Saint Roch; plus, laying on of the hands

   
   "Saint Roch; plus, laying on of the hands"
   
   Saint Roch, the Patron Saint of dogs, the falsely accused, and other things, well--he fought against the plague, assisted the poor, and was devoted to positive energy.  After getting the plague himself, he retreated into the woods to die, yet a holy hound found him, bringing him food, and licking his wounds until they healed.
   If someone is disabled, never offering them the positive sense of touch is a diabolical thing.  You must caress and put "your Kingdom of God within you" into them, much like a mere mutt does when it licks and loves, offering companionship and adoration--dogs and man have always lived side by side since the conception of human consciousness.  
   On the flip side, if a disabled person in a nursing home is cruelly tossed and turned, only touched for the purpose of the caretaker getting a paycheck; next, that negativity promotes the early death of the patient.  You gotta try; indeed, you gotta try.  Humanity needs the love of loving hands, rubbing, stroking, and not neglecting with the insidious intent of selfish malice.  
   What to do with a sick person?  Would you take them out in the backyard and shoot them in the head?  Plenty of people would, controlled by selfishness, only caring for themselves.  We know this, as Christ called the venomous Viper in the Fourth Gospel:  "The Prince of this world."  Yet Christ, knowing the Kingdom of God was within Him, stated:  "He has no power over Me."    

Yearning Apotheosis (12)

   
   "Yearning Apotheosis (12)"
   
   During another nightmarish craze in his locked facility--Britt Flynn passed away.  At first, he saw a luminous, white light encompassing all around; next, tentacles of blackness were grabbing at his spirit, pulling him into an abysmal pit.  He couldn't fight any longer, and the guilt of his life was dragging him down, making the black tentacles stronger.  
   Then, Sister Cindy knowing what was happening in her mystical dreams reached out to him, singing so sweetly to his departing spirit:  "Seek ye first the Kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you!"
   Britt Flynn's spirit heard clearly, and with acknowledgement that God is the only Good, the toxic tentacles released him, and he was taken into Papa's Arms.
   Sister Cindy did not weep in her curious slumber, yet smiled softly, knowing though not knowing, her spiritual charity had assisted in letting Britt Flynn know, and finally love the Trinity, releasing his guilt and shame, finding eternal solace and joy.  

Yearning Apotheosis (11)

  
   "Yearning Apotheosis (11)"
   
   It was Sunday, and Britt Flynn was caged for having another nightmarish frenzy; moreover, Sister Cindy's vociferous intervention did not persuade his release this time, even though it was ignited with electric-blue communication; hence, she remembered when Christ did not heal at one point, having been "amazed" at their lack of faith; regardless, she held her head high unto the Lord and went to Mass as the peasant Nun she was.
   Furthermore, the pseudo-like sermon ignited her melancholy deeper, for the Priest had said that God did not answer Christ's prayer, when He mentioned:  "Father, do not let me drink of this cup, but Thy Will be done."  Did the Priest not know the Scriptures?  About tearing this house down, and it being rebuilt in a Trinity of days?  Or how nobody takes His life, but He gives it freely, openly admitting this before His obedience unto death?  Or how He denied the Adder's attempt to give Him fame and riches, knowing His doomed yet glorious ignition at Calvary?  Indeed, Sister Cindy was having a bad day, yet she knew the shocked and overly-sober Britt Flynn was even under more oppression from the camouflaged and fallen.
   She went to get pizza anyway.  Rubbing the Crucifix that hung boldly between her breasts, untouched by any man for a decade.  She only made love to the Trinity in an energy format; plus, the sublimity of the Celestial Hierarchy.  So, she had hope; moreover, faith.  Trust in God that Britt Flynn would find his Irish charm, and sweetly sane himself into only fearing God--the beginning of wisdom; next, adoration and love for the Father arrives, almost as if a friendship.
   She suffered in silence, though had victory, knowing the promised culmination of Adamkind, which is true life wending eternal for the laboring and faithful.     

Yearning Apotheosis (10)

   
   "Yearning Apotheosis (10)"
   
   After Sister Cindy's holy diatribe against Britt Flynn's unnecessary restraints, the pseudo-physician types morphed into pusillanimous pillows, for her sumptuous scapular kinda scared their secular balderdash, as if Darth Vader had said to them:  "Don't be too proud of this technological terror you've created Admiral, for the ability to destroy an entire planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force."
   Next, Sister Cindy took Britt Flynn to Mass, where they praised Papa, took the Blood and Body of Christ; then, off to the park, and as usual:  pizza with anchovies in the tummy.  
   Britt Flynn then looked in Sister Cindy's tough direction lovingly, saying:  "Thanks Sister."   

Yearning Apotheosis (9)

   
   "Yearning Apotheosis (9)"
   
   Sister Cindy had heard the warped testimony about Britt Flynn's monstrous misbehavior; as a result, she invoked Saint Roch, Patron Saint of dogs and the falsely accused.  Something was inside or outside of the non-seemingly brave Britt Flynn--something since youth, that had, and was, horrifically haunting him--it is not always THEIR faults, but mischievous Principalities or such, infecting the inviolate virtue of a once spotless Adam.
   Verily, Sister Cindy knew:  Till Death Do Us Part.
   As a servant of God, she was not about to throw away love.  If you love something--you keep it, even if it drains your energy and causes you pain.  To toss it into the trash--that is being an agent of evil; specifically, the easy, cotton candy way out--until you meet your Maker, and without His Son's sacrifice, Him being obedient even unto death--you do not want to meet the Maker (Father), as Christ Himself boldly exclaimed.
   But who believes all that bullshit?  It's America.  He who dies with the most wins, until . . .
   So, with a gallant pulse in her bouncing gait, like a quasi-flying Nun, Sister Cindy did what MOST do not do, she consoled Britt Flynn; next, gave the government-housing system a tongue lashing, rebuking their sin as Christ had commanded. 

Yearning Apotheosis (8)

   
   "Yearning Apotheosis (8)"
   
   Britt Flynn still harbored such unearthly feelings of uncanny guilt over his mother that he found no sweet solace in silent slumber, yet disturbing visions of watching her spike his Dad's drinks with antifreeze, before floating on her forces of freakishness into his bedroom, where she would bully his meacock soul into sinister sexuality; moreover, scold him afterwards if a dumb smile had not been painted on his puzzled countenance by her having ridden him like a creepy cowgirl on the not-so-sure saddle of a primordial yet loyal beast.
   Thus, Britt Flynn burst into tears upon waking, along with fulminating screams of anguish and bobsy-die.  The workers at the government-housing restrained him, as usual, and he felt weak for having no verbal attic salt that might suavely save him from the binding restraints.
   What could he do?  How could he live?  Where was Daddy?  Why hadn't Daddy slapped that bitch, and yes, you should be allowed to put your hands on a diabolical woman, as Clint Eastwood showed us in the cinematic display of movies way back in the 1970's.
   No one deserves hell on Earth, but unless armed with the falsehood of bravado, or working for reptiles, or one yourself--you will suffer, as did the Son of Man, due to his altruistic rebellion against the in-charge demonology of it all.  Want a target on your back?  Find God.  You will be hated and mocked till at least an allegorical crucifixion.     

Yearning Apotheosis (7) Necromancy?

   
   "Yearning Apotheosis (7)  Necromancy?"
   
   Alone, always alone, save Sundays, and on special Holy Days, when Catholics talk to those alive in Christ--They Are Not Dead!!!
   Energy cannot die.  Of course, there are tricksters, liars, those wickedly proclaiming:  "I want my gold!"
   Is it wrong to invoke the Virgin?  Was and is She not the Ark of the Covenant?  Having held the LAW in Her Womb?  And is She not alive in Christ?  Are not the Saints?  
   Britt Flynn wanted nothing to do with evil--that was behind him, like Christ scolding Saint Peter for violence with the sword:  "Get behind me Satan."
   Yet Britt Flynn needed friends, not a Technological Revolution that robs men of their imaginations as trans-humanism has begun--we don't have to think anymore.  But the impoverished do.  They still use their cerebral capacities and human spirits.  
   Thus, Britt Flynn would talk to Christ.  He is not dead.  He is just waiting.  And your feelings may sincerely be hurt when you approach the Father, that Intelligent Designer upon death--if you do not possess His Magnanimous Cool.  Hence, Britt Flynn knew Saints have nothing save pure, sublime energy.