User:CQ/Refracted Truth
Refracted Truth
In this zone, I, and a select few realize the straits that are a-coming toward us all, whether or not we are aware or ready. Awareness, being the least of requirements, has become the effective mode of daily life for us, as a replacement for the mundane responsibilities that are *supposed* by some to drive our waking moments. Any more, my desire for this world's good has all been absorbed in my larger dynamic, according to things which I perceive to be mine alone, not as receipts, but as gifts from God through me as a conduit, that I hope will be for a greater good, someday, and resident within me from a higher calling. The creator, I presume, either has cut me off from my neighborhood for some evil I have done, or has chosen to reserve my talents to some future purpose that I, let alone those around me, can scarcely begin to understand. It is who I am and what I fail or refuse to do that is in question, but also what I have and who I believe that is in offering.
Now, as to the zone. It is a tear in the physical Earth in the heart of a Country I call Home. I have lived elsewhere, and I could leave this place at any time. Maybe I should - maybe I should not. I do not know. What I do know is that the shaking is coming and it will be another Judgement. Perhaps it will be the dreaded "Third Woe". for those who dwell upon the Earth, about which I have read over and over. If the Word of Prophecy is True (and I must believe it is), we are all in for it. My inturpretation is not private. I'm sharing it with you now, if you have read this far. So neither you nor I will have an excuse when that day arives, at last.
As for what I *do*, I wait. And if this writing is an action, so be it. And you by reading are acting, and thinking upon my world and the fragments of the Word I'm trying to share with you.
The Bombings and the Hurricane were not jolts for me. If that offends you or you don't believe me, that is certainly your prerogative. When I see Babylon's doom unfolding, part of me rejoices on its own as a form of conditioning to which I subscribed as far back as '77 in my study of the Book of Revelation. That is honesty from myself, the scholar, if you will permit me to be such. The doubt in your mind about the book, or my inturpretation of it, can be no stronger than my own.
Whether God made the First Man from mud by breathing life into it, or the Human Family emerged from some flukey series of accidents, I don't know - both propositions are equally absurd and for my current purpose, outside the scope of relevance. What matters to me now is the Siesmic Conditions that exists as facts that refuse to escape my conscious mind, today.. and tomorrow, till they are manefest to all.
"We hold this treasure in earthen vessles" said Saul of Tarsus in his new and inexplicable role as a prophet of the Almighty God. Scoff at me, Paul, John or whomever you like, but for your sake, do not scoff at the treasure. The Music in my Soul is real, whether or not you hear it. I hope you will. Even if it falls on your ears, you may or may not absorb its jist. It is real to me and as the Crosby Stills Nash and Young song goes: "She's all that I have left."
In conclusion, I present myself to you, whatever your station, as somthing between an humble sage or a derelict madman. I ask for your grace and His, when, not if, I am Judged. If you want to hear the physical sound of "my" music, you must meet me half way, as I am left with precious little means and hardly little access to this world's goods to bring it forth as physical sound. I require your presence near one of my pianos. I'm not at all convinced that this music can or should be recorded at all, or the means to do so might long ago have been in place. It is more likely that you hold a part of it in your soul, as well. So the next move is yours. I shall attempt through this Internet to remain available for live contact and will freely share the Gospel in song to anyone willing to listen.
Charley Quinton 2807 Fairmont Street Paducah, Kentucky -USA- quinobi@bellsouth.net