9. Though sin be sweet and pleasant in the acting, yet it will prove bitterness, yea a deadly Poyson, as the biting of an Asp, which so stupifies that the Pains of Death are not felt. Thus White Powder kills without giving any crack or report of Death: Those Wounds are most Mortal, of which we do not complain; there is no remedy nor antidote against a studied continued concealment of sin; when it is bound on by custome, it soon becomes delightful, as if it were the Perfection of Mens Nature; yea, there is such a pleasing witchcraft in sinning, that it is gratified against all Arguments of Conviction, and held fast against all good nature to the sinners own Destruction. Thus sin will prove a bittersweet, for the wicked conceive their Projects in sorrow, as torturing their Brains to contrive sin cleverly, and to conceal it with the profoundest secrecy; yet they are filled with fears of an Abortion, in the disappointment of their hopes: If they do bring their Design to the Birth, yet they travel to their own Destruction. There is a Destraction in serving the commands of divers contrary Lusts, so that the sinner is perplext which he should first gratifie. Sin turns Prosperity into a Snare; it arms the whole Creation against the sinner when he is most secure; it makes his own guilty fears to fall upon him: Sin is bitter in the effects of shame and reproach; it makes Death terrible as the Persevant of God's Justice, which drags the sinner to Hell, where Divine Wrath shall be poured out in its utmost severity, both endless and irremediless. Considering that sin is thus bitter, be not industrious in Planting and Cultivating such a poysonous Weed, stub it up by the severity of an universal Mortification: Who but a Mad Man would prodigally take up the momentary pleasures of sin on such hard terms as the anguish of a future repentance, though he were sure to attain it. Sinners will be forced at last to confess, that there is no fruit in sinning, but vanity, self-deceit and vexation of Spirit, in the loss of God and their own Souls to Eternity. Therefore repent and be in bitterness of spirit for sinning, as a Parent for the loss of his Firstborn: You have surfeited on the forbidden bitter Fruits of sinning, but in the Lord there are allowed sweets, fulness of Divine Joys and Pleasures, not to be exhausted, but eternally flowing forth without stint; yet what malignity of Heart have you exprest against God in a willful departure from him: Hath the Lord been a Land of Darkness, or a Barren Wilderness to you, that you have quitted his equal, holy, honourable, profitable and pleasant ways? Is there not an infinite reward of Happiness promised to such who persevere to walk in them? what Spiritual Phrensie is this, that you have forsaken the Fountain of blessedness, to drink the poysonous Waters of Iniquity? You have offered violence to the Law of your Creation, and to all Good Nature or Kindness to your selves, in a perverse rejecting the Lord, from the Love and Loyalty of your Hearts. He may now justly harden his Heart against you, though you cry to him in distress: He may beset you with Terrours, because in forsaking him you have been cruel to your own Souls. Yet be not discouraged, if you return to the Lord with your whole Heart, he will not reject you, but imbrace you with the strength and delight of his Mercy. He will create peace in your Consciences, establish his fear in your Hearts, and thereby so confirm his Love to you, that you shall not dread to walk through that dark Vally of the shadow of Death, because the Lord of Life and Glory will be with you, to make you triumph in his Salvation.
True Fear: Forsaken Souls Part 1 Crack
During the Battle of Yarmuk, a Companion with dried-up lips, on the verge of death, was about to drink the water they brought for him. On hearing another dying Companion asking for water, he beckoned for the water to be taken to him instead. When the second Companion received the water, he heard the same moan from a third and beckoned for the water to be taken to him instead. This repeated until the water was taken to seven different people. In the end, all of them were martyred and none of those altruistic souls was able to drink the water. It is one of the most striking and beautiful examples of the virtue of ithar, preferring others over oneself, as an outward reflection of living for the sake of others in the true sense and remaining loyal to real human values.
True, all of this does express a certain reality. However, sometimes I hesitate as to whether it is right to voice this reality or not. As Bediüzzaman puts it, every word a person speaks must be true. But it is not right to express every truth at any time. Sometimes you voice a certain truth you believe. However, if those addressed lack the level of cognition and expansive heart required for bearing this truth, your words and statements might push them toward hopelessness and to form the wrong opinion that those good things can never happen again. Thus, those who try to dissuade people from negative things with their TV series, plays, newspaper columns, or sermons cause such cracks that people feel seized by disappointment. This feeling cripples their willpower and they succumb to hopelessness.
It is wrong to imagine that these people who consider themselves at the top of society (as also happens with the levels of the caste system) can always dominate the rest of the people. There have been times, particularly during periods when religious and moral thought prevailed in the true sense, when they regressed and were condemned to remain in a narrow sphere. However, even when they had to withdraw to their dens with their tails between their legs, it is a reality that they retained their thoughts about enslaving society, and moreover, they kept on developing new projects and plans with the aim of moral destruction. It is another fact that when they gain the opportunity, they invade all areas of life, resort to brutal force and smash everyone who does not side with them.
In this respect, the devoted souls should know to keep away from all expectations that might restrain their freedom, and also be resolute not to make any such trifling engagements. They can naturally make a political choice in which they see goodness for the country and people. This does not mean unconditional adherence to a party. While making a political choice for the good of the country, they must never surrender their freewill to a political organization and never give up their freedom. The most mysterious key to protecting freedom lies with servanthood to God. Becoming fully oriented to serving God means gaining perfect freedom, and deliverance from serving servants. Those who cherish other considerations will have damaged their freedom.
Today, we desperately need the spirit of altruism, which is very closely related to faith, the religious life of the heart, being close to God, compassion, and helping others live in the true sense. What we need today are chivalrous souls who will push aside the world and its contents which appeal to fancies and desires; souls who will solely live for the sake of making others live, and will pray as such:
madame mao- thanks for daring and thanks for caring but more importantly thanks for sharing. to those who toy with multi-syllables,,, its that big bite of a t-bone which cant be digested for weeks. however pejorative this may seem, leave socio-politico rhetoric, vernacular, or what have you, for the dominant class fatcats who sit comfy in their armani pinstripe suits. leave it to those torpid fattening souls who still haven't been able to sever their umbilical ties with mum. words on words--i've used this place to satiate, the works i've bled to you all are juxtapositions of thoughts that've found their way to me and my posting 'em are relays, ways of keeping their worth screaming through perpetuity... a gypsy once cut my heart and bled her soul into mine condemning it to dark ruins near that forsaken meadow where a river of green laughs as it passes through an endless summer making for the sea...
"i am a north wind to ripe flags" thus spake nietzsche "and i'm about to rip that ass to shreds" thus spake the piper KABOOM!! the clouds are crying blood mother here's a bit for those of you warmed by an old man's ramblings... *hope ya see it as necessary as i do* -my twelve year old granddaughter told me- 'one of the things i like to watch' 'is war' 'i watch it' 'so then i know if our sides are winning' 'if our sides our losing' 'oh and by the way' 'happy new year granpapa' *a Post-War Reflection* two things that haunted me the most were the days i'd have to collect the dead and when i left bill hubbard in no man's land... the mustard had struck and i was picked up and taken into their trench... i had no sooner taken two steps down into their trench... when i heard a call 'hello raz' 'i'm glad to see you' he said 'its my second night here' 'and i'm feeling bad' it was bill hubbard one of the men who trained in england one of the original battalion and with her majesty's fusiliers on the wing i asked him if he could make it back on his own he said 'no' i could see that it was probably a fatal wound i could imagine what pain he was in he was dripping with sweat so i shouldered him and after i had gone about three shaloms, traversed that, if only there had been... had been a path or a road... we tumbled, and he pummeled me 'put me down' 'put me down' 'i'd rather die' 'i'd rather die' 'put me down' i was hoping he would faint... he said 'i can't go any further' 'let me die' i said if i leave you here bill you won't be found please, lets have another go he cried 'alright then' and the same thing happened... he wouldn't... he couldn't... stand it anymore and i had to leave him there... in no man's land. years later i saw bill hubbard's name on uh... on a memorial it read these men died missing but not forgotten the countless names and the... but when i saw his name i was absolutely transfixed it was as though he was now a human being... instead of some sort of nightmarish memory i had of leaving him all those years ago and i felt relieved and ever since then i felt a bit happier about it because always before when ever i thought of him i would say to myself was there something else that i could have done... 'i'd rather die' 'i'd rather die' 'put me down' and that always sort of worried me... but having seen him and his name in the register as you know in the memorial there's a little safe there's a register where they have every name... and seeing his name and his name on the memorial it sort of lightened, lightened my heart if you like 'granpapa, when is it you saw him?' ahh, when i was eighty, eighty-seven... that would be the year, the year nineteen eighty four, 1984. there's trouble on the breeze making for our seas the spires of babel, please in bursts of hegemony... -and remember kiddies, its hard to meditate on amphetamines--cadences for the disproportioned malcontents- tired of assimilating mediated bullshit? tired of baton service with a smile? tired of holding the escutcheon for rank and files? dont know what to do? dont know what to say? dont know what to flay? wanna play some russian gambling games? wanna bring this snubnose to your head? wanna devour Circe's sweets and bread? dare you spit in the fan? dare you bite even a peach? dare you cast feeling far from reach? i died forsaken in Formosa. you died high above the skies. earth died when the bloodgate's miscarry streamed down her thighs. is edu-mediation your alienation? is smash how you feel? is it phallic's automatic or Beezlebub's deal? -gesundheit to the dreary and warm buckets of tears to the clea= nly- (a bon mot for the galaxy's vacant eyed soo= thsayers) hey there kiddies,, solemnity has flown across the ocean, leaving only a memory, when all you hear are the brazen cowboys, and overgrown children, crying up their storms.... dont worry darling you can sleep in here tonite... you are something special,, you are something special,, but.... all in all your nothing but a brick in some mad brothers wall. here's a little smidgen of what roger waters deemed: the Wall oooh oooh babe, momma loves her baby, and daddy loves you too, and the sea might look warm to ya babe and the sky may look blue, oooh oooh babe, if you should go skating on the thin ice of modern life, dragging behind you the silent reproach of a million tear stained eyes,,, dont be surprised when a crack in the ice appears under your feet, ya slip out of your depth and out of your mind with your fear flowing out behind you as you claw the thin ice..... -and remember kiddies-its hard to meditate on amphetamines cya when i cya OUT OF CHAOS COMES WHAT AGAIN?,, OR WAS IT THAT I MISSED SOMETHING HERE? top of the mornin' kiddies- hope this message finds you luminous,, i wont bother justifying my absence, i just hope that my insight (no matter how skewered) is still welcome and that i may join in on your weekly Sat. banters. evergreen, thanks goes out to ya for allowing make ups in your other classes. in keeping with media suggestions i submit: roger waters Amused to Death it might not be your cup of tea, and its likeness to the postman reading, it offers up perspective for what's been, what is, and what's coming.. can we all agree that when--you give a species too much rope they'll fuck it up?? here's a slight juxtaposition of this and some other works: hope it dims the din sweetie.... did you see the frightened ones, did you hear the falling bombs, did you ever wonder why we had to run for shelter when the promise of a brave new world unfurled beneath a clear blue sky... did you see the frightened ones, did you hear the falling bombs, the flames are all long gone but the pain lingers on... all alone or in twos the ones who really love you, walk up and down outside the wall... some hand in hand some gathering together on bands the bleeding hearts and the artists make their stand.. and when they've given you they're all some stagger and fall, after all its not easy... banging your head against some mad buggers wall... a reason, a season, a lifetime, are mere breaths lost when you me and we sigh,,, 'bartender' 'leave the bottle' adieu kiddies,, my fair dulcinea awakens... to brush our love from the bed, and prepare nostalgic tea biscuits, spread with her homemade marmalade... some last fat to chew on guys and gals-- when you read this oddly enough we'll all be united in a silent accord.... god bless the speechless,, they've said more than a rambler like myself could in a lifetime already showed the wily japanese already dealt with the vietnamese already brought the russian bear to its knees so now let's go and show these... and then maybe the swedes...-----barbarous and nauseating----- i guess to fight Hitler one must become Hitler you don't remember but i do... a line from a stain'd song-- i can see through you see the real you, see your true colors inside you're ugly, ugly like me. what would Ghandi be saying today? huh? or better yet the prodigal son Himself? let me know... to win a war against hatred we all must perish c'mon admit it, you know hate's as essential as the air we breathe... it's a miracle we cower in our shelters with our hands over our ears, lloyd-weber's awful stuff runs for years and years and years,, an earthquake hits the theatre but the operetta lingers then the piano lid comes down and breaks his fucking fingers,, it's a miracle..... evergreen-i'll be more than pleased if you publish works that are genuine insofar as they've never been done before but the issue's that even in what's original i find others words laced insight would be helpful. 2ff7e9595c
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