Tag Archives: ancient

by | May 28, 2022 · 10:18 pm

A Misty Mountain Mornin’

There are some days, when the mountain has a mind of its own. Today was one of those days. The air felt as ancient as the granite stones that line one’s trail when ascending Grandfather. Alone, it is remarkable enough, but when you ponder the people that have claimed it as their own, it rings of an even older time. Those early settlers from Ireland, Scotland, and other Norseman-type countries, brought with them a heartiness of spirit and a willingness to survive in the harshest of climates with the most meager of supplies. Many have escaped for survival needs. The great potato famines made many leave their homeland, seeking a place where there could be hope, a promise of a better tomorrow. But, along with them, they brought a culture and a faith as old as the rocks that built their chimneys and lined their hearths. It was this permanence of spirit that flowed forth from the shrouded peaks this morning.

With each breath of life, there is a yearning to seek God in everything – nearly to the point of being obtuse. But through that seemingly endless search, there is a compulsion to love unlike before. When the instinctual sense to judge someone arises, that misguided thought is quickly usurped by an urgency to love them for who they are and not place their exterior before who they really are beneath the façade that is there for the world to see. Who hasn’t looked in the mirror and wondered who was looking back – was it the person we want to see, or are we stuck with something we’d rather not accept? The more we find ourselves immersed in Christ, the less the person in the mirror matters, other than being as clean and approachable in how someone might perceive us so that we don’t deter the opportunity to witness simply based on our outward appearance.

For this reason, we should only care about what we look like; otherwise, we are making an idol of our image, a sin as detrimental as any. In that regard, being aware of the fault of the addiction to personal beauty, one might find it more difficult to look upon that woman at church who cakes on the makeup, who spends hours on her hair and adorning jewelry as we might the homeless beggar that is covered in sores and lesions from lack of proper sanitation and personal hygiene. One has chosen to go beyond being approachable to the point that might as well have wallowed in the hog trough in the eyes of God for all the good they are doing. It is images like this that those who want excuses to avoid God use – the negative aspects of hypocrisy are sometimes more damaging to our ability to share the gospel than anything we could do purposefully to detract someone on our own accord. If we were to really think about the ancestral ties of these mountains, the rugged beauty of those women who crossed the ocean and then found a way to eke out an existence in these rugged mountains, we would find it heartening how they didn’t allow anything to detract from their worship. Their image mattered little when compared to how well they knew the Word of God.

Sitting at the jam in Blowing Rock this morning, it was with these thoughts that I watched many souls pass by. Although we were surrounded by tourists from all walks of life and backgrounds, we could still feel the ancient spirit with us. When our notes found a melody of an ancient song, it was then the world stood still – for a moment in time, notes in the air connected with the stones upon the earth, and they to those souls of days gone by, until all were one. As the shrills of fiddle strains wafted through the marketplace, spirits united in refrains as old as the hills. Suddenly, they wore kilts and woven tapestries from looms as their tam-shays tilted in the breeze. It was something to behold as the sun tried to escape the bondage of the mirth beneath the clouds.

It was in this manner that my day began. From an ancient time to the present, we are most when we are one with Him. Blessings abound in a dark world if only we take the time to notice.

Allow yourself to be approachable, but don’t go beyond that point and turn it into an obsession. There are far greater things to be concerned about within this world. The days are short as the end times approach. Make the most of every breath of life. May your day, your weekend, or even your week find nuances that bring out the best instead of the worse in all that you do and see, and in this, we can always say, “Thanks be to God.”

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by | November 9, 2016 · 8:00 am

Full Circle…

“that in the dispensation of the fullness of the times He might gather together in one all things in Christ, both[a] which are in heaven and which are on earth—in Him.” -Ephesians 1:10

All I can remember was the journey, the trip back in time.

The farther we traveled, the more mountainous became the terrain until it was obvious we had mountaingraveyard2reached a point high above the tree line. My guide was a younger man whose demeanor evoked a strength no mortal could match, but yet, he carried himself in such a manner that I felt more than comfortable in his presence. His clothes were those of an ancient warrior, tunic across his broad, massive chest, with a leather strap around his waist that could have held a broadsword at one time. His hair was long and black blowing in the high-altitude winds lapping at his shoulders. If I didn’t know better, I could sense him being something more than human, something of a higher power, yet not willing to use that force unless called upon.

I followed him past large dark foreboding boulders whose shadows gave me a chill and then onward past cliff faces where the depths beyond their fragile edges were bottomless blue vistas of certain death. Yet, as we traveled this pathway of terror, I did not fear for anything as he comforted me in a way his countenance embodied that of an angelic being. Effortlessly up the steep climb we hiked until we rounded a turn in the trail that came upon a cleared but hilly pasture. The ground was punctuated with objects strewn all around us. At a glance, I thought them to be large rocks. In this field stood a woman of later years, dressed as the warrior, in an ancient wardrobe unlike any I’d ever seen. Her age could not contain the inner beauty which shone through the physical years; yet when she spoke, her beauty was matched only by her wisdom. Although she evoked a loveliness, her face was shadowed from the sun so that I could never get a clear view; shrouded as if in secrecy.

My escort introduced me to her and then left us, vanishing before I could thank him for his efforts. 2014-05-06 20.31.20The woman then began to explain to me why I was here and what it was we were to do. It was then I realized the rocky cleft of a field was littered not with rocks but with aged tombstones, all wrapped in cloth, as if ready to be shipped away. The lady then explained that we were transporting all of these back to where I had come from, to return them to the present; this was my mission. She explained that we would be loading each of the headstones into a trailer. Then she asked what seemed to me to be an odd question. She wanted to know if I thought we should use a closed trailer, sealed off from the air or if I thought an open trailer, one that could breathe and have air flow through it would be better; for some reason, I chose the latter, unbeknownst to me why. She smiled and agreed that I had chosen well.

There were others there, yet they never became bright enough to shine more than mere shadows. These beings helped us load the heavy stones into the tractor trailer, and when we had finished, I too climbed in. Before I departed in the trailer with the tombstones, the woman spoke to me and said, “You are the first to have come full circle; thus, you’ve been chosen as their escort back in time,” and with that, the trailer was off, flying through the air. The clouds and sky shone below the wire mesh floor upon which I stood, speeding past as we flew. Above me, through the wire mesh ceiling, I could see more sky, filled with deep shades of Prussian blue dotted with the sparkling lights of distant stars. How long we flew and where or if we landed I don’t know.

I awoke and turned to look at the clock; too soon, too soon.

My life has become a passage in time where the clock becomes merely an observation, not a limitation. To understand it all, or to even attempt to grasp the reality from whence we have come to now is an attempt to grab the wisp of a cloud in the distant sunset; futile. The only thing that belies a steady keel of comfort is the Word and the truth therein.

As fall gently slips into winter, I sip from my mug the bitter, dark brew each morning by the light of the fire and embrace every sentence with reverent awe. Coming full circle in life at times with the voices of those gone on before is the sweetness for my drink.

These are my days as we walk down this new path. Every step another page in the journey.

My paradigm shift has brought me back to so many beginnings that only the recognition of God’s hand at work can fathom the interworking of this story.

Someday, when we are gathered around His throne, we’ll be able to understand the how and why. For now, we should not tarry but carry on, His mission for us is yet to be fulfilled.

These and many more blessings are just a few of things for which we can be thankful this November.

And as always, Thanks, Be to God!

 

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by | March 3, 2013 · 5:31 pm

An Insight to Inspiration

Sometimes I wonder from where or what my next source of inspiration might originate. As was the case in one scene in my recent book, “Bruecke to Heaven”, I had the image appear to me in my mind, a vision if you will. Instead of writing about what I saw, I first drew it out in my little black sketchbook journal that I carry almost everywhere I go. I have included it here along with the passage that it inspired.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so may you find these words be an inspiration.

Enjoy…
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An Excerpt from Chapter 31 of “Bruecke to Heaven”: “Last Breath”

Marik stood before an ancient tree, twisted and curved from centuries of exposure to extreme elements, fighting for every ounce of survival. Its bark was nearly gone. It was mostly gray-white flesh of wood, cracked and barren, looking more like old bones than wood. It sat atop the small group of boulders on the high pass like a sentinel, watching, waiting.

The clouds washed overhead, gray, with snow blowing lightly. He could not feel the cold; he could not feel the anguish. He stood numb, watching, looking for any sign of life. There were only a couple small branches on an outstretched limb that contained the remnants of leaves—tiny breaths of color in a stark landscape where life seemed void.

He tried to move toward it but was held captive in his place, by what he could not tell. He again forced movement but could do nothing. He could see the cold. His breath exhaled in small puff s of white that quickly flew from his face, chasing the clouds.

Suddenly trace amounts of moisture started to ooze from the tree, at first appearing as dark stains on the bleached bones. Then there were obvious signs of wetness as the cracks became rivulets of tiny streams running down the face of the tree onto the rocks below.

He watched as the tree wept.

The wind now wailed over the ridge, snow blowing sideways. The wailing became a sob as he could hear the voice of his wife screaming for the pain to stop. He was back in the room, close in the darkness, save for the lamp by the bed that shone upon the sweat-drenched body of the young woman. The birth was near, but her small frame could not handle the delivery. Each push sent her one step closer to the end until the wail became two. Then there was but one.

He felt the helplessness of the moment wash over him again.

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by | January 7, 2013 · 3:37 am

Ancient Past of Being Foretold…

There are times like now that my soul feels as ancient as there is time.

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I don’t know if it’s a sound in a melody I hear or if it’s a recollection to another place that falls upon my heart, yet I can sense its being. I yearn for that ancient place, to return to its simple existence, its firm timbers of form, with solid bedrock foundations. I don’t know where this place is; yet, when I reach higher terrestrial altitudes on earthly planes, I can feel a connection, as if a place I belong is calling.

To some, this may be more than a mere rambling thought while to others, it’s a sign of early senility. I prefer to think of the former; a clarity of mind that pre-exists all other.

The blaze of the midday sun on the cool autumn days brings about the crispness of eager ambitions, yet to befall upon weakened limbs. I trust these days are mere inclinations of predisposed actions yet to be fulfilled, yet I cannot dissuade their options of mind. I will undoubtedly bring myself to the steps of this endeavor, however great or futile it might be. Fate is only afforded those who attempt to step beyond the limitations of now. This is something that has never prevented my path before, and yet as now, will not stop me now.

Hindrance of thought cannot pull me down like the boat anchor to the soul, for it is merely something that is but of a side note. There was more than enough reasons to go boldly, something that spoke to me from beyond, yet in my mere limited ability to conjure on the process, it will be beyond what I know or can conceive of the future which is why it was done; something yet to be foretold. I must carry on in the hopes that this was more than anything I could have imagined, and yet, was led by a higher power, greater than the singularity of self could know.

The chorus of voices that sing of praise, his name exalted upon high, cannot be faint of heart. Like cascading water droplets on the torrent of waterfall from the precipice of God’s heavenly abode, they fall down to the earth enriching the soul of any who look skyward to their life rewarding embrace, falling upon risen faces, glowing and flowing into the life rewarding embrace they create. Love of God, life and the way toward the light. In these things we search…all of our lives, all of our being, all of our existence upon this we seek.

The drifting soul, gentle breeze of spirit, effortlessly wafting as the butterfly on the wind, carried from one moment to the next. We light upon the cusped of the rose petal, tenderly, ever so gently, and then move along as the light of an angel’s wing glows upon the air. Speaketh not of wanted muses, for today we dance as one with those gone before. Nothing carries us forward or back, nothing lifts us rather we walk on channels of energy that emanate from unseen sources beyond our knowing.

Warmth of enveloping love wrapped around the person, touching caring finger to hushed lip as the voice is quieted to speak not, yet watch as forever longing is removed. No more searching for what cannot be quenched. A spirit of fulfillment overflows so that no more hunger can ache in the stomach, no longer can the fainted breath of longing quicken the heart to reach too soon for the stinging touch of earthly realm. Beyond the pain, beyond the hurt, to no longer feel the reminder of the daily toil. This is where the Godly meets the life forsaken no more; Christ lives within. All is now sated…forevermore.

Recollection of recent dream…

The dream was of a mountain home, where there were two elderly people. I didn’t know who they were or even if they were related, but my visit was one of either research or investigation.

They were intent on showing me all the “old ways”. Everything from how to prepare for the cold mountain winters to how food would be best stored in root cellars. Then there was the mixing of herbal ingredients to be used in a tea elixir or as a snuff of sorts, both intent on curing ailments or providing for better health. I can recall the first being some sort of golden flower, which was cut into some type of tree bark tea. It was bitter but very good for you as a medicinal substitute. The second was a ground snuff, golden flaked in color that gave you a quick pick me up and provided for advanced seeing abilities.

I was so taken with these natural gifts that I went out to my vehicle and obtained two of my books that I signed and gave to these individuals, obviously assuming that they could read. There was a younger one, possibly an offspring of one of the two who was there with us. I also had a host who was there showing me around, introducing me to these people, but the further the dream advanced, the less this person or being became obvious until they were no more.

Toward the end of the dream, a large truck carrying equipment to a nearby bluegrass festival, lost a wheel off of their load. I wasn’t sure if it was from the truck carrying the load or from something on the truck, but it was a large tire, the size of a tractor tire, that came rolling off the back of the vehicle as it flew by the curve above the cabin in which we were sitting. I could see it come off even though we were still inside, and I immediatly warned the others. The wheel came crashing down the mountainside from the roadway, but nobody or anything else was damaged, strangely as it may seem. I could distinctly see the canvas covered load go by, missing the wheel as it sped on, with the driver unknowing to his loss. This was shortly after receiving the golden flaked powder from the two mixing it in the nearby old time store. I guess it worked, for it saved us somehow…of course this was about the time I had to say goodbye, and of course shortly before I woke up.

Unlike other dreams though, this one I knew was coming to an end…I was preparing for it to stop, packing up, and getting ready to go. Strange I know, but it was unlike most dreams which end abruptly either in death, tragedy or arousing surprise.

I really liked this place, its aged timelessness; ancient dwellings where I felt very much at home. This was a trip of preparation, I could feel it.

Was this the place a long for, the ancient place of my feelings, my yearning desires that I cannot place?

Perhaps….time will tell.

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