Pentecostals pretty much revolve around this one story.
The holy spirit coming to a group of people on the second floor of a building. These people giving in to the spirit,and speaking a language that no one could understand. Tongues. The language of God.
God sent the Holy Spirit after Christ, to like, be with us, forever and ever. Not a single soul is ever really alone, because God walks with you.
My dead aunt believed that it was consciousness, that before the death of Christ, mankind had no inner monologue, no voice of good tugging them into the right direction. Little by little,bit by bit, an inch on some days ,a leap on others.
I have difficulty understanding people, it’s not one of my strengths, I try though.
Best I can tell, we All have some degree of internal chatter. Sometimes it’s merciless, fucking mean to you. But it’s all you.
I highly doubt that the holy spirit talks the kind of shit that I talk to myself.
(but also…)
Yes. Same team. Whatever you are,in my head, I acknowledge that you’re stronger than I am, and I would not have made it this far without you.
(we have a unique relationship)
I’m grateful for you, whatever you are ❤️
(you’re still angry at them, you never let go of that)
What do I do with that anger?
(think about it for a while, look at it from the outside)
Alright, I have to go to work now.
(stay solid )
dawn 