We are all his vessels… tabernacles housing spirits. #positivedisruption #USA #America

Atheist, religious, spiritual or what have you, we all belong to a singular Intelligent Creator. The gold is his, all the cattle is his, he numbers the very hairs on our head, his Spirit sees straight through us into the thoughts and intents of our heart. There is nothing hid from him who endured the vessels of wrath with long-suffering and patience. He is love itself, unrestrained from human religion, its dogma, its rituals, its history and its practices.
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The Real Elite
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When we fight, we do not go after your name or face, but after your soul.
When we take our weapons out, our life speaks an ancient language that guide our hearts.
We move so fast that you can not discern we have reached your heart of hearts till afterwards.
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Our life is precious in His eyes, but we count it as nothing
His peculiar grace having drawn us out, rests on us
Our energy, worth more than gold, ’yea, than fine gold;’
We put it cheerfully to the service of good, to the service of mankind
Our kingship, crowns hewn before a throne in willing service
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Does a general leave the battle field to laugh? How does that diminish the gravity of the battle before him? What is the message sent to his fellow soldiers in such a case? How would that put a damper on the immediacy of the spiritual fight and the wrinkle in time in which the battle is being fought?
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Somewhere, one said that we are engaged in a battle of ideas. Hogwash. The battle of ideas is masked by propaganda, subterfuge and dishonest subliminal trickery. I say, we are in the midst of a fight for the very soul of America. Attempts to bring comedy into the spiritual fight fall flat at this time when juxtaposed against hard truths. Almost 1,000 babies have their candles snuffed out daily in America. They are vacuum sucked out of their mother’s wombs and in some of the spiritually darkest areas of this land, these children were taken out with forceps and their body parts have been sold off. At times, these babies have been born into the open air and then killed. What horror to even talk about it.
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We desensitize ourselves to each other when we treat human life like this. I will not laugh nor jest in the face of this, friend, but I will dance. Honoring these lives and the journey walked shoulder to shoulder with so many others to bring America to a point where deep laughter can happen again is my wish. Anything less would undermine the energy of the moment and the deplorable and violent action that destroys babies every minute. This battle is bigger than a night of comedy and lightheartedness. Having staked everything for the life of a nameless generation of people who go from the womb to the garbage can, my tears run down invisibly.
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I channel this strong energy into therapeutic movement and into this written word; a calm heart unleashed and amplifying into a sea of noise; that if it be possible, weary hearts may find respite in the heat of battle, even if for the space of one song.
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