A beat-burst:

Comfort in mourning/heaven through poverty/meek inheriting/filling up in yearning, for justice, which is righteous/merciful mercy/sight about purity/peacemaking, and a name.

And, back to heaven – through persecution.

These blessed beatitudes? What an antithesis (of reasons) in the contemporary; 'everything's… about being happy'?

God-given gifts of life to enjoy, yet… increasingly, our prison. Schooled into loving our servitude and taking the pills.

Not feeling locked-up? Maybe not? But we're doing what it takes, ignoring what's in the shadows – the lies. The inevitable and rolling-in all around us, but…

Willingly we give ourselves and both call out for Deborah's to arise – be ones ourselves. To win the battle for freedom, or watch slavery envelope? This, the planting to grow, what the seeds are for.

Blessed – the Greek word makarios – means….. happy – but looking at those thrilling, spilling, attractions? Not the rage… at all, eh?

And yet happy ye who groan. And somehow in this, times of smile-contentment. The hap-word. A deeper and unaffected by circumstances kind.

A godly-sorrow, rarely spoken about. Should say 'these days'. But that-then, old-wise holiness times and ways, was a-grieving over 'our' – ok, their – inner state.

This, I can't quite muster, that much – but there's a leading other ways. Outside of self-loathing, self-haven't got, or have and don't want.

The hurt and how much God's love… God loves. This more-so, the beatitudes.

God aches, knowing what the takeover forces are doing now and what's yet to come. We might not so-care. But God...

Sad waves inside, faint whispers but growing, how God I believe – an infinitesimal measure of – feels. I take it as small growth out of swamping dullness.

Willingly we give ourselves and again and again. To the joy-bringer, yet mourn-in. And hallelujah. And find the comfort in this place.

God we come back to you and yet run-away. We come back to you... and again, and again.

Grace be upon us, we pray