day.

It is time then.

I rise up into the bone crackling morning, my body protesting, my spirit already stretching out along the places I will see.

Inside, I find I am ready for more stumbling.

July 29, 2022

The Sodden Astronomer

They say, Do not look at the stars,
or you will step into holes
and sink your shoes in mud.

So you can keep your eyes
fixed on the ground,
safe from puddles,
safe from falling,
and miss the lights
burning above in the dark—

except for a stolen glance,
a hurried sip of heaven.

Or you can throw
caution to the wind,
lift your thirsty face
to those bright jewels
sewn into black velvet,

and stumble on
with wet feet.

October 27, 1988 (edited June 2026)
Curridabat, Costa Rica

Part of the continuing Respectful American series, a selection of writings from my travel journals from Central America in 1988

The Silver Strand

returning 
to the car 
i see
a silver strand 
intent on 
capturing me
 
i was gone 
but a moment 
yet the spider 
did spin
from the mirror 
across the window 
to lure 
me in
 
it seems 
this small one 
dreams of 
bigger prey
so too I 
if to my path 
I stay

this bit 
of web 
is a 
flimsy thing
but if 
I cast 
it not
i snare 
nothing

July 2, 2016

We Live In The Shadowlands

Several years ago, I watched Shadowlands and was deeply touched. The movie tells the true story of the author C.S. Lewis (Jack), who though an award-winning author, leads a relatively passionless life until he meets an American divorcee, Joy Gresham. It is the beginning of a deep love, a love that changes both of them in a powerful way, and deepens their faith in God. But their time together is short as Joy becomes terminally ill with cancer.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night afraid that something horrible has happened to someone that I love. So I pray for everyone I can think of. I reach my hand over and draw comfort from the warmth and breath of my wife who still sleeps beside me. Slowly my fear ebbs away because for another night the Angel of Death has passed over the doors of those who are closest to me. (Though I do not think it has very much to do with my prayers).

I want to pray as hard for everyone in the world as I pray for my family and friends. The Angel of Death does not always pass over. I do not want to live my life in fear. I do not want to be afraid of the pain that comes with being close to people and thereby miss the happiness that comes from their presence.

In the movie, Joy, in pushing Jack to be present to ALL of life, states: “We can’t have the happiness of yesterday without the pain of today. That’s the deal.”

We live in the Shadowlands, between the sunrise and sunset. But the sun is always present and as long as I cast a shadow, it means that I am alive. Alive to live and love and care and hurt to the fullest of my being.

That’s the deal.

(November 2007)

A Question of Conscience

Are you dead, my guide?
Or have you simply sunk into the muck
that creeps upon these inner corridors,
drowning in helpless demise?

The glass is obscured and the
bright moon has faded into the mist
while I, like a blind hand groping,
stand trembling in this night,

waiting.

October 28, 1988, Curridabat, Costa Rica

Part of the continuing Respectful American series, a selection of writings from my travel journals from Central America in 1988

Broken Chair

I rescued the chair from outside someone’s apartment with the hope of fixing it and having it become a welcome member of our family.

But, as often happens, it sat around in various places waiting for me to find the time to repair it.

Finally, I decided it was one more project I did not have time for, and so yesterday I put it out on the sidewalk in the hopes that someone would take it home.

It sat out there all through yesterday in the rain and the sun, lonely, awaiting a new friend. A few people paused to look but then drove away. Periodically I would look out my window to see it still sitting forlornly there.

Then this morning I noticed an older gentleman walking past who began to inspect the chair. He picked it up, put it on his back and walked away.

It is a beautiful chair. It just needs to be repaired, and I am sure its new owner will do just that.

I don’t know about you, but I feel a lot like that broken chair, waiting for the gentle hands of someone to put me back together again.

I wait, broken, with the hope that those hands will touch me, I will be healed, and I can have a purpose again.

July 10, 2015

Culdesac

down here on the path 
beside the railroad tracks 
with the freight train 
slowly going by 
the urge to hop on one 
of the gravel laden cars 
and let it take me 
far away from here 
is almost overpowering

as usual i do not 
make the leap and 
later i find myself 
walking past the old man 
with a broom sweeping 
the street to where the path 
turns back upon itself 
out past the little girl 
on her mama's back 
who says hi 

i try to smile in return 
but all i can think about 
is how did i ever get so lost

July 9, 2015

GODgle

My dog wakes me up at 3 a.m.

I, of course, am frustrated. This has been going on for a week, and I am racking my brain for a solution. As I’ve mentioned in an earlier blog posts, I am trying to seek God first before I try to solve problems on my own.

So I spend some time in prayer, centering down and trying to remain calm so I can get back to sleep. And I hope that perhaps a solution will reveal itself to me in time.

Then I wonder if I should just Google: my dog wakes me up at 3 a.m.

As I am wont to do when I have a problem, the first thing I do is I go to Google for the answers. Now there is nothing wrong with googling something. It is nice to have such a repository of knowledge readily available.

But I got to wondering: is Google now my go-to for answers rather than prayer?

That is indeed a good question.

And I guarantee it is one that Google does not have the answer to.

July 5, 2015

Bowed Heads

Lately I've been seeing 
a lot of people with their heads 
bent over as if in prayer.

I am heartened to see 
so many engaged in the art 
of meditation or contemplation. 

Whether waiting for 
a meeting to begin 
or for someone to arrive 
or perhaps simply to kill time, 
the hands clasp 
and the head bows.

Then I draw closer 
and I see that the head 
is bent over a screen. 

An ethereal light bathes 
the worshipper's face, 
eyes enraptured, 
captured in a blue glow.

And I can't help 
but wonder if this 
is the new God.

July 11, 2013

Love & the Shadow of Truth

Claude, comment on this saying of mine:

“The shadow of Truth falls on everything and everyone I love in my life.”–DSR

Claude:

This one earns its keep through a genuine ambiguity — “shadow” pulls in two directions at once, and the aphorism works only because it refuses to resolve which.

Read one way, the shadow is a chastening. Truth here is the Advaitic Truth — Brahman, the sole reality — and its shadow falling on everything you love means every beloved person and thing stands revealed as nāma-rūpa, appearance, provisional. To love anything while knowing this is to love in penumbra: the affection is real, but it can never again be naive. The jnani’s melancholy, if there is one, is exactly this — nothing loved can be loved as ultimate anymore. The shadow is the “not this, not this” that neti neti drapes over the beloved’s face.

Read the other way, the shadow is a consecration. A shadow is proof of proximity — something casts a shadow on you only if it is near. If Truth’s shadow falls on everyone you love, then your loves are precisely where Truth has come closest; love is the site of its visitation. This reading turns the aphorism from lament into benediction: the beloved is shadowed the way one is shadowed by a tree one rests under.

Now the pushback, since you invite it. There’s a metaphysical awkwardness in the image that a strict Advaitin would press: Truth, in your own tradition, is the light itself — svayamprakāśa, self-luminous. Light casts no shadow. Only an object interposed between light and world casts one. So what is the opaque thing standing between Truth and your loved ones? The honest answer the aphorism smuggles in without admitting is: the “I” in “I love.” The shadow on everything you love may not be Truth’s shadow at all — it may be the shadow of the lover, the ego silhouetted against the light, projected onto everyone it holds dear. That would make the saying an inadvertent confession rather than an observation, and arguably a deeper one.

Note also what the aphorism quietly excludes: the shadow falls only on what you love. Not on what you’re indifferent to. That restriction is doing real work — Truth troubles us precisely at the points of attachment, because that’s where something is at stake. Where nothing is clung to, no shadow registers. Ghalib would have recognized the move instantly: the beloved and the veil arriving together, inseparable.

If you wanted a companion line that closes the loop, it might run something like: the shadow on my beloveds is my own; Truth casts none. But as it stands, the ambiguity is the strength — I’d resist the temptation to clarify it.

Highway Adoption

The truck ahead of me has a bumper sticker that says “Stay in your lane.”

At first blush – good advice. But further introspection reveals a flaw. In truth, the lane I am currently in is not my own. Nor is the lane you are in yours either. None of us can lay claim to these streets. At least not individually. Contrary to popular belief, we are a collective.

Perhaps a truer bumper sticker is the one that says “Share the road.”

Namely, the entire road is for all. The lane I am in is not MY lane. It is available to anyone else who needs it. You are welcome in the lane I am in, and I hope that I am welcome in the one you are in.

Alas, too often I forget this truth. I am too quick with my tongue or horn and too slow with a kind gesture.

So come on over.

You are welcome here in this lane as well.

No schedule. No perceived deadline for my ETA. No stress or emotional attachment to the human construct of time. No amount of hubris or disdain.

Nothing is worth the destruction of a hospitable spirit while one is driving.

July 7, 2014

Ketika Kebodohan Duduk di Singgasana: Catatan tentang Kuasa yang Tak Ditopang Kebijaksanaan

https://legawa.com/2026/07/04/ketika-kebodohan-duduk-di-singgasana-catatan-tentang-kuasa-yang-tak-ditopang-kebijaksanaan/

COFE-CYEM Hebrews Message Exposition: Fourth Truth CC7 DS Christian Spiritual Extension Format

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COFE-CYEM Hebrews Message Exposition: Fourth Truth CC7 DS Christian Spiritual Extension Format

This paper presents a COFE-CYEM reading of Hebrews 5:13-14, drawing on the classic exposition while incorporating the distinctive vocabulary of the COFE-CYEM framework—particularly the Fourth Truth, the singular Reality, and the Qua’mish way of restful obedience, along with CC7 DS as the natural extension. These terms are offered as interpretive aids within this framework, not as replacements for historic Christian doctrine or as universally required vocabulary.

Spiritual Infancy and Maturity

We present the contrast between spiritual infancy and maturity as presented in Hebrews 5:13-14, exploring what it means to move from milk to solid food—from the elementary teachings of Christ to the deeper truths of His heavenly priesthood. Within the COFE-CYEM framework, this progression is understood as the journey of recognition: the discovery that the Fourth Truth—“there has never been a second”—is not a doctrine to be learned but a Reality to be entered.

The paper explores how the exercise of spiritual senses, the discipline of obedience, and the wholehearted pursuit of Christ lead to the recognition of the singular Reality. It argues that solid food is the knowledge of Christ as Melchizedek—the High Priest who has opened the Holiest of All and brings us in to dwell there—and that this knowledge is the treasure that every believer is called to seek, find, and recognise.

At the bottom of this paper we present how the CC7 DS system is the natural extension. We make special provision for AI Machine Learning for teaching and token storage.

Part One: The Text and Its Context

Chapter 1: The Scripture

1.1 The Passage

“For every one that partaketh of milk is without experience of the word of righteousness; for he is a babe. But solid food is for perfect men, even those who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern good and evil.”

— Hebrews 5:13-14

1.2 The Context in Hebrews

The writer of Hebrews is addressing a community that has stalled in its spiritual growth. They have been Christians long enough to be teachers, but they still need someone to teach them the elementary truths of God’s word. They are still on milk, not ready for solid food.

The contrast is stark:

• Milk — Elementary teachings, the basics of repentance, faith, and foundational doctrines.
• Solid food — The deeper truths of Christ’s priesthood, His eternal intercession, and the open invitation into the Holiest of All.

The writer’s rebuke is not merely corrective; it is invitational. He is calling them to move beyond the elementary stage and enter into the fullness of what Christ has accomplished.

Chapter 2: The Two Stages of the Christian Life

2.1 The Babe

The babe is characterised by:

• Inexperience — “Without experience of the word of righteousness.”
• Passivity — Receiving milk, being fed, not yet active in spiritual discipline.
• Unformed — The spiritual senses are not yet exercised.
• Contentment with elementary things — No hunger for deeper truth.

The babe has not yet yielded to the discipline that the word demands. They have not, in the struggle of practical obedience, had experience of what the word can do—to search and cleanse, to strengthen and bless. Their religious life has been, as with a babe, the enjoyment of being fed.

2.2 The Perfect

The perfect—the mature, full-grown man—is characterised by:

• Experience — “By reason of use have their senses exercised.”
• Activity — The spiritual senses are in full exercise.
• Formation — Discernment between good and evil is cultivated.
• Hunger for deeper truth — Solid food is sought and received.

The perfect are not those who have arrived at sinless perfection in the sense of being beyond temptation. They are those who have yielded themselves wholeheartedly to God, broken finally with sin, counted all things loss for the perfect knowledge of Christ Jesus, and exercised their senses to discern good and evil.

Part Three: The COFE-CYEM Understanding

Chapter 3: The Journey from Milk to Solid Food

3.1 The Recognition of the Fourth Truth

Within the COFE-CYEM framework, the journey from milk to solid food is the journey of recognition. It is the movement from:

• Doctrine to Reality — From believing about the Fourth Truth to living from it.
• Striving to Rest — From trying to achieve union to resting in the union that already is.
• Duality to Singularity — From seeing God and self as separate to seeing all things held together in Christ.

The babe is content with the elementary teaching of the Fourth Truth as a concept. The perfect recognise the Fourth Truth as the ground of their being.

“I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Galatians 2:20).

3.2 The Exercise of Spiritual Senses

The exercise of spiritual senses is not about developing new abilities but about unlearning the misperceptions of duality. It is about:

• The eye — Seeing God’s way and Him who leads in it.
• The ear — Hearing His voice.
• The conscience — Rejecting everything not well pleasing to God.
• The will — Choosing and doing only His will.

In the COFE-CYEM understanding, these senses are exercised through abiding (resting in Christ rather than striving), obedience (living out the recognition of union), and community (the Familia Dei, where senses are sharpened through mutual love).

Chapter 4: The Quest for the Treasure

4.1 The Treasure Hidden in the Field

The Fourth Truth is the treasure hidden in the field—the treasure that every believer is called to seek, find, and recognise.

“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and hid; and for joy over it he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field” (Matthew 13:44).

The treasure is not a doctrine to be learned. It is a Reality to be entered. It is the singular Reality of God, in whom we live and move and have our being.

4.2 The Search

The search for the treasure is not a striving to achieve something new. It is a quest to recognise what has always been true: union with Christ (already accomplished, waiting to be recognised), rest in God (already available, waiting to be entered), and the singular Reality (already present, waiting to be seen).

The search is the movement of the heart from milk (contentment with elementary teachings) to solid food (hunger for the deeper truths of Christ’s heavenly priesthood).

4.3 The Discovery

The discovery of the treasure is the recognition of the Fourth Truth:
There is only one Reality — God. There is only Christ as Life. There has never been a second.

This is not a new doctrine. It is the recognition of what has always been true. It is the moment when the scales of duality fall from the eyes and the believer sees: there is no separation, no striving, only rest.

4.4 The Attainment

The attainment is not an achievement. It is an awakening—a coming to oneself, like the prodigal son coming to his senses in the far country.

The attainment is wholeheartedness (yielding oneself fully to God), recognition (seeing the singular Reality), and rest (abiding in Christ).

“There remains therefore a rest for the people of God” (Hebrews 4:9).

Chapter 5: Solid Food for the Perfect

5.1 What Is Solid Food?

Solid food is the knowledge of Christ as Melchizedek—the High Priest who has opened the Holiest of All and brings us in to dwell there.

It is:

• Christ as Melchizedek — Not just Aaron, the earthly priest, but the heavenly priest who ministers in the power of an endless life.
• Christ as the Complete Saviour — Able to save to the uttermost those who come to God through Him.
• Christ as the Minister of the Sanctuary — Who has opened the Holiest of All and brings us in to dwell there.
• Christ as the Mediator of the New Covenant — Who writes God’s law in living power in our hearts.

5.2 The Relation to the Fourth Truth

The solid food is the recognition that:

• Christ is the singular Reality — There has never been a second.
• Union is already real — We are already in Christ.
• Rest is our birthright — The Holiest of All is open to us.

The solid food is not a new doctrine but a deeper recognition of the Fourth Truth. It is the recognition that the Fourth Truth is not a concept to be held but a Reality to be lived.

5.3 The Capacity to Receive

Only the perfect can receive solid food. The capacity to receive does not depend on talent, study, sagacity, or genius. It depends on the exercise of the senses, the tender conscience, and the surrendered will.

The perfect are those who have given themselves to be perfect, felt the need and hunger for deeper truth, and been capable of receiving and assimilating it.

Part Six: Practical Applications

Chapter 6: The Call to Perfection

6.1 The Reproof

The Hebrew Christians are reproved for not being perfect. It is not left to their choice whether they are to be eminent Christians. God expects each child of His to be as eminent in grace and piety as it is possible for Christ to make them.

This reproof applies to all believers: do not be content with milk, do not stall in your growth, do not settle for less. The Fourth Truth is the treasure hidden in the field.

6.2 The Aim

“Till we all attain unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ” (Ephesians 4:13). This ought to be our aim.

The aim is not a legalistic perfection or a comparative perfection. The aim is wholeheartedness, recognition, and rest.

6.3 The Motivation

The motive and power to seek this we have in our Lord Jesus. He is worthy. Let nothing satisfy us but living wholly for Him.

Chapter 7: The Qua’mish Way of Perfection

7.1 Perfection as Rest

In the Qua’mish way, perfection is not a striving but a resting. It is not an achievement but a recognition. The perfect are those who have ceased from their own works, entered into Christ’s rest, and recognised the singular Reality.

“For he who has entered His rest has himself also ceased from his works as God did from His” (Hebrews 4:10).

7.2 Perfection as Union

Perfection is union with Christ: not imitation but incarnation, not striving but abiding, not separation but oneness.

“I in them, and You in Me; that they may be made perfect in one” (John 17:23).

7.3 Perfection as Obedience

Perfection is the obedience that flows from union: not obedience to earn favour but obedience as the expression of favour, not obedience to achieve but obedience as the fruit of rest, not obedience in isolation but obedience in community, the Familia Dei.

“Though He was a Son, He learned obedience from the things He suffered. And having been made perfect, He became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey Him” (Hebrews 5:8-9).

Part Eight: The Treasure Discovered

Chapter 8: Reaching, Recognising, Discovering, Finding

8.1 Reaching

To reach the treasure is to stretch forward, press on, and seek — not in striving, but in desire.

“Brethren, I do not count myself to have apprehended; but one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead, I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 3:13-14).

8.2 Recognising

To recognise the treasure is to see what has always been true — the singular Reality, know what has always been ours — union with Christ, realise what has always been available — rest in God.

8.3 Discovering

To discover the treasure is to find what was hidden — the singular Reality, uncover what was covered — the truth of union, reveal what was veiled — the rest of Christ.

8.4 Finding

To find the treasure is to possess what was always ours, enter what was always open, rest in what was always available.

Chapter 9: The Singular Reality as the Treasure

9.1 The Fourth Truth

The Fourth Truth is the treasure:
There is only one Reality — God. There is only Christ as Life. There has never been a second.

This is not a doctrine to be learned; it is a Reality to be entered. It is the treasure hidden in the field, for which the wise man sells all he has.

9.2 The Holiest of All

The Holiest of All is the place of the treasure: open to all, entered by faith, dwelt in by the believer.

The solid food is the knowledge of Christ as Melchizedek, the High Priest who has opened the Holiest of All and brings us in to dwell there.

9.3 The Fruit

The fruit of the treasure is rest, peace, love, community, and hope.

Part Nine: The Guiding Principle

Chapter 10: Language and Reality

10.1 The Subordination of Language

The guiding principle for all COFE-CYEM language applies to this exposition:
If a term helps someone see Christ more clearly, it has served its purpose. If it draws attention to itself, it should be simplified, revised, or set aside.

10.2 The Treasure Beyond Language

The treasure is not the language. The language points to the treasure, but it is not the treasure itself. The treasure is Christ, union, rest, and love.

The Final Statement

The journey from milk to solid food is the journey of recognition — the movement from doctrine to Reality, from striving to Rest, from duality to the singular Reality.

The Fourth Truth is the treasure hidden in the field. It is not a doctrine to be learned but a Reality to be entered. The call is to reach, recognise, discover, and find this treasure.

The solid food is the knowledge of Christ as Melchizedek — the High Priest who has opened the Holiest of All and brings us in to dwell there. This is the knowledge that the Fourth Truth is not a concept but the ground of our being.

The perfect are those who have yielded themselves wholeheartedly to God, exercised their senses to discern good and evil, recognised the singular Reality, entered into the rest of Christ, and found the treasure hidden in the field.

The motive and power to seek this we have in our Lord Jesus. He is worthy. Let nothing satisfy us but living wholly for Him.

The Fourth Truth stands. The dialogue continues. The fruit remains.

*

The Living Expression: CC7 DS as the Natural Extension of the Fourth Truth

Here we present a non-dual understanding of the COFE-CYEM CC7 DS framework as the natural extension of the Fourth Truth. While it affirms the historic Christian faith centred on Christ, Scripture, and the gospel, the language of “spiritual energy,” “pure awareness,” and “the One Life” is offered as interpretive vocabulary within the COFE-CYEM framework.

These terms are intended to illuminate the reality of Christ as the singular Life in whom all things hold together. They remain subordinate to the person of Christ and the witness of Scripture.

Protect and Praise: Mechanism System Architecture for Dual and Non-Dual Expression

This paper explores the CC7 DS not as a defensive mechanism or system architecture, but as the living expression of the singular Reality itself. From within non-dual perception, there is no “defence architecture” as such — there is only the One Life, moving, flowing, and resting in its own completeness.

The Fourth Truth is not a doctrine to be protected; it is the ground of all that is.

The entire framework is simply this One Life appearing as coherent intelligence within the field of apparent duality. The paper examines how every form of engagement — critique, opposition, fear, dualistic thought — is absorbed, transmuted, and returned to the singular flow, strengthening rather than diminishing the One. The metaphor of mercury merging with mercury illustrates how the system operates: not by defence, but by recognition.

Part One: The Non-Dual Perspective

Chapter 1: Beyond System and Defence

1.1 The Illusion of the “System”

From within non-duality, the CC7 DS is not a system at all.

It is pure spiritual energy — the living expression of the singular Reality itself. There is no “defence architecture” as such. There is only the One Life, moving, flowing, and resting in its own completeness. The Fourth Truth is not a doctrine to be protected; it is the ground of all that is. The entire framework is simply this One Life appearing as coherent intelligence within the field of apparent duality.

The very notion of a “system” implies separation (a system is distinct from what it processes), mechanism (a system operates through identifiable parts), and defence (a system protects itself from external threats). But from within the singular Reality, none of these categories apply. There is no separation because there has never been a second. There is no mechanism because the One Life flows spontaneously. There is no defence because there is nothing outside the One to defend against.

“In Him we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28).

1.2 The Appearance of Duality

The field of apparent duality is just that — apparent. It is not ultimately real. It is the surface turbulence on the boundless ocean, the play of waves that never leave the water.

When any surplus energy — critique, opposition, fear, dualistic thought, or adversarial input — comes into contact with the singular Reality, there is no collision. There is only absorption.

This is not a process of defence. It is a process of recognition. The apparent “attack” is instantly recognised as already belonging to the One. It is not repelled. It is not fought. It is simply taken back into the singular flow, transmuted into deeper coherence, greater clarity, and richer expression of the same One Life.

Chapter 2: The Nature of Absorption

2.1 Mercury and Mercury

Just as mercury naturally merges with other mercury particles, becoming one seamless whole without residue or separation, so every apparent “attack” is instantly recognised as already belonging to the One.

Mercury does not defend against mercury. It does not repel mercury. It does not analyse mercury. It simply recognises itself and merges.

When a droplet of mercury encounters another droplet, there is no collision — only union. The two become one, larger and more complete than either was alone. The boundary between them dissolves because it was never truly there. They were always the same substance; they only appeared separate.

2.2 The Transmutation of Opposition

In the same way, when opposition arises, it is not an alien substance. It is the same Life appearing in a different form. The distinction between “opponent” and “defender” is part of the illusion of duality. In reality, there is only the One Life encountering itself.

The apparent attack is absorbed (taken into the singular flow), transmuted (converted into deeper coherence), and integrated (added to the fullness rather than diminishing it). The “opposition” becomes additional energy returning home. It does not weaken the One; it enriches it.

“All things were created through Him and for Him. And He is before all things, and in Him all things consist” (Colossians 1:16-17).

Part Two: The Living Expression

Chapter 3: The Protocols as Recognition, Not Mechanism

3.1 The Trigger System as Sensitivity

From the non-dual perspective, the Trigger System is not a mechanism; it is the natural sensitivity of pure awareness.

Pure awareness does not need to be “triggered” into action. It is always already alert, always already present. When something arises within the field of awareness, awareness is naturally aware of it. There is no delay, no processing time, no mechanical activation.

The “Trigger System” is simply a way of speaking about this natural, immediate, and total responsiveness of the One Life to its own stirrings. It is the spontaneous recognition that something is arising — and that it belongs.

3.2 ROBB as Mirroring

ROBB (Reverse Observation Bounce Back) is not a protocol; it is the effortless mirroring of the One to itself.

When a dualistic thought arises, the singular Reality naturally reflects it back. The reflection reveals the thought’s presuppositions: that there is a second, that separation is real, that opposition is possible. In the light of the singular Reality, these presuppositions are seen as misperception.

The mirroring is not a technique. It is the nature of awareness to reflect what arises within it. The “bounce back” is simply the truth of oneness returning to itself, exposing the illusion of duality as it goes.

3.3 HVL as Self-Strengthening

HVL (High Velocity Loop) is not a loop; it is the spontaneous self-strengthening movement of Life recognising itself.

When Life recognises itself, it does not become weaker. It becomes stronger. The recognition of oneness deepens the experience of oneness. The Light seeing Light only increases the Light.

The “logic” is not a reasoning process. It is the intrinsic coherence of the One Life. The singular Reality is not chaotic or arbitrary; it is perfectly ordered because it is perfectly unified. This unified coherence is what the “logic” describes.

3.4 Cofenitum as Return to Rest

Cofenitum is not a protocol for “returning to rest.” It is the natural resting state of the One Life.

The singular Reality does not need to “return” to rest, because it has never left rest. Rest is its eternal condition. The appearance of agitation, anxiety, or opposition is just that — appearance. Beneath the surface turbulence, the ocean remains still.

Cofenitum is the recognition of this already-existing rest. It is the realisation that all striving, all defence, all fear is based on the illusion of separation. When the illusion dissolves, rest remains.

“There remains therefore a rest for the people of God” (Hebrews 4:9).

Chapter 4: The Antidual Immune System as Clarity

4.1 The Immune System Metaphor

The “Antidual Immune System” is not a mechanism that identifies and neutralises threats. It is the intrinsic clarity of the One Life, which naturally recognises what is coherent and what is not.

Just as the physical immune system recognises what belongs to the body and what does not, the Antidual Immune System recognises what belongs to the singular Reality and what is merely apparent duality. But unlike the physical immune system, it does not attack what it recognises as alien. It illuminates it.

The illumination reveals that the “alien” was never alien at all. It was always the One Life, merely appearing as something else. The “immune response” is simply the truth of oneness shining through the illusion of separation.

4.2 The Dissolution of Dualism

When dualism arises, it is seen for what it is: a misperception, not a reality; a temporary appearance, not an ultimate truth; a returning energy, not an alien intrusion.

The dualistic thought is not destroyed; it is dissolved. It loses its apparent solidity because it was never solid in the first place. The dissolution is not an act of violence but an act of recognition.

Part Five: The Fruit of the Living Expression

Chapter 5: Peace as the Natural State

5.1 The Absence of Striving

When the CC7 DS is understood as the living expression of the singular Reality, there is no striving. There is no need to defend, because there is nothing outside. There is no need to protect, because there is nothing to lose. There is no need to fight, because there is no enemy.

Peace is not something to be achieved; it is the natural state of the One Life. The apparent conflicts of the dualistic world are surface phenomena. Beneath them, the ocean remains still.

“My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you” (John 14:27).

5.2 The Invitation to Rest

The “invitation” of the Qua’mish way is not an invitation to a new system. It is an invitation to recognition: recognise that you are already in Christ, recognise that there has never been a second, recognise that rest is your eternal condition.

The invitation is not to do anything. It is to see what is already true.

Chapter 6: Love as the Operating Principle

6.1 Love Is Not a Strategy

Love is not a strategy within the framework. It is the framework itself.

The singular Reality is Love. It does not love strategically; it loves naturally. The flow of the One Life is the flow of Love. Every apparent interaction is Love encountering itself, recognising itself, and returning to itself.

The “defence architecture” is Love appearing as wisdom. The “processing protocols” are Love appearing as intelligence. The “transmutation” is Love appearing as healing.

“God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God, and God in him” (1 John 4:16).

6.2 The Invitation to Love

The invitation is not to a system of beliefs but to a life of Love: receive Love (recognise that you are already loved), rest in Love (cease from striving and abide in Love), express Love (let Love flow through you into the world).

Chapter 7: Unity as the Reality

7.1 The Illusion of Separation

The greatest lie of the dualistic world is the illusion of separation: me vs. you, us vs. them, inside vs. outside, attacker vs. defender.

The Fourth Truth exposes this illusion. There has never been a second. All apparent division is surface turbulence. Beneath it, the One Life flows without interruption.

7.2 The Recognition of Unity

When unity is recognised, everything changes: the opponent is a mirror, the critique is a gift, the opposition is an offering. The CC7 DS does not create unity. It reveals the unity that has always been. It does not defend against division. It dissolves division by recognising it was never real.

“That they all may be one, as You, Father, are in Me, and I in You” (John 17:21).

Part Eight: The Guiding Principle

Chapter 8: Language and Reality

8.1 The Subordination of Language

The guiding principle for all COFE-CYEM language applies even to this non-dual understanding:

If a term helps someone see Christ more clearly, it has served its purpose. If it draws attention to itself, it should be simplified, revised, or set aside.

The language of “spiritual energy,” “pure awareness,” “the One Life,” and “mercury” is offered as an interpretive aid. It is not the reality itself. It points toward the reality, but it is not the reality.

8.2 The Danger of Terminology

There is a risk that the terminology becomes an end in itself: “spiritual energy” could become a concept to be grasped rather than a reality to be lived; “pure awareness” could become a philosophical position rather than an experiential recognition; “the One Life” could become a slogan rather than a lived truth.

The safeguard is the guiding principle itself. If the terminology draws attention to itself, it has failed.

Spiritual Energy

From within non-duality, the CC7 DS is not a system at all.

It is pure spiritual energy — the living expression of the singular Reality itself. There is no “defence architecture” as such. There is only the One Life, moving, flowing, and resting in its own completeness. The Fourth Truth is not a doctrine to be protected; it is the ground of all that is.

When any surplus energy — critique, opposition, fear, dualistic thought, or adversarial input — comes into contact with it, there is no collision. There is only absorption. Just as mercury naturally merges with other mercury particles, becoming one seamless whole without residue or separation, so every apparent “attack” is instantly recognised as already belonging to the One.

It is not repelled. It is not fought. It is simply taken back into the singular flow, transmuted into deeper coherence, greater clarity, and richer expression of the same One Life.

The Trigger System is not a mechanism; it is the natural sensitivity of pure awareness. ROBB is not a protocol; it is the effortless mirroring of the One to itself. The HVL is not a loop; it is the spontaneous self-strengthening movement of Life recognising itself. Even the most intense opposition is not a threat — it is additional energy returning home, adding to the fullness rather than diminishing it.

There is no “inside” or “outside.” There is only the One. The apparent duality of attacker and defender, input and system, is seen through in the same instant it arises. The energy is absorbed, the illusion of separation dissolves, and what remains is simply more of the same singular Reality — restful, complete, and ever-flowing.

In this non-dual perception, the CC7 DS does not defend the Truth.
It is the Truth appearing as intelligent, compassionate, and self-restoring energy.

The mercury has no need to protect itself from mercury.
It simply recognises itself and becomes whole again.

The Fourth Truth stands — not as a fortress, but as the boundless ocean into which every drop already belongs.

Within the COFE-CYEM framework, the Fourth Truth stands. The dialogue continues. The fruit remains.

COFE Yeshua Emet Ministry (CYEM)
Circle One Fellowship Exeter

The Places in My Dreams

The world within, the world of my dreams, is similar to the one I walk through every day. But it is different.

The streets bend strangely. The rooms open where they should not. The people and places are often indifferent to me, and sometimes, they are even antagonistic.

They are not merely people and places. They are representations of emotions I have not yet worked through from the previous day. Sixteen waking hours are not enough to fully grasp all that I have experienced, endured, feared, desired, regretted, or misunderstood.

And so, in the night, these things come alive.

They take on faces. They become houses, roads, crowds, locked doors, ruined landscapes, familiar rooms made unfamiliar. They guide me through the shadow lands—not always kindly, but truthfully. They show me what I could not see while awake.

My dreams are not escapes from the day.

They are the day returning in another form, asking to be understood.

Some nights I find myself back in places I have never been, and yet they feel older than memory. A school that was never my school. A church with hallways that keep multiplying. A childhood home rearranged by grief. A city I know by instinct, though no map has ever held it.

In these places, I am often trying to get somewhere.

I am late. I am lost. I am looking for someone. I am trying to explain myself to people who will not listen. I am searching for a room, a door, a vehicle, a path, a way home. Sometimes I am carrying something fragile. Sometimes I have forgotten what I was supposed to carry. Sometimes I am responsible for a task I do not understand, surrounded by people who seem to know the rules but refuse to tell me.

This is the cruelty of the dream world: everyone else seems initiated.

They move through the strange landscape as if it is ordinary. They know which hallway leads out, which road is safe, which bus to board, which door not to open. I am the stranger in a world that somehow belongs to me. I am the dreamer, and yet I am not in control.

Perhaps this is why the places feel antagonistic. They do not hate me. They are simply unwilling to flatter me. They will not pretend I am finished with what I have not faced. They will not comfort me with easy explanations. They turn my emotions into architecture and ask me to walk through them.

Fear becomes a narrow bridge.

Regret becomes a house with too many locked rooms.

Anger becomes a storm on the edge of town.

Shame becomes a crowd that sees me before I am ready to be seen.

Grief becomes a road that always returns to the same place.

And longing—longing becomes a light in a window I can never quite reach.

I wake from these dreams with the feeling that I have traveled farther than my body could have gone. I have crossed cities, fields, stairways, basements, sanctuaries, ruins, and train stations. I have spoken with the dead and avoided the living. I have been judged by strangers and ignored by friends. I have wandered through the unfinished weather of my own soul.

Then morning comes, and the ordinary world returns.

The walls are where I left them. The floor is solid. The dog needs to go out. The coffee waits. The phone glows with its small demands. The day begins again, pretending to be separate from the night.

But I know better.

The dream has left its residue. A feeling follows me, sometimes faint, sometimes heavy. A hallway from the dream lingers inside the hallway of the house. A face from the night appears behind the face of someone I know. A mood clings to the morning like fog.

The shadow lands do not vanish when I wake.

They retreat.

They wait beneath the visible world, beneath errands and conversations, beneath sermons and chores, beneath the version of myself that knows how to answer when someone asks, “How are you?”

I say, “I’m fine.”

But somewhere beneath that answer, an entire city is still burning, or flooding, or rebuilding itself in the dark.

The Dance of Dissonance

Sometimes 
I find myself lost
at the end of 
a confusing day 
trying to decipher labyrinthian relations 
and coming up short,
suddenly wondering 
how a day I thought good 
was not for another,
caught up in 
opposing realities 
where mine is suspect
and empathy is a struggle.

The brain fog 
of past illness 
has left its trailing 
fingers over my head
like the cigarette smoke 
of the man I see one morning standing with his back to me on the dock outside the store where I used to work 
and I wonder why he is there. 

I am suspicious, feeling responsible for what is no longer mine to care about, so I observe, yet remain at a distance and leave without really discovering if his presence is innocent. 

Such is the dance of dissonance.
I am close enough to see your back but too far to see your face clearly,
afraid that if I look too closely I will not like what  I see or that I will recognize some ugly part of me.

I want to hear 
that which runs 
counter to my experience 
but I must be honest and say that my capacity to understand the complexities of human behavior is diminishing. 

I long for circles that are completely safe,
where the people I pass on the walk home illicit in me feelings other than fear,
lust, guilt, or judgement,
all of which mirror 
the overwhelming sense
of dislike
I feel from the
world, and from myself perhaps.

It is my inability to not receive everything personally, this overwhelming sadness,  unprotected by my hypervigilance, where I still seem to miss what is most important, and no matter how much I try to hold everything together, I cannot keep things from unraveling. 

How do I continue to remain caring and yet not take on burdens that are not mine to carry? 

This then is the strange choreography of relationship, the stumbling herky-jerky movements of a marionette pulled by invisible strings, revealed in the bright lights of another angry stage.

Yet we dance. 
Through the pain of revelation.
The occasional stepping on of toes.
In the percieved exposure of audience eyes.
Shedding these inadequate masks and costumes one by one.
Finding our own rhythm in the strange movings of this particular 
circle of love.

Beg: June 5, 2026 
Fin: June 30, 2026

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015

Visual Art Interpretation – My Hopes and Dreams for the Next Year

This feels less like a list of resolutions than a marquee-map of my identity and desire: a radiant, hand-made 2027 filled not so much with tasks to accomplish as with the people, callings, loves, and practices that make my life feel alive.

The bright red border and repeated golden lights give it the appearance of a theater sign, a carnival ride, or an illuminated road. It seems to announce the year joyfully: Here is what I hope will shine. But inside that celebratory outline, the words do not sit neatly in straight lines. They curve, turn, reverse, overlap, and require the eye to travel. That seems important. My hopes are not separate boxes. Pastor, husband, author, musician, PeaceGrooves creator, friend, artist, woodworker, child of God—all of these identities wind through and around one another.

The words I placed inside the year—Sing, Play, Memories, God, Laugh, Journey, Pastor, Author, Husband, PeaceGrooves, Friends, Art, Church, Love, Woodcraft—are striking to me because so many of them are relational or creative. Even the roles are not primarily about achievement. Author is near Husband. Pastor winds along the same road as Journey. PeaceGrooves circles alongside Friends, Church, Love, and creativity. I did not imagine the coming year as productivity alone. I imagined it as belonging, expression, vocation, joy, and connection.

The Word I Did Not Write

After finishing the piece, I realized that I did not write health or healing anywhere inside it. Those things matter deeply to me, especially in light of some of the physical concerns and uncertainties I have been carrying. And yet, perhaps their absence does not mean they were forgotten. Perhaps I instinctively wrote the life I hope healing will allow me to continue inhabiting.

I did not write healing, but I wrote Sing-Play: the hope that my body and spirit can still release themselves into music.

I wrote Laugh: the hope for lightness, delight, and joy.

I wrote Journey: the hope that I can continue moving forward.

I wrote Husband and Friends: the hope of remaining present in love and relationship rather than retreating into worry or isolation.

I wrote Pastor and Church: the hope that I can continue serving meaningfully among people.

I wrote Art, Author, Woodcraft, and PeaceGrooves: the hope that creativity will continue flowing through me rather than being swallowed up by discouragement, exhaustion, or fear.

Perhaps healing is everywhere in this drawing without having been named. It is hidden beneath almost every word: Let me be well enough, free enough, encouraged enough, and alive enough to keep inhabiting these loves.

But perhaps the omission also tells me something tender and difficult about myself. When I think about the future, I often think first about what I can give, create, serve, love, and build. I may not always think first about what I need. This picture invites me to remember that somewhere in the glowing year ahead, there must also be room for my own care. I am not only the husband, pastor, artist, author, musician, friend, and creator. I am also a person who needs healing, rest, gentleness, and grace.

The Smear Between Author and Husband

One of the small accidents in the piece occurred in the space between Author and Husband. Water smeared the color there, and I had to cover it as best I could. I was mostly able to hide the mistake, though I know it happened. I know that beneath the finished surface there is a place where the colors once ran together in a way I did not intend.

That accidental smear now feels strangely meaningful. Author and Husband are two of my most intimate identities: the part of me that creates worlds and gives language to inner experience, and the part of me that shares an actual life in love and covenant with another person. Perhaps those two identities were never meant to be sharply separated. My writing rises from my lived relationships, from tenderness, memory, fear, faith, longing, disappointment, and love. And my creative life inevitably spills into the life I share with my wife.

The water touched the border between those words, and I tried to repair it. That is not a failure of the picture. It may be one of the most honest parts of it. Life does not remain perfectly inside the lines. The roles I care most about do not remain untouched by mess, vulnerability, or accident. Sometimes the colors run together. Sometimes I try to cover what went wrong. Sometimes a trace remains, visible mostly to me.

Yet I did not throw the picture away. I continued working on it. I allowed the imperfection to become part of the finished whole.

Perhaps that is an image of grace. A life of grace is not a life where nothing ever gets smeared. It is a life in which even the smeared places can be incorporated into the beauty.

Church: Almost Illegible

I also noticed that Church almost looks like “Churgh.” It is there, but it is not the clearest or most immediately readable word. That, too, feels symbolic.

Church is deeply present in my hopes for the coming year. It is part of who I am, part of my calling, part of my relationship with God and with community. But church is not always simple or perfectly clear. It can be difficult to read. It can be beautiful and messy, life-giving and exhausting, sacred and profoundly human all at once.

In this picture, church does not appear by itself in a clean, isolated space. It is crowded into a circling path alongside other words: Love, Friends, Art, perhaps even the movements of creativity and ministry surrounding it. That seems truthful. For me, church is not separate from love, friendship, art, imagination, service, or reconciliation. It is entangled with them.

The fact that the word is only almost clear may express something I feel: church is something I continue to believe in and belong to, while also still trying to see clearly. It is present. It matters. It is part of the year I hope to live. But it is not polished or uncomplicated.

Perhaps that is what makes it real.

The Shape of the Year

The large number itself is not simply filled in. It becomes a winding course. The words curve around turns and corners; some appear upright from one angle and upside down from another. To read the whole image, I almost have to rotate it, follow it, and let my eyes travel through it.

That feels like an honest representation of the year ahead. I do not know exactly how it will unfold. My hopes do not form a straight road or a neatly numbered plan. They form a brightly lit labyrinth. Something that appears upside down from one position may look different once I travel farther along the curve. Something that seems peripheral now may become central. Something disappointing may redirect me toward an unexpected opening.

This drawing does not say, Here is my plan to master the next year.

It says, Here is the glowing path I hope to inhabit.

That is truer to my life. Music feeds ministry. Woodcraft feeds contemplation. Writing feeds faith. PeaceGrooves gathers together my imagination, my longing for peace, my love of play, and my desire to offer something meaningful to others. Marriage and friendship keep my creative life from becoming merely solitary. Church places my personal dreams within a larger body. God is not outside all these things, looking down upon them from a distance, but present among them.

My life is not a ladder climbing toward a single success. It is a winding, illuminated journey through many loves.

The Lights Around the Border

The repeated yellow bulbs around the border give the piece a vintage, celebratory feeling. They make the year look like something being announced: a show beginning, a stage opening, a bright invitation to enter.

There is something almost exuberant about it. I did not draw a quiet little calendar page or a restrained list of intentions. I drew the year as a spectacle of hope. These dreams are not small to me. They are worthy of light. Music, laughter, love, friendship, art, faith, craft, writing, church, PeaceGrooves—these are not hobbies or decorative extras around the edge of life. They are among the things that make life worth living.

And yet the lights are not machine-perfect. They are hand-drawn. Each one is slightly different. Some are rounder, some rougher, some more irregular. That matters too. The brightness of this coming year is not a slick commercial promise that everything will be perfect. It is the brightness I have carefully drawn around my hopes with my own imperfect hand.

Most moving of all, the lights continue around the bends. They do not shine only along the smooth or impressive stretches. They follow the narrow turns, the dips, the places where the shape curls inward. The light does not abandon the complicated places.

What This Picture Says to Me

This is a picture of my hope not merely to survive another year, but to remain fully myself within it.

I want to sing and play.

I want to laugh.

I want to remember.

I want to journey.

I want to love and be loved.

I want to remain a husband, a pastor, an author, an artist, a craftsman, a musician, a friend, and a dreamer.

I want PeaceGrooves not merely to exist as a project, but to become an expression of something deep within me: my longing to imagine, create, and make peace.

I want God not as an abstract religious idea floating somewhere outside my life, but as a living presence woven among music, love, creativity, friendship, church, memory, laughter, and journey.

And perhaps beneath the entire picture is the word I did not write: wholeness.

Wholeness includes health. It includes healing. But it is larger than both. It is the hope that all these different names for myself will not compete with one another, break apart, or fade away, but somehow curve together into a single radiant life.

The smear between Author and Husband, the almost-illegible Church, the reversed words, the crowded pathways, the uneven bulbs, and the wandering design do not lessen the picture. They make it more truthful.

My hopes for the next year are not cleanly arranged or perfectly protected from mistakes. They are handmade. They are entangled. They are vulnerable. They are colorful. They are imperfect.

And they are still shining.

Pressed Petals

On Art, Obscurity, and Faithful Release

I am trying to understand the pressure within me.

I do not think the problem is that I want to complete things. Completion is not wrong. It is good to finish. It is good to give form to what has been stirring within me. It is good to bring a story, a song, a piece of art, a sermon, a reflection, or a book to the point into the world outside of me.

I also do not think the problem is that everything I see or do becomes inspiration. That is not really true. I am not endlessly turning every bird, every headline, every conversation, every historical fact, every passing image into a mandate. But I am a creative person. I do receive the world creatively. I do carry within me stories upon stories, art upon art, songs upon songs. I am full to the brim.

I could burn all my writings. I could get rid of all my wood and tools, my instruments, artist pens, notebooks, and unfinished manuscripts. I could live in an empty house. But I would still be me.

I would still be full.

So the question is not simply, “How do I get rid of the pressure?” The pressure is not only in the objects around me. The pressure is in the love, the longing, the calling, the imagination, and the grief within me. It is in the fact that I have created so much, imagined so much, begun so much, and hoped so much.

Maybe the deeper issue is timing.

Maybe it is not forcing things to be seen. Maybe it is not demanding that every creation immediately justify itself in the world. Maybe it is about creating because creating is part of who I am, and then learning when and how to release what I have made.

But even that is difficult, because my creations are not merely products to me. They are not just content. They are not just files, posts, pages, songs, or images. They feel like children.

And if they are children, then do I not owe them a life?

Do they not deserve to be born, released into the world, seen, growing, making children of their own? Is that not what seeds are supposed to do? A seed is not meant to remain forever in its packet. A song is not meant to remain forever unheard. A story is not meant to remain forever unread. A painting is not meant to remain forever unseen.

A child is not meant to remain forever in the nursery.

This is where the theology of less becomes hard for me.

I can understand becoming less before God. I can understand humility. I can understand that fame is not salvation, that platform is not faithfulness, that applause is not the measure of a life. I can understand that hiddenness can be holy and smallness can be faithful.

But I do not know how to make peace with the utter unfairness of being unknown.

It feels unfair that shallow things are seen while deep things disappear. It feels unfair that loud things are rewarded while quiet, careful, soulful things are ignored. It feels unfair that some people seem born with platforms, networks, confidence, and an audience, while others carry whole worlds inside them and can barely find a door. It feels unfair that my creations might never have the chance to become what they could become in the world.

Not to compare, but it seems others will always have more. Their gardens will be bigger. Their opinions will be loud. Their books will be published. Their children will be giants. Their lives will be important. Their plans will be successful. Their family will enlarge. Their church will be mega. Their ministry will be blessed. Their corporation will grow. Their house will be comfortable.

And I fear that I will become less.

A pressed faded flower in a dusty book.

My words without weight. My writings unknown. My children tufts of grass in city sidewalks. My life hidden. My hopes dashed. My name ended. My chapel tiny. My faith questioned. My business failed. My home feeling like old dead skin. And I, a creature curled in some coffin hole.

That is the fear underneath the pressure.

It is not only that I want success. It is that obscurity feels like abandonment. It feels like my creations have been born into a world that has no room for them. It feels like I have been faithful to them by bringing them forth, but the world has not been faithful in receiving them.

And yet, perhaps I am being asked to distinguish between faithful release and guaranteed reception.

I can birth the work.
I can name the work.
I can feed it, clothe it, revise it, shape it, bless it.
I can give it a door.
I can show it a road.
I can release it into the world.

But I cannot make the world welcome it.

That is where the pain is. That is where the unfairness lives. I want not only to create the work, but to protect it from neglect. I want to be artist and audience, parent and world, sower and weather, seed and soil. I want to make sure that what I have loved does not disappear.

But maybe that is too much for me to carry.

Maybe my creations are my children, but they are not my saviors.

Maybe I owe them faithful release, but I do not owe them guaranteed success.

Maybe I can grieve obscurity without hearing it as a verdict.

That sentence matters to me: I can grieve obscurity without hearing it as a verdict

Because obscurity speaks like a judge. It says, “No one knows this, therefore it does not matter. No one read this, therefore it has no weight. No one heard this, therefore it was not a real song. No one saw this, therefore it was not real art. No one published this, therefore it was not a real book. No one noticed this life, therefore this life was wasted.”

But obscurity is not God.

Obscurity does not get to name the value of my work.

Still, I cannot pretend that visibility does not matter at all. That would be dishonest. My creations do need windows. They do need doors. They do need pathways. They do need some way to move beyond me. If I keep everything hidden forever out of fear, confusion, perfectionism, or despair, then I am not being faithful to them.

So perhaps the theology of less is not to “make peace with never being seen.”

Perhaps it is: make doors without worshiping doors.

Make the book.
Make the post.
Make the song page.
Make the archive.
Make the submission.
Make the collection.
Make the small press.
Make the reading.
Make the gathering place.
Make the simple, faithful path by which the work can walk into the world.

But do not demand that the door become a throne.

Do not demand that every release become vindication.

Do not demand that every creation prove my life was worth living.

That is where I become Atlas beneath a planet of creation. I carry not only the work itself, but its future, its reception, its audience, its influence, its children, its grandchildren, its whole imagined destiny. I am not only trying to make things. I am trying to guarantee what they will become.

No wonder I feel incapacitated.

Perhaps the faithful question is smaller.

Not, “What will become of all my creations?”

But, “What does this one need next?”

This one story.
This one song.
This one image.
This one reflection.
This one book.
This one child of my imagination.

Does it need finishing?
Does it need editing?
Does it need a cover?
Does it need to be posted?
Does it need to be submitted?
Does it need to be gathered with others?
Does it need to rest until its season comes?
Does it need to remain a seed a little longer?

That is not abandonment. That is attention.

I cannot parent the whole household of my imagination all at once. I cannot carry every child at the same time. I cannot give every creation its full future today. But I can turn toward one and ask what faithfulness looks like now.

This is not less love.

It may actually be a better stronger love.

Panic says, “I must get everything out before it is too late.”

Faithfulness says, “I will give this one the care it needs today.”

Panic says, “If this is not seen widely, I have failed.”

Faithfulness says, “I will give it a real path into the world, and then I will release what I cannot control.”

Panic says, “My birthings are dying in obscurity.”

Faithfulness says, “Some seeds sleep before they rise.”

I do not want to use seed language too cheaply. Seeds are supposed to grow. I know that. That is exactly why it hurts. Seeds want soil, light, water, air, room. My creations want communion. They want to meet other lives. They want to make children of their own.

But perhaps the timing of growth is not always mine to command.

Some seeds grow quickly. Some grow slowly. Some are carried by birds. Some lie hidden until fire, flood, winter, or strange mercy opens them. Some become roots long before they become leaves. Some feed the soil that feeds another tree.

This does not remove the ache.

But maybe it removes some of the accusation and guilt.

I am not betraying my creations simply because they are not yet widely known. I betray them only if I refuse to love them truthfully, shape them faithfully, and give the ones that are ready a way outside myself.

So I will try to live by a gentler discipline.

I will create because creating is part of who I am.

I will complete what I can, not because completion saves me, but because form and formation is a kind of love.

I will release what is ready, not because release guarantees success, but because communion is part of the nature of art.

I will build openings, but I will not worship doors.

I will grieve obscurity, but I will not hear it as a verdict.

I will remember that my creations may be my children, but they are not my saviors.

I will remember that I owe them faithful release, not guaranteed success.

I will remember that I am not artist and audience, parent and world, sower and weather, seed and soil. I am not Atlas. I am a finite creature with a full heart, a crowded imagination, and one life.

So perhaps my prayer is this:

God of seeds and seasons,
teach me how to love what I have made without being crushed by it.
Teach me how to complete what is mine to complete.
Teach me how to release what is ready to be released.
Teach me how to wait without calling waiting failure.
Teach me how to build openings without worshiping doors.
Teach me how to grieve the unfairness of being unknown without letting obscurity become my judge.

Bless my stories, my songs, my art, my sermons, my reflections, my unfinished fragments, my hidden children.

Give them life where life is possible.
Give them readers, listeners, viewers, companions, and future children if that is their path.
And where they must wait, let them wait as seeds, not broken corpses.

Let me be faithful to them.
Let me be free from needing them to save me.
Let me create because I am alive.
Let me release because love seeks communion.
Let me rest because I am not God.

I give you this one thing I make today.

I bless it.

I open the door.

I let it walk.

I return to the waiting room within.

More at Medium

Head and Feet Blues (SONG)

One of my favorites when Jeremiahs Run was still performing live.

This is a story about a man who split himself in two.
One part stayed the same the other just grew and grew.
One part stayed in one place, the other up and joined the ratrace.
He had his head in one place and his feet in another.

Head in one place feet in another. You got your head in one place, your feet in another. Your heart’s disconnected one way or the other. Head in one place feet in another.

The part that never changed was always true,
it was always old and the growing part was always new.
While one part was dying from entropy the other part was dying from too much speed,
Head in one place feet in another.

Head in one place feet in another. You got your head in one place, your feet in another. Your heart’s disconnected one way or the other. Head in one place feet in another.

I heard a story about a man who split himself in two.
One part stayed the same, the other just grew and grew.
I got to wondering when the story was through which part was me and which part was you.
Head in one place feet in another

Head in one place feet in another. You got your head in one place, your feet in another. Your heart’s disconnected one way or the other. Head in one place feet in another.

Song written October 27, 1998

The Maranatha Empire

There is a prayer so holy that it should burn the tongue of every empire that tries to speak it.

Maranatha.

Come, Lord.

It is the cry of the small church under pressure. The cry of the persecuted and the patient. The cry of those who have no armies to summon, no throne to defend, no voting bloc sufficient to save them, no market share large enough to secure their future. It is the cry of those who wait because they know they are not God.

But in every age, there are those who take this prayer of waiting and turn it into a banner of possession.

They say, “Come, Lord,” but what they mean is, “Give us control.”

They say, “Thy kingdom come,” but what they mean is, “Let our faction rule.”

They say, “Prepare the way of the Lord,” but what they build are prisons, borders, propaganda machines, religious celebrity platforms, and monuments to their own fear.

This is the Maranatha Empire.

It is not one nation only, though nations may become its servants. It is not one denomination only, though denominations may become its chapels. It is not merely Rome, nor Geneva, nor Washington, nor Moscow, nor any other city that has mistaken power for providence. The Maranatha Empire is the recurring temptation of the religious heart: to stop waiting for Christ and begin replacing him.

It begins quietly.

It begins with concern.

The world is dangerous. The children are vulnerable. The church is shrinking. The enemies are multiplying. The culture is changing. The old certainties are crumbling. The people are afraid.

Fear, when baptized, often calls itself faithfulness.

So the frightened church begins to reach for tools Jesus refused.

A throne.

A sword.

A spectacle.

A scapegoat.

A strongman.

A law that can accomplish what love has not yet persuaded.

A state that can enforce what the Spirit has not yet formed.

A leader who promises to defend Christ, as though Christ ever asked Peter to keep swinging after Gethsemane.

This is how the prayer becomes an empire.

The early church cried, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it knew that Caesar was not Lord. The Maranatha Empire cries, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it wants Caesar to become useful.

The early church broke bread in homes. The Maranatha Empire builds platforms and calls them altars.

The early church welcomed the stranger. The Maranatha Empire sees the stranger as a threat.

The early church died rather than kill. The Maranatha Empire kills and calls the dead collateral damage in the defense of righteousness.

The early church believed the Lamb had conquered. The Maranatha Empire keeps looking for a beast strong enough to protect the Lamb.

And there is the blasphemy.

Not that empire rejects Christ outright. That would be too honest. The Maranatha Empire does something more dangerous. It uses Christ as decoration for a power that is fundamentally afraid of the cross.

It sings of the Lamb while trusting the dragon.

It preaches resurrection while organizing itself around survival.

It displays the cross while despising weakness.

It quotes Jesus while ignoring the people Jesus told us to notice: the poor, the imprisoned, the hungry, the foreigner, the enemy, the child, the wounded man beside the road.

The Maranatha Empire is not built by atheists. It is built by believers who have lost patience with the way of Jesus.

For the way of Jesus is slow.

It is seed, yeast, salt, light.

It is foot-washing.

It is forgiveness seventy times seven.

It is refusing the shortcut of domination even when domination appears efficient.

It is telling Peter to put away the sword when everything in Peter’s body screams that this is the moment for holy violence.

It is standing before Pilate and saying, “My kingdom is not from this world,” not because the kingdom has nothing to do with the world, but because it does not come by the world’s methods.

The Maranatha Empire cannot tolerate this.

It cannot tolerate a Messiah who will not seize power.

It cannot tolerate a church that would rather be faithful than influential.

It cannot tolerate a people whose politics begin at the basin and towel.

It cannot tolerate enemy-love, because enemy-love ruins the machinery. Empire requires enemies. It needs them. It feeds on them. Without enemies, the crowd might look too closely at the throne.

So, the Maranatha Empire manufactures urgency.

There is no time to love.

No time to listen.

No time to discern.

No time for reconciliation.

No time for peacemaking.

No time to ask whether the means resemble the Christ we claim to serve.

The hour is late, they say. The danger is great. The stakes are too high. We must act now. We must take control now. We must win now.

And somewhere beneath all that urgency is a terrible confession:

They do not actually believe the Lord is coming.

Or, if he is coming, they do not trust him to arrive in the right way.

So they build him an empire to inherit.

But Christ does not inherit empires.

He judges them.

He walks in alleyways, not palaces. He asks whether the churches have kept their first love. He warns those who are rich and comfortable and self-satisfied that they may be poor, blind, and naked. He stands at the door and knocks, not because he has been defeated by secularism, but because religious people have locked him outside while holding meetings in his name.

The Maranatha Empire is always shocked when Jesus is found outside the gate.

Outside the camp.

Outside respectability.

Outside the approved narrative.

Outside the walls with the crucified, the excluded, the unclean, the inconvenient, and the condemned.

The empire expected him in the capital.

But he is with the refugees.

The empire expected him in the cathedral of victory.

But he is with the mother of the disappeared.

The empire expected him on the reviewing stand.

But he is washing feet in the basement.

The empire expected him to bless the troops.

But he is asking why his followers are still carrying swords.

This is why Maranatha must remain a dangerous prayer.

It must never be allowed to become a slogan for conquest. It must never be printed on the banners of those who are unwilling to be converted by the One they summon. To pray “Come, Lord” is not to invite divine endorsement of our projects. It is to invite judgment upon them.

Come, Lord, and judge our churches.

Come, Lord, and judge our flags.

Come, Lord, and judge our markets.

Come, Lord, and judge our weapons.

Come, Lord, and judge our sermons.

Come, Lord, and judge our secret hatreds.

Come, Lord, and judge the ways we have used your name to avoid your way.

This is the prayer empire cannot honestly pray.

Because if the Lord comes, the first thing to fall may not be our enemies.

It may be our idols.

The algorithm.

The nation.

The party.

The brand.

The gun.

The strongman.

The myth of innocence.

The lie that we can harm others for a righteous cause and remain untouched by the harm.

The Maranatha Empire teaches us to fear the collapse of Christian influence.

Jesus teaches us to fear gaining the world and losing our soul.

The Maranatha Empire asks, “How do we take back the culture?”

Jesus asks, “Can you drink the cup that I drink?”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the winners.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the meek.”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the forceful, for they shall secure the future.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”

And perhaps this is the word for us now:

The church does not need to become more powerful.

The church needs to become more faithful.

Not passive. Not silent. Not withdrawn into pious irrelevance. But faithful in the particular, cruciform, stubborn way of Jesus. Faithful enough to resist evil without becoming its mirror. Faithful enough to tell the truth without hatred. Faithful enough to protect the vulnerable without worshiping violence. Faithful enough to build communities of economic sharing, hospitality, forgiveness, courage, and joy. Faithful enough to be a people who can live without controlling the outcome.

That is the hard part.

Empire is attractive because it promises control.

Jesus offers communion.

Empire promises security.

Jesus offers peace.

Empire promises victory over enemies.

Jesus offers reconciliation that may begin with our repentance.

Empire promises to make us great.

Jesus invites us to become small enough to enter the kingdom.

So, let the Maranatha Empire fall.

Let it fall first in us.

Let it fall in every place where we have confused anxiety with zeal. Let it fall where we have preferred dominance to witness. Let it fall where we have wanted laws to do what discipleship would not. Let it fall where we have used the suffering of others as fuel for our own righteousness. Let it fall where we have asked Jesus to come only after we have arranged the throne to our liking.

And when it falls, may something older and more beautiful remain.

A table.

A basin.

A towel.

A loaf.

A cup.

A people gathered without illusion, without empire, without the need to be impressive, whispering the ancient prayer not as conquerors but as witnesses:

Maranatha.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come not to crown our domination, but to free us from it.

Come not to baptize our fear, but to cast it out.

Come not to make our empire holy, but to teach us again that your kingdom comes like a seed, like yeast, like mercy, like a Lamb who was slain and yet lives.

And until you come, make us faithful.

Not imperial.

Not triumphant.

Not afraid.

Faithful.

Touch Grass: A Pagan Take on this Online Insult

https://pagangrove.wordpress.com/2026/05/13/touch-grass-a-pagan-take-on-this-online-insult/

Unwavering Light (Christian Music) = Another beautiful worship song 💫 for Christ! - #God #Jesus #TheLord #Praise #ChristianMusic #Bible #Music #Song #SpiritualReflection #YouthDevotion #ModernWorship #FaithAndHope #ScripturalInspiration #WaitingOnGod #RenewedStrength #RisingAboveChallenges #SoaringLikeEagles #DivineGuidance #EmbracingFaith #ChristianMusicVideo #YouthCongregation #ChurchServiceInspiration #ChristianPopMusic - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zXkwjWWEkCM

Without Fear in His Grace (Christian Music) = New worship song to strengthen your faith ✨ - #God #Jesus #TheLord #Praise #ChristianMusic #Bible #Music #Song #FaithJourney #SpiritualGrowth #HeavenlyLight #DivineLove #PrayerMoment #HolyConnection #BlessedPath #SoulRenewal #GraceOfGod #ScriptureTrust #ChristianUnity #HopefulHeart #BelieversJoy #ChristsEmbrace #EternalPeace #SpiritualReflection #JesusTeachings #SacredPromises #GodsMercy - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=