All ripening in the sun. . .

All ripening in the sun: Desires, Dreams, Death!

I searched for ‘all ripening in the sun’ via the internet archive and found there was one result that turned out to be an interesting read.

I enjoyed it anyway. What I enjoy is not to the taste of the vast majority of people I know or know of, so please don’t judge my taste too harshly. 

 It seemed relevant to some thoughts I have been having about mainly fictional things. I won’t bore you with those thoughts, as my mind is also very occupied with the Gospel according to Matthew. I have started studying it closely with the aid of a well-known (highly thought of for decades in many ‘conservative’ circles, and much hated)  American evangelist of some kind who seems to me to be a very good teacher. I cannot judge how accurate what he is teaching me is, but it is very consistent with what I have learned from all sorts of other Christians past and present who represent several of the seemingly endless denominations that there are in the world these days (especially in the  USA)…  I have listened to about 5, 6 or 7 hours of talks in recent nights and days, I am at the end of chapter 3 of the Gospel according to St. Matthew. 

I spent nearly two hours vividly learning about the gloriously intense John the Baptist, along with Pharisees and Sadducees and so much more. The scene was most definitely set, and well,  I have most definitely felt the hurricane force of Matthew 3.

I want to write various things that seem to be very important, but my mind is pregnant with the powerful preaching of John the Baptist, and I might end up foolishly using the word ‘vipers’ a lot etc..

I am full of self-righteousness right now most probably, which is why I resist writing down the thoughts, although the self-righteousness might be more accurately described as a slightly confusing reaction to intense fear that I am not used to feeling.

Without going into much detail, I think that past bad habits involving cannabis, and the past consumption of various other prescribed psychiatric drugs might have permanently blunted various emotions, or at least changed how I perceive them.

Or, well, maybe the way I perceive things are pretty healthy and natural but am not used to perceiving things in a normal healthy way. Or I am just insane. Or a mixture of all three. If any Christian evangelicals in the world think a population of drugged-up pagans, shamen and witches are going to make the results of their street missions etc. more fruitful, then I strongly believe they are sorely mistaken.   I best shut up. 

Below is a passage from something called ‘The Crimson Poppies’ by Clare Vyvian, it was published in a historical journal called ‘Belgravia’ in September 1892. The whole of it can be found via the link,  starting on page 46.

‘The Artist’s voice sank into silence. The dull grey shadows came and went upon the garret wall. Outside, the chill shroud of the winter’s dusk was falling, and dimly from beneath the attic casement came the dull roar of the Paris streets. Once above the tumult a woman’s voice rose, singing the refrain of an old, old ballad. She was but a daughter of the populace; un- trained, untaught, and singing to earn a few sous on the public roadways. Yet half-unconsciously the Artist paused and listened. For in the melody she sang, he recognised an old familiar Breton Reaper’s chant. A song half-weird, half-mournful in its rhythm, which tells of how amidst the smiling fields of golden grain all ripening in the sun for man’s fair food, may ever here and there, like serpents’ scarlet tongues, be found the blossoms of those strange, sad, blood-red Poppy-flowers whose only gifts to men are these—Desires, Dreams, Death!’

That’ll do.


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