Showing posts with label breath. Show all posts
Showing posts with label breath. Show all posts

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Devilweeding

This one requires a little bit of background before I launch into description and also requires a bit of faith to believe/understand. I'm going out on a limb because some of the things I'm writing here are of the sort to which I wouldn't have given the slightest bit of credence, say, a few years ago. Now, turns of phrase like "demonic powers" and "gave me a vision of" are WNL (within normal limits), whereas they used to be off the charts, as it were: outside the whole realm of discourse. So proceed either with faith or with caution, to whichever you have the most ready access.

About a month and a half ago, when first I started this blog, I had just been delivered from captivity in the hands of the enemy (demonic powers), which had lasted for at least 6 months. As my good friend was praying for my deliverance, it felt as though the main resident enemies kinda slithered out the top of my head, and on the way out, they gave me a vision of what would happen to me when they got back.

Imagine a body held in place in a high-velocity wind tunnel where the temperature of the air is high enough to vaporize anything in its path. For a large, solid object, it might look rather like an ice cube as it melts; you can't see it melting away at the edges but you can see it shrink, seeming to go faster as the ratio of surface area to volume increases: you can't see the object burning away at the surface because the smoke and vapors it turns into are so quickly blown away in the wind tunnel, too fast to see.

That's what they showed me. An incredible forced-air furnace that dissolved my body.

The Lord is good at turning the enemy's weapons against him, and so He did again with this. I was at Bethel in the prayer house and God had just worked a miracle in me (which will be next post's content), but still I was being attacked intermittently by thoughts I know didn't come from me and I know didn't come from God. I asked Him what I should do with such things. He showed me the following.

I was looking at an overgrown lawn that looked much like the back lawn at our house. Mostly tallish grass covered the ground, but there were three or four large, prominent, thick and tall weeds among the grass. I saw the weeds start to lift out of the ground as if an invisible hand were plucking them out right at the bottom of the stalks where the roots begin, until I saw all the weeds, roots and all, just hanging there in the air.

And He said to me, "now, blow on them." When I did, my breath was somehow amplified and heated so that it produced a wind tunnel of super-heated air just like the one I'd seen before, and the weeds bent in the rushing air and were consumed from the outside in, until there was nothing left but the lawn of grass below. Not even one particle of ash remained.

The Lord gave me an incredible gift in showing me this. Not only does it work on unwanted thoughts, but it's also shown success in application to demons. But not just a puff of air like blowing out a candle; these require a protracted breath to disintegrate fully. Sometimes I'll just have fun by throwing in a huge blast of light along with the furnace just to remind them what they're really up against and not to come back anytime soon.

I do this until my mindscape is clear of them. I always feel closer to Him afterwards, the more free to follow Him more nearly, and waves of joy -- be they little ripples as in a pond or larger waves as in a pool -- often wash over me.


But I'm still waiting for His great tsunami. I'm running along the shore like a frantic ant, seeing it whack other people and chasing after it, aiming directly for its path inasmuch as I can even discern it. I am so ready to "drown the old man," there just aren't human words for it.

I think it was Pastor Kris Vallotton who once said that water baptism isn't just symbolic, but rather it's a prophetic declaration over a person's life. I was "Christened" as an infant with a sprinkling which I think was probably a nice little ritual with no power to it whatsoever. I'm ready for the real thing and so hungry for it my soul screams; nothing could make me stop sprinting along that shore.


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Wednesday, February 18, 2009

The Language without Words

The word spoken aloud is a powerful thing: it rends the silence to affirm our faith, lets our natural breath mix with breath given to us by the Holy Spirit, and catches up our hearts like iron filings to a magnet so that we can be led by the speaker. From what I've seen and heard of prayer, though -- and granted, that is yet VERY little -- people seem to be limited to praying by speaking aloud, as I've not yet seen the topic introduced of which I'm going to tell you here.

When I'm laying-on-of-hands-praying for someone else (outside my family, which I've not done often), I speak aloud just to show the person I'm praying for where my mind is, but when praying very deeply for someone I tend to fall into the Language without Words. However, the last time I did that, with a close friend, after about five seconds I was whomped across the consciousness by the awkwardness factor emanating from him just skyrocketing, so I stopped after a few more desperate seconds. I did warn him first that I was going to go into silent prayer, asked him if it was okay and he agreed, but all the same, it fizzled miserably.

When I'm praying for my spouse (the only current recipient of my laying-on-of-hands-prayers), free from awkwardness, I just tend to slide into this silent language right away. I'll try here to describe what it's like.

It's not a meditative state, as is the state of silent prayer into which I sometimes drift when praying alone (against the deepest versions of which I have to guard lest I take an unscheduled snooze), but rather this begins as a seeking state. I seek the other person and, if there's no place else to start, I begin by rolling my inner eye across my own experiences with the person and who I see the person to be. Then I can kinda launch that inner eye into the other person, as if I'm stepping into a new room in which I've never been before. (And it is a new room every time, as no one is exactly the same person from one moment to the next -- and even if it's much the same, there's the need to reacquaint myself freshly each visit.) I'll hear the electric crackling sound of a worried mind, feel the undertow of an aching heart, and can almost taste the hydrochloric acid mix responsible for that gastritis. I look around the room in all the different directions I can find, and if I'm looking for something specific, I can zoom over there right away; if I'm praying for the person as a whole, I just try to soak up that whole room at once into my consciousness.

Then I stretch out my hand so it's HUGE (a little like the much-distorted homunculus who "lives" in the sensory part of the brain, but with a smaller thumb), and for each place in the person there's a fingertip to rest upon it (even parts that aren't distressed), and then I take the other hand and reach for God. I'll say a little prayer that my mind might be filled with Light and sanctified to serve as a right and true gateway through which the Holy Spirit might manifest.

Then I begin to pray, still without words, but now in a state of rest rather than of seeking. And, when need be, I "refresh" -- I F5 my location, as it were -- among the phases of seeking, whichever of them needs strengthening. Sometimes an actual word will say itself in there (and I'm sure sometimes it comes out of me as a whisper): just the biggies, like Father and Love and stuff like that.

Sometimes I don't even get this far because it takes a little time for all this to happen, although it hardly seems to take any time from my own perspective; I'm always mildly annoyed when the person is ready to move on from being prayed for because dangit I'm not done yet! Wait! Arrgh! In fact, I don't know whether I can remember a time when I ever actually finished praying for someone; I always have to wind myself down when I feel them begin to come up for air (but, man, we can breathe down here, don't you see? Don't you get it? Arrgh!).

Yeah, it's like we're underwater. Yeah, I know it feels weird. Yeah, I know things are packed closer here and there's a heaviness about it. Yeah, I know it can be scary if you worry about running out of air. But the breath we receive is faith happening down here. We can breathe down here. We can breathe.


I'll end with a the first verse of a hymn I always especially liked in church, from when I was a child:

Breathe on me, breath of God
Fill me with life anew
That I might love as Thou dost love
And do what Thou would'st do

Many thanks to Jeff for verse additions and some very sound advice (comment)!


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karyos@rocketmail.com