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What God Is About... You have to see this

Why do Christian pray in the name of Jesus and Muslim follow Muhammed... What about Enoch(not Cain's Son) that lived for 365years and been taken to heaven alive? When I hear people talk about God and attach it to a particular messenger or to the worst of some people calling Jesus God, its annoys me. https://efixi.blogspot.com/p/photo-book.html

If God can create Adam without a mother and father, Jesus shouldn't be exceptional. Jesus did well during is time but people calling him God is a no no for me.

More About Enoch

Enoch is of the Antediluvian period in the Hebrew Bible. Enoch was son of Jared and fathered Methuselah. This Enoch is not to be confused with Cain's son Enoch. According to the Book of Genesis,  Enoch lived 365 years before he was taken by God. The text reads that Enoch "walked with God: and he was no more; for God took him" (Gen 5:21–24), which some Christians interpret as Enoch's entering Heaven alive.  

Enoch is the subject of many Jewish and Christian traditions. He was considered the author of the Book of Enoch and also called

Enoch the scribe of judgment. The Christian New Testament has three references to Enoch...

Enoch appears in the Book of Genesis of the Pentateuch as the seventh of the ten pre-Deluge Patriarchs. Enoch is considered by many to be the exception, who is said to "not see death" (Hebrews 11:5).

Furthermore, Genesis 5:22–29 states that Enoch lived 365 years, which is extremely short in the context of his peers, who are all recorded as dying at over 700 years of age. The brief account of Enoch in Genesis 5 ends with the cryptic note that "he [was] not; for God took him"

God is not about religion...I will reveal more in my next post

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What Life Is All About...

 

What Life Is All About...

https://efixi.blogspot.com/p/photo-book.html  “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”~ Maya Angelou

I gaze out my window and notice the way that raindrops onto the grass. I can see all this as if it is in slow motion, the drops growing in size and dropping gently, almost asking for permission to land.

I put on my running gear, and hurry outside so as not to miss the rain. I stand under the covered arch in front of our house and feel the chill of the wind moving across my face and neck.

I adjust my earphones and cap, and I’m off, smiling away the first few kilometres. I feel the rain drizzling against my body, and try to sidestep the puddles that have formed on the ground.

I run and run as if it’s the last day of my life. Finally, the pain of it catches up with me and wipes the smile away. Still, the sense of joy within remains.

The streets are completely empty now. I am immersed in the sense of liberation and freedom. It’s as if I am the only one on this planet—like a scene from the movie Mad Max.

I feel that inner peace and power that you feel only when your soul has made contact with you.

That feeling of running under the rain—freedom, lightness and that “close-to-nature-bliss”—was so transfixing to me that now I wait eagerly for the clouds to roll in, thrilled for the opportunity to experience it again.

At the core of our civilisation is the expression of human emotion.

Sometimes, I regard my feelings with distrust, disdain and fear especially given my macho upbringing and surroundings.

However, all my memories, points of interest and most important lessons in life seem to be intertwined with moments of intense feelings.



It’s May. My son’s Graduation day—a day of laughter and excitement for the kids, and an intense mix of feelings for the rest of us. I sit down in the theatre with five hundred other parents, feeling utterly alone in the dark and the quiet, with the formality of the setting slowly sinking in.

I watch him walk down the aisle with 50 other students and start to choke up without warning.

I look around—a few people are watching me—so I hold myself together and watch speech after speech. I feel like I’m in a daze.

One of the teachers gives a great, memorable speech, talking directly from his heart.

“Where did this guy come from?” I wonder. What he’s saying is so powerful. I’m going to cry.

Next, my son wins an award for achievement, and I’m convinced this is definitely a conspiracy to make me cry.

Soon after, the ceremony ends, and the graduates throw their graduation caps into the air. We all applaud. People are crying all around me.

We take pictures, and say our hellos and goodbyes, then drive off to the hotel where we are holding a shared reception with some of my son’s friends.

The first thing I do is down a double vodka to calm me down—as if that ever works.

The evening goes well, and then the speeches come.

I can’t remember the exact words my son used, but I will never forget the feelings I felt as I watched him in front of the crowd, so grown-up and confident. As I hug him in front of all those people, my knees go weak, and suddenly the earth moves beneath me as if time stopped and still.

That hug brought back memories mixed with the many emotions built up throughout the evening (perhaps, enhanced by a few more double vodkas).

All in all, my heart was deeply touched with a feeling that I will never be able to explain.

That hug was not just a hug. It encompassed years and years of fears, love, doubts, insecurities, heartache, hope, joy, respect, and admiration.

That hug was speaking a universal language understood by all. It was speaking directly to all the hearts in the room—it was a silent conversation.

“I’m leaving you,” he was saying to me.

“I’m losing my best friend,” I replied.

“But you need to let me go. I need to start my own life, my own adventure.”

“I know. I understand.”

Kahlil Gibran writes: “Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, and though they are with you yet, they belong not to you.”

As we slowly let each other go, I noticed tears in his eyes. Then the floodgates open, and I cried as I’ve never cried before.

Once, I had a conversation with a woman on a flight to London. I can’t remember her face exactly, or her name, but I can see her glittering turquoise blue eyes and her soft white skin (though I can’t remember the colour of her hair).

She was a bit older than me, but I was drawn to her composure and the way the words came out of her mouth in short, powerful and meaningful phrases.

She said something to the effect that life is an adventure, one that is unique and particular to every single one of us.

She didn’t say anything new but the way she said it resonated with me and left me mesmerised.

She made me feel special, sexy and intelligent. Most of all, she made me feel powerful and like anything was possible, even at my ripe old age of forty-five.

I felt as if I was an anointed king going to reclaim his country. I thought that I still have many chapters to fill in the story of my life.

Our lives are defined by the moments we experience and the intensity of our feelings.

How did we feel at that moment?  Where were we when we felt that way? Why did we feel like that? Who made us feel them?

We feel good when we are happy, joyful, excited, alive, compassionate, peaceful and full of love.

We feel bad when we are sad, hurt, tired, irritated, confused, afraid, angry and hateful.

The inner labels that we give to people, places and events don’t actually refer to those things, but instead, how we feel about them.

If Rome was the place I had my heart broken, then it will be etched in my heart that way, and most likely the only feeling I will get when I hear or see anything about Rome are the echoes of my pain, sadness and fear.

When I run, I feel joy, freedom and inner peace. Running becomes a symbol for those feelings. I associate running with that particular day I was running in the rain and feeling the bliss of nature.

The feelings that arose from “that hug” with my son contained both love and fear, and the mix was so compelling that I only remember how I felt whenever the image of that moment comes to mind. Not what anyone wore, not the speeches, or any of the details we had obsessed about preparing the reception for months in advance.

We live life for our feelings.

Our bodies are the vessels that carry and experience those feelings.

Our minds try to understand and decipher the feelings.

Our Spirits speak to us only through our feelings.

"Life Is All About The Intensity Of Our Feelings"

 

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