Saturday, April 27, 2024

Greetings American Christians from the Melchizedek priesthood, in which Jesus was high priest

    Yesterday evening, I talked with my friend Bob on the telephone about watching an episode of The Vikings on Netflix, in which a young boy was killed by marauders and my heart started heaving and I felt the presence of my son who died of crib death in the the 7th week of his life, which so unhinged me that I was never able to fit myself in to the plans my parents and their parents and I had made for me, and i went off and had an entirely different life about which I wrote many books, which are free reads at the internet library,, thanks to Bob.

    I had told Bob of sometimes feeling that metaphysical experiences with my son actually were experiences with what i was raised to call the son of God, Jesus in the Gospels. 

    Yesterday evening was pretty topsy turvy, and I was not feeling well, and around 8 pm I laid down on my bed wondering if, given my experience while watching The Vikings, if my time was up?

    Around 3 a.m. this morning, I woke up and texted Bob:

Fell asleep on my bed around 8, wondering if my time was up? I awoke around 3 out of a dream in which I was the new police chief in some town on or near the Florida Gulf coast, I  told a woman I was a lawyer, who didn’t charge money. I’m wondering what that’s about? Heavy Wait? Port St. Joe? Panama City? My Helen, Georgia friend, JE, who met me when I was hitichinking in 2001. after I was dome writing  Heavy Wat in the Helen library, was on St. George iIsland last week.  

    Set in Birmingham, Port. St. Joe, Apalachicola, and St. Georgie Island, Florida. Heavy Wait: A Strange Tale, is about a Birmingham lawyer named Riley Strange, and two very different women, who look like twin sisters, who together had some seriously intense experiences with God and church people, who thought they knew everything there is to know about God.

    After texting Bob, I crawled out of bed and looked at my email and saw:

PERSONALITY DISORDERED followed you on Substack
I was brought back to life. Not by medical miracle nor my own strength. Isaiah 40:31 - but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

    I went to her substack and found at the top:

Have you been called by the Holy Spirit lately?

I feel I’ve been called by the Holy Spirit to come back to Christ. I answered that call in a heartbeat. 
Has anyone else noticed a supernatural shift lately?

Regrettably, all my life was lived as a lukewarm Christian. It was only recently I discovered biblical seminars on YouTube. Primarily Bible study focused. I never understood the parables in the Bible until I started watching these. It was as if everything just clicked and suddenly, as a revelation on its own I grasped it! 
Likened to an automatic download, the information was infused into my body, heart, soul and spirit. Since I don’t have a church to go to as of yet, I continue to use audiobooks about the word of God, Jesus’ life before/during his teachings and the Gospels of John, Paul (all the apostles).
I truly feel throughout my life, there were so many times I was being called by the Lord and Holy Spirit but I didn’t recognise it.
After sustaining a life changing spinal injury, it took away my sanity too. For the mind is susceptible to deception, especially in times of conflict/crisis. I allowed anger, grief and frustration to take hold of me. In the destitute state I fell into there was no room for faith in our Father, Jesus and the Holy Spirit to dwell upon me. The cadaverous influence that entered my life was malevolent and most certainly contributed to a multitude of strongholds which consumed any hope for my future. Then a miracle came.
Through repentance and prayer, I sought forgiveness for all of my transgressions and sins. I surrendered and submitted my body, heart, soul, mind and spirit to God.
As if was being prepared for this amazing spiritual awakening seven years ago (which is quite prophetic in itself), I finally removed myself from a violent, abusive relationship that plagued me for five years. I also abstained from all fornication, alcohol, drugs and completely cut out all negative, demonic influence from my life. 
So seven years on, I feel emphatically that it’s so important It share my testimony. My journey on here began before I was called upon by the most merciful and loving God.
In keeping with sharing my journey living alongside mental illness, that facet of this publication won’t change. In addition going forward, I’ll be including the spiritual transformations in my life. 
For the first time my spirit is fired up for the Lord. The truth is the minute I was reminded of the word, I came out of the enemy’s strategy of deception and was supernaturally guided back to scripture. 
These days I have a completely new perspective of life. I am blessed, highly spirited, motivated and inspired to share how the unconditional love and forgiveness of our Lord and Saviour can truly transform your life too! 
For many years searching for answers, the Genesis of my pain. Through the Trinitarian guidance I’ve received, I realise the answer was right in front of my face all along. I’m beginning a new journey, and this time I have an advantage. I have the armour of God. 

    I figured that was what my dream was about, and I subscribed to her newsletter and took a while replying to her post.

Sloan Bahsinsky
Interesting. In my spirit code, 7 is the mark of God on a person or an event. Paul went through an intense time of preparation before he was sent back into the world. Peter, also. Other of the 12 known men disciples, as well. The women disciples, well, that’s not talked about much in Christendom :-). I’ll get to that in a bit. 
I am pretty sure I dreamed about you about an hour ago, and I woke up thinking the dream might be about my novel Heavy Wait: A Strange Tale, not for the faint of heart, a free read at the free internet library, The redneck heroine in that tale had some really awful experiences in her backwoods Christian family, including being raped repeatedly by one of her brothers and being make out to be crazy by her family, after she started talking about it, and she got locked up and fortunately the psychiatrist didn’t believe her family entirely. But she needed a great deal more help than the psychiatrist could provide, and that’s where the hero came into the story, after his heart had been ripped out of him and run though a wood chipper by the love his his life suddenly dying and he had his own time with a psychiatrist in a facility, who figured out there was something a lot bigger than psychiatry going on with his patient.
Heavy Wait fell out of me in about 6 weeks on a public library computer in Helen, Georgia. I was homeless, and the library let me use one of its desktops to write the tale, which very definitely is not for the faint of heart, and was not entirely all made up. The Preface tells how I was led by the Spirit to write the tale. 
Last year, I wrote Heavy Wait’s sequel, Return of the Strange. Also not for the faint of heart.
Both novels are free reads at the free internet library,, which is run and funded by American colleges. You might be asked if you are sure you want to open that website, which is used by people all over the world to read out of print books and books by authors who offer their books for free.The free library’s digitized books can be read in at least 33 languages, including English.
To bring up my dozen or so books, enter Sloan Bashinsky in the search space and press Enter, and icon links for the books come up and clicking on their icon opens  them. My books are averaging about 10,000 complete reads, per book, per month. 
My books at, and my Susttaack writings, and my blogs,, redneckmysticlawyerforpresident,, and afoolsworkneverends.blogspot,com, are for grown ups. 
I tell Christians, to the extent they live as Jesus in the Gospels lived, they are saved by him, and they should not forget he said in the Gospels, many are called, but few are chosen, and they should not forget  he did not baptize in water, but in fire and spirit he baptized, and that was the baptism he lived in the Gospels, and how people live is far more important than what they say and believe.
I wrote to you elsewhere that I was grabbed by Jesus and Michael in early 1987, after I had figured out that church Christianity and the New Age and moving out west had not helped me, and I was desperate and prayed to God to help me and offered my life to human service.
How those two grabbed me was, they woke me up in the wee hours and I saw them hovering above me in the darkness, but did not know who they were, but I  thought they were angels, white, shaped like shifts, no wings that I saw, and I heard, “This will push you to your limits, but you asked for it, and we are going to give it to you,  and I saw a white flash and was physically and otherwise jolted by something electrical, and that happened two more times, and I was sweating and shaking in my body, and the two faded out, and that was how it started.
The changes came slowly at first. I was moved to another city, met a new woman, and had a vision about writing a book about practicing law in a new way, and I tried to write the book and wrote garbage many times, but eventually stuff happened and I actually did start writing the book, and the two used that process and various editors I was provided to force me to take many long hard looks at myself in the mirror, and one fearless and searching personal inventory after another became the core of the discipline, still in progress at 81 years and climbing. 
I experienced many wondrous things, a number of what sure looked like miracles to me. I was ever aware of the two’s presence, via dreams, revelations, ah has, body and sensory sensations, some were brutal- corrections, spankings, redirections, etc. Eventually, the two were joined by what I called Rosa Myytca. Then came Melchizedek, and then Kali, in the Hindu tradition. I learned Kali really doesn’t care for how men think.
I was told it is very easy to mistake Lucifer for the Holy Spirit, and I was given many experiences to show me why that was true, inside of me and outside of me, in other people, in the world’s goings on. Every person has a demonic twin, and coming to terms with that is part of the journey. Jesus wrestled with his demonic twin in the wilderness and thereafter, but that is not discussed in churches, where the Devil is pleased to hide in plain view, but is not seen usually.
I was sent into churches and various other situations, and then into politics. I came to view everywhere I was, I was in church, which is how it was for Jesus in the Gospels, and for Paul, and Peter, and for other disciples known in the Gospels and not known there. A number of disciples were women, the most prominent was Mary Magdalene, Jesus’s wife, mother of his child, but you’ll never get Christendom to acknowledge that. Every person in Christendom should read the book, Holy Blood, Holy Grail, which is about their child and its bloodline. 
In 1992, as I recall, this came to me from very far away, very slowly.

Melchizedek is an Order of angel that comes to a planet in trouble to prepare it to receive the Christ
Christ does not come to a planet without Melchizedek
Mary Magdalene was of the Order Melchizedek

In 1999, I was told to read the Letter to the Hebrews, which generally is viewed as being written by an unknown author. I was told Magdalene wrote it, and she did not put her name on it, because it was known that no man would read anything a woman said or wrote about God, Jesus, etc. Hebrews was written to Jews who had accepted Christ, but had fallen back to their old ways, because the discipline was so rugged. They were told they should be teaching, they should be eating meat, but they were still drinking milk. They were urged to return to the cleansing of the Lord, which I was experiencing in spades at that point of time in my life, and it was awful, and it was completely beyond the ken of psychiatry, medicine and church Christianity. Hebrews is about being turned into a priest after the Order Melchizedek forever, in which Order Jesus is a high priest. That priesthood is recognized in the Catholic, Episcopal, Lutheran and Mormon sects, but is not really understood by anyone in those sects, who does not experience the training. Women are just as welcome as men in that training, which is about dying and becoming someone else entirely.

In Judaism, the Spirit of God is called Shekinah, female gender. Christendom made the Holy Spirit male. In the Old Testament, Wisdom is assigned the female gender. In the Old Testament is said, fear of ehe Lord is the beginning of wisdom. The Star of David is the universal symbol of the Melchizedek Order. Jesus was a Jew. Jewish men in that day had a solemn duty to God, to marry and make children. Jesus said in Gethsemane, not his will, but God’s will be done. There is nothing in Paul’s letters about him being married or having children. He preached men were above women in relationship to Christ. He preached celibacy. His thorn in the flesh was he was gay, and every woman around him knew it. 

Judas, who also was of the Order Melchizedek, did precisely what Jesus asked him to do. If Judas had not killed himself, he would have taken over where Jesus left off, and we might never have heard of Paul, whom Christendom quotes far more than it quotes Jesus, in my experience, because Paul is a bit easier to swallow and digest? Judas was not in favor of making miracles, because he felt they distracted from the steep and narrow Jesus was teaching. Today, Christendom has a fast miracle salvation formula, which is not the formula Jesus lived and taught in the Gospels.

Wednesday, April 17, 2024

only fools rush in where angels fear to tread...


    Ok, youngugs, ole Grandfossils' not sure how to wrap all of the tales up today, perhaps something beautiful and raw from Erik Rittenberry's Poetic Outlaws and my an another reader’s discussion of it:  

Stanley Kunitz: A Poem has Secrets that the Poet Knows Nothing Of

APR 17, 2024

“The deepest thing I know is that I am living and dying at once, and my conviction is to report that dialogue.” 

— Kunitz

Stanley Kunitz is certainly one of the greatest American poets of the 20th century. 

He received numerous awards for his poetry, including the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry twice (in 1959 and 2005). His works often explored the vital kinship between nature and the human experience. He had a profound awareness of the natural world and often used it as a metaphor for human emotions and the passage of time. 

Kunitz’s poetry is steeped with images of loss and regeneration, aging and mortality, and a sense of grappling with the ultimate questions of spirituality and transcendence. 

Before we get into Kunitz's most notable poem, “King of the River,” I wanted to share with you what inspired him to write this profound piece. This poem explores the cyclical nature of life, the passage of time, the spiritual dimensions of an “upstream” struggle, and “the inexorable process” of his own fate. 

Below is a brief exchange Kunitz had with an interviewer who asked him how this brilliant poem came into being.

Hope you enjoy it. 

Interviewer: My favorite poem of yours is “King of the River,” and I believe my reason is that the salmon, ostensibly the subject of the poem, is half-fish, half-Kunitz. Could we talk a little about how the poem came into being?

Kunitz: What triggered “King of the River,” I recall, was a brief report in Time of some new research on the aging process of the Pacific salmon. I wrote the poem in Provincetown one fall—my favorite writing season. The very first lines came to me with their conditional syntax and suspended clauses, a winding and falling movement. 

The rest seemed to flow, maybe because I'm never very far from the creature world. Some of my deepest feelings have to do with plants and animals. In my bad times they've sustained me. It may be pertinent that I experienced a curious elation while confronting the unpleasant reality of being mortal, the inexorable process of my own decay. Perhaps I had managed to “distance” my fate—the salmon was doing my dying for me.

A poem has secrets that the poet knows nothing of. It takes on a life and a will of its own. It might have proceeded differently—towards catastrophe, resignation, terror, despair—and I still would have to claim it. 

Valรฉry said that poetry is a language within a language. It is also a language beyond language, a meta-medium—that is, metabolic, metaphoric, metamorphic. A poet's collected work is his book of changes. The great meditations on death have a curious exaltation. I suppose it comes from the realization, even on the threshold, that one isn't done with one's changes.

The King of the River

If the water were clear enough,

if the water were still,

but the water is not clear,

the water is not still,

you would see yourself,

slipped out of your skin,

nosing upstream,

slapping, thrashing,


over the rocks

till you paint them

with your belly's blood:

Finned Ego,

yard of muscle that coils,


If the knowledge were given you,

but it is not given,

for the membrane is clouded

with self-deceptions

and the iridescent image swims

through a mirror that flows,

you would surprise yourself

in that other flesh

heavy with milt,

bruised, battering toward the dam

that lips the orgiastic pool.

Come. Bathe in these waters.

Increase and die.

If the power were granted you

to break out of your cells,

but the imagination fails

and the doors of the senses close

on the child within,

you would dare to be changed,

as you are changing now,

into the shape you dread

beyond the merely human.

A dry fire eats you.

Fat drips from your bones.

The flutes of your gills discolor.

You have become a ship for parasites.

The great clock of your life

is slowing down,

and the small clocks run wild.

For this you were born.

You have cried to the wind

and heard the wind's reply:

"I did not choose the way,

the way chose me."

You have tasted the fire on your tongue

till it is swollen black

with a prophetic joy:

"Burn with me!

The only music is time,

the only dance is love."

If the heart were pure enough,

but it is not pure,

you would admit

that nothing compels you

any more, nothing

at all abides,

but nostalgia and desire,

the two-way ladder

between heaven and hell.

On the threshold

of the last mystery,

at the brute absolute hour,

you have looked into the eyes

of your creature self,

which are glazed with madness,

and you say

he is not broken but endures,

limber and firm

in the state of his shining,

forever inheriting his salt kingdom,

from which he is banished


Sloan Bashinsky

That poor salmon,

what did it do 

to deserve

reminding the poet of his

own self? :-)  


Try it the other way, what did the poet do to feel that his self resembled a salmon? ๐Ÿ˜‰ 

Sloan Bashinsky

Or, what the poet didn’t do, which caused him to feel he was no different from a salmon that did what it had to do? :-)  


Ethan Summers

Truth is Sloan, that you asked a very good question. I didn’t manage to understand the poem until I started to think how to answer to you. So, imagine that you’d be slowly, gradually, morphing into a salmon trying to swim against the stream towards your birthplace, and then try to read the poem with the eyes of a fish. Ultimately read the title and you might just feel poet’s admiration for those who against all hardships, battered, with the blood dripping from their belly, fight to their last breath against the current, only to meet their fate, unwavering, almost defiant in their steadiness  

Sloan Bashinsky

Erik’s title is what caused me to post my question: 

"A Poem has Secrets that the Poet Knows Nothing Of”.

Kinda reminds me of the heart has its own reasons that reason cannot know.

It Kunitiz didn’t uncover the poem’s secrets, how can we?

The Sockeye, or any saltwater-freshwater salmon, makes that arduous return because its genes demand it, it has no choice in the matter, and it reaches its spawning ground, or dies trying, naturally, or killed by a fisherman, bear or eagle. 

There’s a religious theme in this poem, heaven and hell, and swimming against a current without assistance of greater knowledge, perception, awareness, understanding, by rote, a computer program, like a salmon. Or a lemming, as each salmon has the same genes as its own kind driving it.

Salmon are herd creatures, they do not deviate, until they are killed, or they die of exhaustion, although some kinds of salmon do not die spawning, such as the Atlantic salmon and the Siberia salmon, I think.  



True, I wonder though, are we more free than the salmon is, or just as constrained by our genetic structure as it is? Is our freedom a real or just an illusion?

Sloan Bashinsky
The salmon and human genetic codes are one thing,  human social, religious, political, educational programming, egos and karma are something else altogether.๐Ÿ˜Ž
Obviously, our world is far more complex than the one of a fish for our body is a far more complex machine and has a far more complicated structure than the one of a fish. 
What I suspect though is that our emotions could be entirely explained by the work of hormones combined with the amount of oxygen delivered to the brain. Little modifications in how the hormones work, anomalies, malfunctions and you have a different individual altogether. My thought is that we are not as free as we think we are, and in this regard we subtly resemble that fish after all. 
But even in those conditions, the title of the article is challenging indeed, just as you said, and could easily be the object of a separate discussion ๐Ÿ˜ƒ

Sloan Bashinsky
For the reasons you and I stated, for most people, freedom is an illusion. Look at the qualifiers in the poem, mocking freedom.


    In early 2004, I started attending a very different kind of church service in an office building. No collection plate was passed. Each Sunday, someone different spoke for a little while, and the meeting ended. 

    One day, someone else came forward at the end and said, “Close your  eyes and ask what you can do to best serve God?”

    I closed my eyes and saw a beautiful white quill writing pen, tears came to my eyes, and got up out of my chair and walked out of there and drove home.

    That night, sitting in the easy chair in my and my wife’s bedroom, staring out the window at large, bare-limbed black willow tree in moonlight, I opened my writing journal and put my pen on the pater and one word came, and another word came, and I started balling my eyes out, as more words came, each a poem, but not cast into verse, and that went on for several weeks, and then it slowed down, and then it stopped.

    Here are two of the poems, which I remember verbatim.

He is the paper, the ink his blood, the pen his soul, and the poet is God.

    Although he sometimes tries to write fiction, every character is a character in himself, ever plot a plot a plot in himself- there are no surprises, only his to discover parts of himself he has lost, forgotten, thrown away, or ever even knew were there. Perhaps in that way he and God are somewhat alike- they both create to discover just who and what they really are. 

    Then, this fell out of me:

Only fools rush in

Where angels fear to tread,

But if there were no fools, 

Who’d lead the angels?

    That evening, I felt something huge and wonderful-feeling trying to wiggle its way into me. It was a really tight fit. There were lots of tears. that went on for about two weeks. 

    Every morning I took the same walk of about 4 miles.

    This particular morning, when I reached the turn around point and headed home, I felt angels' presence, and then I heard in my thoughts, “This thing coming into you is your angel twin. All people have an angel twin, and yours will live out this life with you.”

    I thought, “That’s neat!”

    Then, I heard, “By the way, this is your son.”

    I nearly collapsed to the ground.

    My 7-week-old son had died of sudden infant death syndrome just before I entered my last semester at the University of Alabama School of Law in Tuscaloosa. His death had so unhinged me that I was not able to fit myself into the plans and molds my father and this father and my mother had made for me, nor into any plans and molds I had made for me.

    In 1988, I had gone to his unmarked grave several times carrying a yellow peace rose like the one on his simple oak coffin. I cried oceans of tears and snot at his unmarked grave. When no more tears and snot came, I had the cemetery put a marker on his grave, on which was engraved: “Infant Son: He opened out hearts and set us on our journey.”

    I put all of those poems into a floppy disc document and took it to a copy center and they made it into a saddle stitch pamphlet, which I named A Crazy Person’s Bible. I was anonymous. I gave away hundreds of copies by leaving them in cardboard boxes at a city mall.

    Many years later, after my, and went to a cyber cemetery, I created and started writing their most days.

    I wrote there after I moved from Key West back to Alabama in late 2018, and I continued writing there through the Covid-19 shutdown.

    By then, I had reverted the first half of the blog posts to draft. 

    Then, I started new blogspots, which became books at

    Yesterday, I felt it might be time to return to writing at afoolsworkneverends.blogspotlcom, because its title fits me better than anything else. 

    Having said that, I wonder what’s next?

    What can I do to best serve God?

    Meanwhile, from The Christian Science Monitor today: 

She’s worth $1 billion, but can Taylor Swift write poetry? We ask experts.

Do poems and lyrics serve the same function in art? Or are they entirely different mediums? We asked poets (and Swift fans) for their analysis of Taylor Swift’s wordsmithing.

Taylor Swift’s new album, “The Tortured Poets Department,” comes out April 19.
By Stephen Humphries Staff writer

Taylor Swift occupies a position in popular culture that makes Beatlemania seem like a passing fad. Her every move is scrutinized.

The April 19 release of her new album has been shrouded in a blackout. No advance singles. Zero interviews. But Ms. Swift’s 11th LP does appear to follow a poetic theme. The album’s tagline is “All’s fair in love and poetry.” It’s being released during National Poetry Month.

Consequently, “The Tortured Poets Department” is heating up a debate that’s been simmering since before Bob Dylan won the Nobel Prize for literature in 2016: Can lyrics qualify as poetry?

Historically, poems were often performed aloud with musical accompaniment. The etymology of “lyric poetry” is the Greek word lyrikos, which means “singing to the lyre.”

“There are people out there who would argue that a pop star can’t be a poet,” says Elly McCausland, who teaches the “Literature (Taylor’s Version)” course at Ghent University in Belgium. “She’s deliberately pushing back against that and also asking us to examine our own attitudes. What is poetry? What can poetry be?” 
    Any damn thing it wants to be, Elly. Any damn thing it wants to be. 

    For who, yes please tell me, just who invented the rule that poetry must rhyme, have pentameter, be cast into verse? Surely it wasn’t the maker of the first stone- otherwise there’d be no stones to break all those slaving rules!!!