You could hear a pin drop.

Except for the quiet ticking.

On the wall.

So quiet. So faint.

The eyes tried to follow the faintness.

The head turned in scary-slow-motion, to look over the shoulder.

To see what it was.

Tick. Tock. The pendulum went.

Back and forth the arguments lent.

Mistruths. Lies. And The corresponding stories.

Told. Re-Told. Told again.

And. Again. And. Again.

The ultimate traffic jam of words, deceptions, receptions—before any union or re-union even took place. Ordered. Disordered.

In the end, does it even matter?

Yes.

Yep.And. All things Okeedokee.

No acquiescence allowed.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The pendulum went.

Back and forth the arguments lent.

Mistruths. Lies. And. The corresponding stories.

The obsequiousness was thunderingly loud.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

How else to drown out the capitulation? The thundering and now blinding capitulation.

As in. Dump and go.

What occurred is resistance.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Formal.

Informal.

In the end, it may not matter.

However. It does now.

Tick Tock.

Tick Tock.

It is one thing to lend oneself the cooperation of soul.

It is yet another thing to attempt to rip the heart right out of it.

Some may refer to this as evil.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

And they would be correct.

Defiance and disobedience go hand in hand with the animosity and enmity of ill will.

Translation: Ick. Yuck.🤮 Weakness knows no bounds. Weakness spits on another’s boundries.

Tick. Tock. The pendulum goes.

Back and forth the arguments lend.

Mistruths. Lies. And. The corresponding stories.

Buckle up. Fasten. Enjoy the ride. Losing something along the way. Not quite sure what.

Holding the form of it but denying the power of it, are ya? Avoid such people.

Avoid such godless chatter, for it will lead people into more and more ungodliness.

Yes.

Yep. And. All things Okeedokee.

The “rub”.

It is easier said than done.

Have nothing to do with stupid, senseless controversies; you know they breed quarrels. An apt teacher. Gentle and kind.

Again.

It is easier said than done.

What to do? What to do?

Pick a side. Stick to it and with it.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Hold on strong. Buckle up. Fasten the mind. Focus.

“For the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching, but have itching ears they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own likings, and will turn away from listening to the truth, and wander into myths”. (2Timothy4)

What to do. What to do?

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

The itching in the ears becomes a deafening feast of self-imposed torture. In the next phase of the REM cycle, if there was any rest to honestly speak of. Tossing. Turning. Wishing becomes futile.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

The thrashing of the covers becomes a tug of war.

Leaping up to the realization, you have not awakened yet.

Was it? Is it all just a bad dream? Has this all been a nightmare.

To some extent, worse for some than others.

Hapless is as hapless does.

”For men will be lovers. men will be lovers of self, lovers of money, proud, arrogant, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, inhuman, implacable, slanderers, profligates, fierce, haters of good, treacherous, reckless, swollen with conceit, lovers of pleasure, rather than lovers of God, holding the form of religion, but denying the power of it.”(2Timothy4)

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Back and forth the arguments lend.

Mistruths. Lies. And. The corresponding stories.

Those arrogant men whose pleasure is fleeting, whose desires are shallow, make their way into households and capture weak women, burdened with sins, and swayed by various impulses.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Instead of restful rest one finds themselves repeatedly occupying the couch of self-reflection. Another lesson in self deprecation, when not properly validated as false, leads and lends itself to rolls of baloney and inorganic chemistries and controversies of hapless truth.

The “rub”

The nightmare is yourself occupying the couch and never reaching self-awareness to change—not the serenity, not the acceptance, not the courage, not the wisdom.

Why?

The game is so much more fun. The winnings so much more satisfying. The cowering of another is the corner, so much more self-gratifyingly powerful.

The “rub”.

Is.

The rush. Undeniably better than a quietness of grace and false determination of will. “Cannot help myself.” Too tempting. Too much craving. To pretend is so divinely, me.

“Don’t care.”

For the love of money is the root of all evils.

Knowing your place in this world. Puffed up with conceit?

Tick. Tick.

Tick. Tock.

Toss. Turn.

Toss. Turn.

Imposters will go on—from bad to worse.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Toss. Turn.

Toss. Turn.

The perfect day—on the horizon?

Not for you.

Dreamer, are you?

Nope.

Lost in your own puffed up nightmare of implacable existence because all along you have been told you are all that and the bag of chips.

Those closest to you knew you kept score— kept your eye on the score. And. What did you do?

Nothing. No change. No desire. Endurance became the game imposed by impossible standards of deception.

What to do. What to do?

”Charge them before the Lord.” Avoid disputing about words, which does no good, but only ruins the hearers.

Itching ears. Deafening messages of ill will.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Back and forth. the pendulum lends.

Mistruths. Lies. And. The corresponding stories.

The challenge?

Waking up.

Woking down?

Waking up to the face in the mirror. Distorted by the standards of the devil and his ways. Frowned and distorted as only he can do. Tired lines on the face of the rigamorole and all its tempting tidbits of power—in the moment.

The perfect day?

Lies ahead.

What will you do with the seconds, minutes, and hours given to you today by only Him. And, of course His graciousness.

Man plans.

God laughs.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

The quietness can be too loud for some. The chattering of their own voice is the lie they hope to run away from. Projections’ power firmly planted in the giver.

Time will tell.

It usually does.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Back and forth. The pendulum swings.

Mistruths. Lies. And. The corresponding stories.