Month: April 2017

You, yes you the one cursing at your life. Discontented? Regimented?

I’ve no doubt you dream about the things you’ll never do. But I wish someone had talked to me like I wanna talk to you.

You can run and run. But in time you run out of places and friendly faces. You ran and ran to be free. You have been to a lot of places, but have you ever been for you?

You, yes you don’t run away. ‘Cause I don’t want you to be alone today.

Won’t you share a part of a weary heart? Have you lived a million lies? Lies to help you to cope? Lies to give you hope?

It seems others are in paradise.  They dine at the captain’s table. They sip champagne on a yacht. They are undressed by the rich and famous.

What is paradise? It is a fantasy we create about people and places as we’d like them to be.  In this day and age it is largely imagined by other people’s Facebook posts or lack of (leaving the bad stuff out). But you know what the truth is? What is paradise?

It is that little baby you’re holding. It is that spouse you fought with this morning. The same person you will make love with tonight. It is that dog that greets you at the door after a long day at work. It is that stranger who smiles just so at lunch. It is that friend who gives you a compliment.

That’s truth. That’s love. That is paradise.

What is the cost of running to be free? Have you become bitter searching for the sweet life? Stop searching for paradise. Be you and you have found it.

If you have a weary heart, you know where to find me.

Lisa Y Life coach

www.facebook.com/lisaylifecoach

Then Pilate leaned forward and I thought, “Now, now he will deliver Jesus.” But the crowd cried suddenly, “He is opposed to Caesar. Who is friend to this man is no friend of Caesar.” Then I saw fear like a substance, and hard and white, slip over his face, the hands, the very robes of Pontius. He looked this way and that, at the guards, the crowd, the priests. Then he said dryly, like a philosopher: “What is truth?” And stayed not for any answer.

At the corridor leading to the Sanhadrin, I fell before Pontius on my knees. “Pontius,” I cried, “This is Jesus, Jesus the very Christ, the Son of God. And Pontius, it is Pilo’s dear Jesus, He who healed our boy. Have no part in His death. I have suffered many things in a dream this night of Him. For thine own, for even the sake of all those judges in this world who will come after thee and judge in Christ’s name without fear, for our child, for me, Claudia, thy wife, Pontius, save Jesus the Christ.”

But Pontius’s sweat was gray upon his face. He could not decide. He said, and staggered, “This is fearful. Now am I in hell. I can not stem this outbreak of the priests, for they are powerful here. Herod has asked me to make an example of the powerful here. Herod has asked me to make an example of this man. If not he will speak ill of me to Caesar. And if this Jesus be truth or not, I can not decide, for I am a philosopher and must argue the matter further. My mind rejects this man who is but a carpenter, and yet” he pushed his hands forward and groaned from his deeps “I feel, I feel…”

And then the guards came forward. They stepped briskly, for they held scourging a fine sport. And a shriek rose everywhere, “Crucify Him!” Then I heard the sound of splitting flesh when I came to the outer prison yard. Even in faint, something of myself saw, very clearly, Jesus, bound to a pillar and standing in a red pool of His own blood. And Pretorius, one of our body guards, whose broken hand Jesus had once healed, now scourged Him the hardest.

And now they put a crown of thorns on His head and pressed it down, and the eyes bulged. And they wrapped Him in an old fine robe of Pontius’s own. And Pontius staggered even in the judgement seat, and said like a dead man: “Why, I find no fault in Him.” And he washed his hands in the silver gilt basin, and sought every which way increasingly to save Jesus. But they would not release Him even for the custom of their Passover, but preferred some robber whose name has left me. And now a runner brought a scroll with the secret seal of Herod saying, :Have done quickly with all prisoners this night, for tomorrow I set early for Rome and would speak well of thee to Caesar. Do thou set out early with me for a bit of the way, for I have found a new little brook and many fine trout.”

And Pontius and Herod had made themselves into friends that day, one to further the other with Caesar.

And when Pontius said to the the mob which shrieked, “What shall I do with this man?” they shouted as one, “Crucify Him as you are Caesar’s friend, crucify Him!” He delivered Jesus unto them.

And before Pontius went afishing with Herod he wrote this title for the cross, “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.”

Thou,O Fulvia, who art a Christian, need not be told of what followed. Thou knowest how Jesus Himself dragged His cross to the Hill of Death, and at the last of His agony died upon it, and that Mary, His mother, stood with Him to the end, and so looked upon her son, who had healed my son, and was condemned by mine own husband unto death.

In the fever and long delirium that seized upon Pontius we lived terribly through many events. For, at the death of our Jesus, the earth trembled and darkness fell upon us, and many, even our centurion, said, “This was in truth the Son of God.”

And many more believed on Him when He rolled the stone away from His own sepulcher and walked among His people in company with His disciples, who now themselves, did heal and teach His words.

But now, tho my soul was on its knees before Him in supplication for Pontius, Pontius could not believe, but he studied increasingly, and was wretched to look upon. Such calamity fell upon him, and my heart ached for this man, my husband. Blow on blow fell upon Pontius, even as once the scourge of Christ.

When Pilo returned and heard his father had condemned Jesus to death, he fell and was dead. Nor did I wish him to live, for never could my child have forgiven his father, for he loved Jesus dearly.

Then Herod, for whose fear Pontius had delivered Jesus, spoke against Pontius privately to Caesar and had his own cousin appointed at Jerusalem. And Pilate was judged and sentenced by the Senate at Rome unjustly, for there were false witnesses, and suffered greatly in this, for until he falsely judged the Christ, he had been very upright. With his honor, he lost friends. His lands at Rome were taken, and he had no penny, but must walk like a slave. His library was scattered.

Gnawed with his remorse, Pilate sees in me the witness to his crime, and everywhere we feel the eyes of the Christians burning into us, as did those eyes of Christ. At their meetings they tell the life of Jesus and have a sentence which forever sentences Pontius. “He suffered under Pontius Pilate.”

And Pontius is a scholar and knows that words live forever. So his own learning too betrayed him. Now we are driven to this mountain crag in Gallia, whence Euphonius will bring you this scroll.

Pontius has become old and ill and very weak, so he is at last a child. In his weakness is my hope. O Fulvia, if only now, when every moment presses to his last, if now the learned mind would forget itself the love of Christ and with the pitiful heart be healed as once was healed my Pilo. If he now, my husband, who condemned Jesus for fear of others to death, could without fear go to his own judgement by the Son of God.

Ye who pray, pray now for Pontius.

Lisa Y life coach

www.facebook.com/lisaylifecoach

But I could not sleep that night for the calling of Jesus’s face. When the last bugle of the temple sounded I was like one who dreams awake. And this is the dream I dreamed:

I saw a great hillside, and it was crowded with all the children Jesus had healed. Pilo and Smedia were there and many, many others. And beside them were their fathers and mothers and all of every kind and  degree who were joined into a great kindred by the love of Jesus. And there were those also who had been healed in the heart and mind as well as body, and more who had needed no healing, but only the right to love life itself.

And none were idle, but all worked with the hands or the mind, and both the hands and faces sang and shone. And all were refreshed in their work, for each had found the outlet of his peculiar genius. So this was a new race. And young and old, this one thing lay upon their faces, for in the love of Jesus all were as children and without fear or greed, but greatly glorified, so their unfolding of themselves was like a canticle of uneasing beauty.

And apart, wrapped in a swollen cloud, drifted without aim many others. These were not as children but very aged, with a toil which brought them always to work in  circle back to themselves. And they cursed this and that and pursed lust and power and cried in agony of fear, so their cries were horrible, and their sufferings very great.

And Pontius, the philosopher, was among them. And his arms were worn away from entreating Pilo from afar off to turn to him. And so Pontius cried out to me. And in my sweat of pity, for Pontius was a just man and very learned, I woke. I ran to his bedchamber, crying, “Pontius, Pontius, believe. Cease thy philosophies; believe as a little child on Jesus.” But my maids laughed at me to scorn for my night cry and said: “The Governor is in the judgement seat. There is someone there.”

And now a murmur swelled loudly from the city, with sudden yells. My heart throbbed as tho it would burst from me. I heard the tread of many feet other than the iron shod soldiers upon the marble court below leading to Pretorium.

I flew to Pontius. He was seated in the tribunal. I drew aside the purple curtain. I saw, O Fulvia, I saw Jesus, Pilo’s Jesus. His hands were tied. The cords cut into His bones, and His face was streaming blood. But in all the agony of his body, which was very beaten about, His eyes were full of love. So He looked gently upon Pontius, who was frenzied with doubt now.

The crowd pressed Jesus uncomonly, the soldiers, and Scribes, and Pharisees, the drunken, the lowest of the night rabble. Nor did I see any friend near Jesus. They had brought Him from the priests in the garden, and kicking, striking Him, had maimed each other as Himself.And He healed many. The very demons peered out of their terrible faces. And Pilate was unable to decide His sentence, for he was afraid for his ambition. Now he would ask questions of them, and now of Jesus. And Pontius was white with fear.

I heard him say again, “What is it you ask of me to do to this just man? What evil has he done?” And then he swayed a little and said, “Has He not healed some of you?” Nor then would he look at the eyes of Jesus.

Their high priest, Caiaphas, made answer, “We ask the death of this man for He would make Himself king here instead of Caesar.”

Pontius like one who would increase time, asked directly of Jesus, “Art thou the King of the Jews?” And Jesus looked into Pontius deep as to open into his subtleties. O Fulvia, that look of the blood stained Christ! He asked not for help from Pontius even at this hour when he had no friend, but rather sought to find the healing way to His own judge.

He said, “Dost thou ask this of thine own self, or dost another speak for thee?” And Pontius, turned in agony for he could not decide, and the roar of the crowd was great.

Then Jesus said to Pontius, as if alone in all the shrieking madness, “My kingdom is not of this world. My kingdom is the truth that lives within you as within all born into this world. To reveal thyself in truth am I come.”

The next and final post is on 4/16/17

Lisa Y Life Coach

www.facebook.com/lisaylifecoach