Psalm .008: All Quiet on the Northern Front, Brief Star-Gazing Ensues.

Psalm .008
15:05 December 14, 2012: All Quiet on the Northern Front, Brief Star-Gazing Ensues.

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As this present offensive push wages long, I have thought—in this rare breath of solace—if I am starting to come unglued a bit. Like, what is the Christian equivalent to PTSD? The rigors of sleep-depravation coupled with apocalyptic nightmares have taken their toll in the wee hours of the a.m. I wouldn’t call this stress; and I can’t really say that this is “doing me in,” yet the persistent fear of the untwined mind is notable. Yet, there is peace…an eerie, spacey peace that sounds like the inside of an astronaut’s helmet as he would bounce across the backdrop of stars….

Come to think of it, this kinda feels like a Bradburian war, futuristic and also classic in its bleak juxtaposition. Like trudging on the moon with few companions, whilst the unknown fear of rock creatures and zero gravity and rocket ship implosions speckle the spacer’s psyche.

Has reckless abandon led me to mere recklessness and isolation?

Does all this make sense? Clearly not. But that’s the point, right?

It is face-freezingly cold up here. It is cave-in quiet out here.

What was I thinking!? As the sandpaper of time saws down my mind, it becomes harder and harder to process, to think. Was man made for these rocketeering endeavors? Was I following orders when He shot me into space? Lonely, sometimes this thin air is so lonely.

But there is gravity. Oh…yeah…gravity. It holds me to broad surfaces, allows me to walk. Right, gravity…I remember You. And now, it’s coming back to me vividly, I remember why I came up here. The view. The vision. The solidity of Voice. I was commissioned, chosen, and trained for such a battle…such a voyage to strange places. And, even though there is a certain brand of endurance needed in this space-whacked frame, I can remember lifelines and procedures. I can finish the job. I can press forward.

Through racing meteoric matter. Through invisible alien defenses. Holy black-hole driven…rocket thrusters with just enough fuel….

Earth now beneath my feet.

I am jet set. I am home free.

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About Joshua M. Brindle

Child. Father. Husband. Herald. Writer. Messenger. Psalmist. Poet-Prophet. Biker. Beard-wearer. Teacher. Pastor? Follower. Disciple. Disciple-er. Bearer of the Torche. Keeper of the Flame. Waver of the Banner. Running the race. Fighting the fight. Revolutionary...hopefully.
This entry was posted in Calvary Chapel Iron River Teachings, Flame, Poet-Prophet, Psalms of The Frozen Frontiersmen, Revival, Tribe of Judah General and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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