anobody

I was reading John Piper’s “Brothers, We Are Not Professionals” when I came across the following words from Luther.

”Night and day I pondered until I saw the connection between the righteousness of God and the statement that “the just shall live by faith.” Then I grasped that the righteousness of God is that righteousness by which through grace and sheer mercy God justifies us through faith. Thereupon I felt myself to be reborn and to have gone through open doors into paradise**.**”

Last year, in March, a few weeks after reading the following passage.

Jesus,' he said, 'remember me when you come into your kingdom. Indeed, I promise you,' he replied, 'today you will be with me in paradise.

In my agony of many moments last year, I desired that I would be with Jesus as clearly and surely as he was with the murderer on that day in paradise.

My agony stemmed from my surety that whatever I have striven for was in vain. For I was torn in all directions by the demands of career, family, travel, and a girl for the first time. After a mere few weeks, the girl told me we were incompatible, and the heights of my agony were reached. Failure greeted me, and I fell into despair.

All my striving, all these eight years of study, all these five years of saying yes to family, study, and research and no to games, all these two years of trying to recover from my lust whilst earning a solid sum of money for the first time, it all came to naught. I could not find anything left within me to keep going. The only will that was left in me was to sin, and naught else. Lust and laziness plagued me.

And so in my agony I wished for paradise. For surely, I said to myself, if I was treated like Jesus treated the murderer, I was already in paradise with Jesus.

For was not earth once paradise? Were we not made for the Garden of Eden?

But the happiness of paradise, the freedom of paradise, where was it?

And yet deep was planted the hope for paradise’s freedom, paradise’s happiness.

For I am still caught in slavery to many sins. Pride especially. Lust, less so. Unbelief and its fruit – doubt – undulating. My life is far from freedom. My life is more like death.

But no longer do I relentlessly despair. At times during the day, I wait with my head buried in the carpet, as I await the salvation of the Lord. May Jesus save me from all my chains so that I may experience paradise fully, as much as is able, on earth.

My heart is cold, but I am still awake. Time still trickles to me, second by second. Oh may I use it well! The Lord gives time. People give money.

26 it is good to wait quietly     for the salvation of the Lord. 27 It is good for a man to bear the yoke     while he is young.

28 Let him sit alone in silence,     for the Lord has laid it on him. 29 Let him bury his face in the dust—     there may yet be hope. (Jeremiah et. al. -586)

And so there may yet be hope. I am walking in the dark. Trying to strain to see what future I would hope for – what plans I must make to wrest my destiny out of existence’s rough hands – is too painful to dwell on. Dreaming is mostly futile to me, at this time. Reason only endlessly asks questions, over and over again, incessantly. Reason exhausts me.

There may yet be hope.

earning

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I may not have been earning money for the last 177th days of my sabbatical year …

But I am earning trust. My own trust. The trust of my family. The trust of God.

But I am earning the skills of a comic book artist. Spending that valuable time – given by God – on a project that was left to me by my younger self.

But I am earning a good sleep by interleaving my work sessions with my physical regime sessions. Earning a stronger physique.

Finally, I have been given time as the days are doled out to me. Saving time by working from home. No longer spending three hours a day – fifteen hours a week – on public transport, where your physical position to do work is not ideal for health.

What will the future hold? I don’t know. I needn’t worry. I am just going to stick to the malleable plan. Cross those bridges when I come to it.

asking

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And most importantly, keep asking God above for help. Everyday. I asked that 377 days ago. It has come full circle, and I am back to saying these words.

“God, will you help me?”

These words are like the words spoken by an elderly lady I met on the train. The clothes on her body were soiled, the odour that rested on her body signalled many days of no shower, and she asked me in tears “Can you help me?”.

I gave her twenty dollars. Not much help, really.

I asked God today the same question she asked me. I pretended that God said “I will help you”.

I responded “Even if I didn’t really help that lady on the train?”.

God said, “I will help you still.”

As someone who overthinks, it is easy to let that critical voice overturn all my plans, saying it’s not good enough, and call my bluff when my morale falls through the ceiling.

It is easy for me to be immobilized by the hundreds of suggestions that pour in whenever I make a mistake. Suggestions that point me in all kinds of directions. Before I even lift a finger, I am mentally exhausted and paralysed.

It is easy for me to let the seeds of these toxic thoughts grow into veritable weeds that choke me of my living and happiness, reducing it down to existence and dreariness. Even basic actions like push-ups or (physical) weeding (in the garden) can be made unnecessarily harder by a flood of voices that want to tear me down.

These are the moments that I learn I must stick to my guns. Stick to the plan. Don’t question. Don’t think it through. Do the thinking through some other time. There is a time for everything.

Reflection and reassessment time is 07.00 pm for me. That’s when I can turn a critical eye to the plan. And make AT MOST one modification, if none at all.

It starts with grace.

I am no teacher. No guide either. I am just sharing where I am as I am given day after day.

There are phrases or sentences – phrences (a silly portmanteau)– that remain in our hearts and heads.

Phrences spoken by people, be they audible or written.

Sometimes, these phrences inform and guide us on our journeys on earth. Sometimes, they haunt us, ringing the bells of doom unnecessarily, shutting down our brains, paralysing us.

These phrences may mean something to us that is not intended by the author. The words that make up these phrences may carry our meanings or definitions that are unlike what was held by the author.

English is hardly literal.

But yet they stick, leaving indelible marks on our limited memory.

In this way people form the references of my existence. Their pieces of advice – some laced with hope, others with doom – will ring at times in my heart and head, in resonance with the things that I do.

Where there is no [wise, intelligent] guidance, the people fall [and go off course like a ship without a helm], But in the abundance of [wise and godly] counsellors there is victory. (Proverbs 11:14)

To know who are wise and godly is difficult nowadays.

The only way to be sure that they can be trusted is to see for yourself how they live. Yes, reason stands alone to the person, for living by reason alone and fully is currently impossible. Yes, truth can be spoken from those who do not live up to it.

Truth can only be fully known if it is heard and experienced.

Every time I find myself in a tearful, it feels like the walls are falling down inside. Like I am moving forward. Evolving.

Or is it unlocking the potential that was always there?

When the walls down, it hurts. When the chains fall off, it hurts. The irons have been clamped down for a long time. The skin is raw from the irons. The irons of society.

'Cause I love how it feels when I break the chains (Imagine Dragons).

While every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. (John 15)

Sure feels like pruning. It’s painful. Inside.

Time is from God. Money is from people-kind.

I love my time. So I save it in every way I can. I limit my trips outside – two times a week. I don’t work a regular job so I don’t have to make the commute.

I hate my money. But I do exist in this world, so I scrimp and save. I say no to myself so my savings can drain slowly – as slowly as I can. Bluetooth keyboard? No. Studio headphones? Maybe. TV series? No. Health insurance? No. Gym membership? No. More gigs for my phone plan? No.

Time is from God. Money is from people-kind.

There is was no fucking money in fucking Eden.

Eden = Paradise.

I pretend that I live in Paradise since 370 days ago.

Luke 23:42-43 New King James Version (NKJV)

Then he said to Jesus, “Lord, remember me when You come into Your kingdom.” And Jesus said to him, “Assuredly, I say to you, today you will be with Me in Paradise.”

A fucking mystic. Paradise ain’t here boi.

I am confused and hurting, like all of people-kind.

Full of shit, full of ideas, with flecks of wisdom.

My isolation is combination of my own choices and the choices of my parents. We lived a nomadic lifestyle, never staying in one place for long enough. Never long enough for me to sink my roots in.

So out of my sheer isolation I realised I do have a strength. I can work solo. When I get into the flow, time just passes by so quickly.

I screamed at God today. God said “You cannot serve me and money”. But my culture worships money. So I screamed – hollered – in a sheer frenzy – “I will do both! Just you watch!”. In that moment, I wanted to prove God wrong.

I hated money with a passion. But it was the way the system works at the moment. I can rage all I want, but I have no alternative to it.

Yet the picture of Eden beckons. A place where money regulated nothing. Yes, we don’t live in that world, but what is stopping me from reclaiming that dream in present-day life.

Alot is stopping me, granted. And I haven’t a clue.

So my desperation remains unsolved. The tension remains.

I decide in this moment that I am going back to my “write then release” method. I have two other projects that require the rewriting that allows one to cultivate excellence. That makes three projects in my haphazard sabbatical. I am 170 days in. I have been reawakened for 370 days.

This blog is my trash can. Where I spew out an unrefined mixture of life and death.

And if no one cares, that’s a good thing. I don’t want to be some cult following. Rather that society leaves the madman in the naughty corner where no one else wants to be.

The title is a derivation from a book “The Sacred Search” that my sister had given me a few years ago. I found myself leafing through it frantically last year when I finally got to texting (and some talking) to my first (and last) crush.

So the Lord God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep; and while he was sleeping, he took one of the man’s ribs and then closed up the place with flesh. Then the Lord God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man. (Moses)

If Adam got Eve brought to him, I pray that I will be like him. They call Jesus the Second Adam. I will be a Third Adam, in that case.

I have sought out a girl once already. Once is enough. The pain is enough. I am no masochist. I Kissed Dating Goodbye on the 12th of March 2022, the day my first (and last) crush let me down slowly into the arms of God. The next day, I lay on my bed, the most depressed I have ever been, and opened my arms to the heavens like a needy child and said “help”.

So, going back to the Third Adam idea. I will wait for my first crush to reach out again.

That’s two conditions. (1) She comes to me (2) She must be my one and only crush.

This is a piece of my perfection.

Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. (Matthew)

Let us see how this drama will play out? Will true love just fall into my lap?

“Certainty of death. Small chance of success. What are we waiting for? Gimli (Lord of the Rings)”

It’s my funeral, after all.

Just wait it for peeps. I will come bawling my eyes and screaming suicide on here when I become one of those 40 year-old virgins. Then I will do everything I can to have spiritual progeny instead of physical progeny.

With Augustine of Hippo, Thomas Merton, Henri J. M. Nouwen, Corrie Ten Boom, and the like.

I hope that, if this all goes south, I will ask to have another existence. This is a dangerous experiment using my existence with God.

I have waited since the 13th of March 2022. I will continue this sacred wait as I pour all my heart, soul, and mind into my art project, which is currently my main gig.

It is easier said than done. A piece of the key is to chip at these gigantic dreams day-by-day. As many as The Nameless One will give.

Some thoughts can come and trigger this feeling this sharp pain in my heart. What kind of thoughts? As of writing, I can’t remember. I can say that they of a spiritual and doctrinal nature, something hard to swallow but the heart beckons anyway.

Is this why they have heart-burn lollies selling at the pharmacy? So that this squeezing pain can go away on command.

It seems to be psychologically linked, not a pure physiological occurrence.

If it was purely physiological, I will be headed to the doctors ASAP.

I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone for salvation; and an assurance was given me that He had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death. (John Wesley)

Is this the same feeling? More like “my heart strangely hurts”. I must be daft. Making loose connections where there are no connections.

I look upon all the world as my parish. (John Wesley)

Right now, my family is my parish. I hope that each one of them can experience the rebirth or the revival of The Spirit in their existence.

They may be kids of someone in the pastoral role, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have their own journeys to meeting Jesus themselves.

As you can already tell, I am quote-out-of-context kind of guy. I don’t have some framework that is drawn from the text, no clear definition as to what a word means in context.

Sometimes, a bunch of words stand alone as true. Context does not necessarily impinge on a saying.

Sometimes, context is not important. It really depends on what is being said.

Here is an example of a truth that needs no context.

The sleep of a laboring man is sweet. (Solomon)

Here is a derivation.

The death of a laboring man is sweet. (Me + Solomon)

When we die knowing we have worked our bodies well, we can sleep that eternal sleep (if there is no heaven) with a clean conscience.

I use the word “work” very carefully. For me, it means something that is beneficial to us and/or other people. It means that we did it with God and/or people.

And here I go, weaving from random point to random point.

Hahahahahahahahahahhahahaha …. the madness never ends.

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth— for your love is more delightful than wine. (Solomon et. al. -0951) (Source)

When I stand on the roofless ground, I bask in the kisses of the warm, invigorating sunlight. The Sun is a symbol of The Son, the one and only Son of God.

‘Tis a kiss from God.

When I feel the cool evening wind caress my face, relieving me momentarily of the warm bath on a summer’s day .

‘Tis a kiss from God.

A delectable chocolate cake, moist and spongy.

‘Tis a kiss from God.

When I walk through the urban jungle, the foreign smells that waft towards my nose, unknown smells that excite and bewilder me, hinting of places and peoples yet to be discovered.

‘Tis a kiss from God.

Notes About References

• When looking up dates of writing, there are often ranges being given by The Web. I use the median of the range provided in the first link that pops up. (e.g. 10 AD to 70 AD calculates to 40 AD). This is a purely aesthetic choice.
• Instead of using BC / AD or BCE / CE I use – / +. Completely neutral is the name of the game.