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Stop Waiting On God

Why are so many believing God to have action yet their own flesh to perdure? I have heard it said that we are sons of God. Yet when we see others in life have action, it infers that we are not apart of it. A child has no action yet his parents have. If we are his parents, then are we not also not his priests? It is true that we are not his priests to heal him, but to keep him safe. We are hisEXercise for his exercise. His words are our food, but if he does not want to take good care of himself, he will not take good care of his diet. He may end up in the wrong place that will be very dangerous place.

choked with pride and unable to bear to be ill or hurt by another. He puts you down whilst he laughs at you. He takes your words and doesn’t even pay the same respect. You end up cleaning his clock or his house, yet he does not have the courtesy to be as nice to you. He is not there to help out, to help guide you, to show you the way. Instead he is there to show you off to friends and family.

brown rock formation surrounded by green grass

The other day I heard his voice controlling me. I asked him to please take me on and let me heal him. I took a step further and told him that Iamgoingto heal him. I am not your—-ician. I am not a—-ushing the same disease he is. I am not helpless in the same way he is helpless. I am able to stand on my own two feet, walk, talk, be social and do things he cannot do. I am also veryeducated. I am capable of healing him. But hewill not let me have access to him.

Instead of our respectful intentions, he has chosen to be as selfish as possible. All for himself and all for his ego. There is absolutely nothing wrong in that. He is so busy striving to be the best he can be. He won’t admit he is weak and that he needs help. Why doesn’t he want me to tell him the truth? It is so incredibly rude isn’t it?

I am waiting for a breakthrough. I am waiting for a sudden clear wherein I will be able move on from this pain. I have faith in God. I am not sure what that is. The only solution I can see is for him to grant me his presence so that all my pain and suffering will end. It is so painful to watch. I keep hoping against hope that somehow his divine brilliance will dawn on me and I will see what is really right in front of my face.

I am waiting. I predict that it will happen. But I must keep my faith until the time has come to see what is really right in front of my face.

I am like the guy whose wife died. I am angry at the entire world, at everyone who has stepped on my dream. I want back my life. My children, my parents, my friends, my money, my house, my car, my things. I curse them all. But when my life passes on, I realize that it was all I had and all that is really important in life. After all, wasn’t that what I worked so hard for? Why was I lacking so much when it came to what I consider to be non-essentials? It is especially the feminine aspect of life that I detest. I consider it the enemy-as the face of the Mother of invention, the source of rationality, of knowledge, of economics, of society, of government–all that is feminine. It is the essence of evil and yet I feel, at the same time, compassionate towards it. It, in my opinion, is the strongest part of human nature-the domain of Mother Nature. It makes up our drives, our hormones, and it is what gives us our will.

Will we continue to allow the dominion of this evil part of humanity to triumph for the rest of our lives? Can we accept that at age 75 our bodies will simply stop functioning and our thoughts and emotions will die as well? If so, I foresee a bright and very painful future ahead for anyone with active parts of their bodies. Very painful because until the parts die completely there is still a part of us that knows aspects of life that cannot die. This is what we call a soul.

Like asnakeright before its tail, I anticipate the day of my death will come. No preparation, no prayer, no pulling out of old memories. Just a matter of time, a matter of my slow and continuous decline…this why I keep falling. I fall from theFear of the Impact of the fall. I get slower and begin to rot away my memories and knowness. I become meaningless and slowly more pathetic.

oped book on brown wooden surface at daytime
Stop Waiting On God
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