Chain Migration

The shower ring hangs low like the peninsula of the Deep South as the chariot pulls the reigns of time over the gulf. Golden sinews reach my eyes from thine eyes. Never cut off from the vine in whom I abide. Deep purple, peach and pink colors are air-brushed onto clouds like smoke bombs. Snow Birds rinse off the uncertainty of winter with chain migration anchored in northern most states. Far far away. The cooler portion of Florida is tropical in comparison to where the Snow Birds reside. They come out of hiding inside thick garments. Unravel the yarn. 59 degrees, sunny and a steady breeze is not bad. Senior citizens move about with aged skin from former beauty pageants. Each year the ribbon changes: shoulder to side. Parking lots are filled with license plates geographically placed like the puzzle of North America. Figure it out. A scene few have actually seen in person. In person, being there showed the magnificent hands preparing and living eternal care; not glossed over on a postcard. Yards of granulated sugar poured out of a fist funneled hand. An epidemic consumed by the kilos. Time limit. Yards of sugar sand for the construction of wind-driven creativity. Yards of sugar sand chunked together like brown sugar clumps. Emerald-green waters pumping along the shoreline to a place assigned beforehand. Do you hear the rough sound breaks subside? The needle finger on the crystal clear glass waters analogues trance shattering the the lingering lie. Pardon me for being so pridefully high, how great thou Art.

Where ever we go, pure thoughts toward his people are as numerous as sugar sands. That’s for certain. The supply sticks upon us day and night. Surround us. Motorcade. There’s no possible way to rinse them all off with elemental liquid showering down. Stick to the skin. Stick to the soul. Thoughts collect and cling together like a sand-bedded river. Soul keeping. Oh if the streams could not be murky and maddening swiftly moving toward infinite sadness.  Attributed tributaries are varied in water color and sound. Distribute glory and strength due his name at the outpouring of the mouth. If I were to count them I’d run out of numbers like holding seconds to eternal measure. Who has the time to watch?

The chain migration dangles as the flow rate increases: star spangled. Addicts will cease fixings in the sunset glory. Thoughts linked to thoughts like chains migrate toward derangement. The arrangement of these patterns will be ripped apart with the praise in a resurrection refrain. A fixer-upper on every level of the household. Holds us in love through the whole restoration. Hidden rooms absorb western exposure: basement to attic. Dynamic upper room. My life was not meant to be kept bound to a call for a Hawaiian girl listed in a newspaper ad. Short descriptions. Black ink wedged between finger print ridges. It all went digital like videotaped memories of family vacations: outbound. A couple of keystrokes and the change was permanent. Many believed this area is paradise. They’d say, “You’re living the life.” The one who brought me here to stand is the life now living inside of me. Rich kindness led to my repentance. Condemnation was strong as steel in the circular chain-link. Everywhere I went it traveled with me. Darkness in the mind is a stealer. A no responsibility taken drug dealer. So sick couldn’t even eat a meal. In a blink, because I believed on his name the chain migration was shattered by the man who did no wrong. Jesus carried me from the footprints in the sand while redeeming my unworthy life. The emerald green gulf was filled with shimmering waves of love: a never-ending wash cycle. All based on grace and truth. The gift is received from dizzying heights of heavenly lights not the sight of refraining from bad habits.

These multi-shaped and colored sand granules scattered and gathered together underneath the palm still appeared as white sand. Each rhythmic step leaves an impression for a time; lives down the line disappear in salt water and Spirit. Feet screech screech screech on bleached beaches once deemed top-secret. The panhandle of Florida was made available to me by the costs my loved ones have endured. The vertical clearance came underneath overpasses on miles of interstate. Had my mother never showed me Psalm 139 I may have never made the connection between the two bodies: passages of scripture and personal experience. Two bodies shape each other like salt water and white sugar dunes. Each would like to have its way over the other like the flesh and Spirit. Work together. Work against. One causes the other to move like a sharp sting. In these bodies, thorns in the flesh swarm and warn; destroy and create. Sometimes playful admittance into ruthless storms like dorsal fins rising from the deep waters. Flipper dolphins. Sharply slice the surface in half like a sword in battle to keep sheep in one accord. The bloody thorns rise in waves like blades. The bloody thorns remain below the surface until the all of a sudden attack. Shark bait. Dormant for awhile.  Now they’re back, but the sting makes me sing because my Savior’s victory rose above the capital punishment like thumb tacks. Now we’re beloved brothers just look up at the public bulletin board.

Grandparents and parents strolled with rolled up pants and bare feet on the Gulf’s wave weathered sand. Supple dialogue happened as we advanced down the coastline. “What is this conversation that you are holding with each other as you walk?” The center of attention changed quite often, but one of the biggest fish Jesus ever pulled out of the salt water was my selfishness. God knew I’d bounce between the love he showed my grandmother and mother like a pinball hitting flippers. Disorientated on digital drifting I could not look up to see the Big Dipper. On the way up from going completely down the bottomless pit, I hit many bumpers, bells and whistles until I lodged in the Lord most high. My heart living inside of the life. As a new child of God, exploration of the divine nature in strange territory does not end because this is the story he gave me. The word has become my flashlight. Wander deep into his love while on earth. Slow shutters blur the lights like neon rodeo lassos. Other creatures are exposed in stillness and sea sweat on the dark water’s edge before they’ll fly away. Ponder the mysteries beyond the horizon. Rereading for a faith fed roast beef the giardiniera sets the tongue on fire. Passages go on, state to state. This is what I’d say too, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And he said to him, “Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.” The sky is bruised before each night. Like my savior for being the light. Rebirth in your Spirit with newness of sight. Welcomed us into new accommodations so tight. The Kingdom is here no more blight.