Jedi

What I'm saying is it's like I'm a Jedi and my partner is missing his Lightsaver. it's like his lightsaver is hidden and maybe he doesn't even have one. and i need my Jedi to back me up. and i'm not even sure if he's a jedi.

a tent

Last night I wanted to share spiritual stuff, "do you want to know anything about me spiritually?" and he declined, it was too personal to talk about. I learned that this is his style. I wanted to tell him about the beginning. about how Jesus when he first spoke to me spoke to me as a DJ.

I didn't feel negative, just a hole. just a big wide and blinking gap. the beat dropped.

And how did you respond Lord? I came home last night and could only find my King James--you were so clever You had a way in mind You wanted to talk to me.

You took me in your tent and you gave me this treasure:

"Thy testimonies are wonderful:
therefore doth my soul keep them.
The entrance of thy words giveth light;
it giveth understanding unto the simple.

I opened my mouth, and panted
for I longed for thy commandments.
Look thou upon me, and be merciful to me,
as thou usest to do unto those that love thy name.

Order my steps in thy word:
and let not any iniquity have dominion over me.
Deliver me from the oppression of man:
so will I keep thy precepts.

Make thy face to shine upon thy servant:
and teach me thy statutes.
Rivers of waters run down mine eyes,
because they keep not thy law."
Psalm CXIX 129

You keep bringing me into you. Everything i feel as loss You speak into. You keep unlocking the rooms. And I know you are there. You know exactly how this brush stroke feels in my soul.

I love how it says:
The entrace of thy words. And I think of how your words almost make a gate all the time. And it isn't just about words being, but words entering and opening everything around them. How your words and the words from You is like this ambulatory knowing that I take. How it gives light, how is gives light to the simple. the simple stuff! I do feel like my mouth is caught open and panting. and longing to touch the world with YOu. And when I speak to You I always feel so received. so surrounded.

Living are all the words in my secret tent. all the places.
Where do i put them?
now I have found this hole and it is without sound.
It is like a vacuum that can be filled by only one thing.
that he cannot enter and i cannot enter and it stays plump and within me.
and it is the best patch that i have.
all i want to do with it is share.

Rema

You spoke right to me:

Last night I finally disclosed much of what was bothering me. "what is going on? why are you hostile?" He kept asking me.

Light coming out like teeth pullling out. Light coming out. Even seeing him in better light when i was through.

learned new and sturdy ways I think for us to relate. how i've worked backwords in my stories, starting at the end and dwelling in the intangibles, then him tuning out. now i understand better. i don't think he gets how much i can putter in the details and "the what happened"..........

Until i talked I was feeling like giving up. then this huge reign was lifted.

I came home, and you talked to me Lord you said in Isaiah 45. You demonstrated what you did:

"This is what the LORD says to his annointed,...
to open doors before him so that gates will neot be shut:
I will go before you and will level the mountains,
I will break down the gates of bronze
and cut through bars of iron.
I will give you the treasures of darkness,
riches stored in secret places,
so thatt you may know that I am the LORD,
the God of Israel, who summons you by name."

You give me treasures out of darkness. You just pulled this sinking ship up.
and there you are talking about the treasures again. and you are naming just where they are and just how your bring them up. Telling me, "it is a treasure Molly"

today

You in the posture of all things. You holder of moss and sorrow and striding.

You and your spoons. You and your carpet.
You seeing me in the ill ponds.

Remember. Remember. you say.

I am holding onto your thumbs.

"Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it srings up, do you not perceive it?" --Isaiah

You springing up in me. Like Rilke said, the nearing future that I am already entering.

Sylvia Plath too

Mystic
by Sylvia Plath

The air is a mill of hooks --
Questions without answer,
Glittering and drunk as flies
Whose kiss stings unbearably
In the fetid wombs of black air under pines in summer.

I remember
The dead smell of sun on wood cabins,
The stiffness of sails, the long salt winding sheets.
Once one has seen God, what is the remedy?
Once one has been seized up

Without a part left over,
Not a toe, not a finger, and used,
Used utterly, in the sun's conflagration, the stains
That lengthen from ancient cathedrals
What is the remedy?

The pill of the Communion tablet,
The walking beside still water? Memory?
Or picking up the bright pieces
Of Christ in the faces of rodents,
The tame flower-nibblers, the ones

Whose hopes are so low they are comfortable --
The humpback in his small, washed cottage
Under the spokes of the clematis.
Is there no great love, only tenderness?
Does the sea
Remember the walker upon it?
Meaning leaks from the molecules.
The chimneys of the city breathe, the window sweats,
The children leap in their cots.
The sun blooms, it is a geranium.

The heart has not stopped.

Frenzy with Anne Sexton

We at the Monday Poet Society have returned to our female Confessional poets.

Anne Sexton, who battled with depression and mental illness. After giving birth to her child Joyce she fell into Post-partum depression. This is when she begun to write poetry.

Anne came to a Roman Catholic Priest in 1974 to be red her last rites. He, who was unwilling to read her her last rites, told her that "God is in your typewriter." This struck Anne Sexton who did not kill herself, but instead in 20 days wrote the collection "The Awful Rowing Towards God." Then in October she went on to take her life.

Frenzy
I am not lazy.
I am on the amphetamine of the soul.
I am, each day,
typing out the God
my typewriter believes in.
Very quick. Very intense,
like a wolf at a live heart.
Not lazy.
When a lazy man, they say,
looks toward heaven,
the angels close the windows.

Oh angels,
keep the windows open
so that I may reach in
and steal each object,
objects that tell me the sea is not dying,
objects that tell me the dirt has a life-wish,
that the Christ who walked for me,
walked on true ground
and that this frenzy,
like bees stinging the heart all morning,
will keep the angels
with their windows open,
wide as an English bathtub.


The Fish that Walked
by Anne Sexton

Up from oysters
and the confused weeds,
out from the tears of God,
the wounding tides,
he came.
He became a hunter of roots
and breathed like a man.
He ruffled through the grasses
and became known to the sky.
I stood close and watched it all.
Beg pardon, he said
but you have skin divers,
you have hooks and nets,
so why shouldn't I
enter your element for a moment?
Though it is curious here,
unusually awkward to walk.
It is without grace.
There is no rhythm
in this country of dirt.

And I said to him:
From some country
that I have misplaced
I can recall a few things...
but the light of the kitchen
gets in the way.
Yet there was a dance
when I kneaded the bread
there was a song my mother
used to sing...
And the salt of God's belly
where I floated in a cup of darkness.
I long for your country, fish.

The fish replied:
You must be a poet,
a lady of evil luck
desiring to be what you are not,
longing to be
what you can only visit.

Oh Annie! You got it. here is your last poem. maybe you couldn't wait. oh my dear how you found it.

The Rowing Endeth
I'm mooring my rowboat at the dock of the island called God.
This dock is made in the shape of a fish
and there are many boats moored
at many different docks.
"It's okay," I say to myself,
with blisters that broke and healed
and broke and healed--saving
themselves over and over.
And salt sticking to my face and arms like
a glue-skin pocked with grains of tapioca.
I empty myself from my wooden boat and onto the flesh of The Island.

"On with it!" He says and thus
we squat on the rocks by the sea
and play--can it be true--a
game of poker.
He calls me.
I win because I hold a royal straight flush.
He wins because He holds five aces.

A wild card had been announced
but I had not heard it
being in such a state of awe
when He took out the cards and dealt.
As he plunks down His five aces
and I sit grinning at my royal flush,
He starts to laugh,
the laughter rolling like a hoop out of His mouth
and into mine,
and such laughter that He doubles right over me
laughing a Rejoice Chores at our two triumphs.
Then I laugh, the fishy dock laughs
the sea laughs. The Island laughs.
The Absurd laughs.

Dearest dealer,

I with my royal straight flush,
love you so for your wild card,
that untamable, eternal, gut-driven ha-ha
and lucky love.

Anne! Thank-you Anne. Yes. That Jesus is the wild card. the untablelucky love. He is the fifth ace.
Dearest Dealer! I with my straight fulsh, love you so for your wild card!


Here is one more Anne Sexton poem for you:

The Touch
For months my hand was sealed off
in a tin box. Nothing was there but the subway railings.
Perhaps it is bruised, I thought,
and that is why they have locked it up.
You could tell time by this, I thought,
like a clock, by its five knuckles
and the thin underground veins.
It lay there like an unconscious woman
fed by tubes she knew not of.

The hand had collapse,
a small wood pigeon
that had gone into seclusion.
I turned it over and the palm was old,
its lines traced like fine needlepoint
and stitched up into fingers.
It was fat and soft and blind in places.
Nothing but vulnerable.

And all this is metaphor.
An ordinary hand -- just lonely
for something to touch
that touches back.
The dog won't do it.
Her tail wags in the swamp for a frog.
I'm no better than a case of dog food.
She owns her own hunger.
My sisters won't do it.
They live in school except for buttons
and tears running down like lemonade.
My father won't do it.
He comes in the house and even at night
he lives in a machine made by my mother
and well oiled by his job, his job.

The trouble is
that I'd let my gestures freeze.
The trouble was not
in the kitchen or the tulips
but only in my head, my head.

Then all this became history.
Your hand found mine.
Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot.
Oh, my carpenter,
the fingers are rebuilt.
They dance with yours.
They dance in the attic and in Vienna.
My hand is alive all over America.
Not even death will stop it,
death shedding her blood.
Nothing will stop it, for this is the kingdom
and the kingdom come.

2 by 2

This morning I feel that spilling.
Life is joining me rejoicing, I am in a gate. That forever spreading out.
Everything feels in its right place.

Yesterday by evening everything felt crumbling: The madness of everything. was i going backwards? why won't anything work? and even bigger questions "Am i in the right place? my world falling apart?" the trip was falling apart? many chasms between. feeling regrets.

Last evening I was trying to write. . trying to go deep. trying to read the mishaped stack of books in my red messenger bag. I was trying to get some solace. I was trying to get back to that dock of myself.

But then the way You cleared it!
down the alleyway I found

2 park benches. (Joann tromped up)
she plunked down.
the same 2 pigeons started circling around us. (We had seen them at LuLu's in the afternoon)
(brown and grey, definately Jo was the brown and I was the grey, I kept wandering off and going up to the wall. Jo kept hurring and pecking at little things and bustling around, I was taking wide circles for no apparant reasons).

There were 2 shoes on the lamppost.
she left to get the 2 tacos. i debated going to my car. but i stayed. i stayed. i opened up my little secret mini-NIV.
Psalm 145 spreading out before me, as if waiting:

The Lord is faithful to all his promises
and loving toward all he has made.
The Lord upholds all those who fall
and lifts up all who are bowed down.
The eyes of all look to you,
and you give them their food at the proper time
You open your hand
and satisfy the desires of every living thing.

this verse spilling before me. covering me.

The first line keeping me, "really?"
I opened my journal and wrote:

"The Lord is faithful to all his promises."

Then a felt something on me, looked down and right there on my pants was a ladybug! When a ladybug lands on you it means you're lucky, it means you're in the right spot.

The last time I saw a lady bug it was on my car the day i was to go to raechel's wedding. i had just dropped all the pedals across the bridge and in the river and thru the park. i was bound to see Loch with my Cliff. The lady bug was on my car Ramona. It was a promise to bless me and to bring me there. that someday I would be married and wed in the way he wants. even that ripple! That he would not let me go. that he will put me in my right spot. that he comes in on his promises. and i knew with everything knit inside me that it was God's way of saying Yes to my little language. the little trunks i was carrying. yes.. you have arrived. i am telling you, i am delivering to you i'm coming through. I am saying Yes to what you want to believe in. I am Here in your wonders and the way you are spelling me out. "you are in the very right spot"

This time in my sunken day he brought a Ladybug, a black Lady bug with red dots. with only 2 red dots! How punk, and how much like the Billy Corgan poetry I was reading. how hardcore! how much that Ladybug looked like it belonged somewhere on the cover of "Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness" or his book "Blinking with Fists" with the unusual character on the front-cover pictured with hands up and riding on a ball.
The Lord saying "You are in the right spot! You are in my garden, my land. I will lead you to the spacious places. I have found you. You are mine."

And the Lord saying, truly. As He always does, very, very, very perfectly and seamlessly:

He will come in on his promises! Spelling it out for me. Telling me to mark it.

In all kinds of joy I sat there. "OK then!" There was nothing for me to do. I felt drunk! rejoicing. nothing to try or to make. Sitting on a bench the kingdom coming.

on and on and on

my portion Lord. What is my portion? I wait for the Lord. the Lord is my portion.

What a good bikeride Carmen and I went on to get Laudry soap at TJ's.

This day has been full of rest.

full of right places.

Lord, can you put your floodlights on? how do i let his floodlights come? when i'm with the other one and there is chaos.

June 14th

Right now the Grand Piano is being moved away. Oh my! That was part of why I moved in. How I have loved that piano. and once again years have gone by without my pouring upon it. how i want to. I feel this kindred spirit with the piano. and that the piano soothes my and is something I feel I could be really good at. that I have a language of piano in my fingers I feel and when I touch the piano I feel like a knowing and a softness and an unlocking and something total. something that holds me so deeply.

I love the way the lord works.

A piano will be moving back in when my dear friend Alice moves in. a piano will stay. it is not all lost. i have not lost my chance. the little ways this year seemed to start to fall apart this summer as everyone was going as my dear Carmina was going.
but now a piano will come back in the house.

one of the 2 things I asked for at the start of 07 was for piano. was for molly and piano, to do piano, to focus on piano.

my stomach sank when I thought that it would be over. and now a new piano will be coming in. The way that the lord returns, and this year returns. everything in its right place.

Carmen's piano is so sweet, it is a grand piano and it is very warm and i love it and she has shared it with such an open spirit. it has charmed so many. sitiing there so happily amidst crazy parties, sitting there so grand and so accepting amidst the hoopdy house and tie-dye background.

They have covered the piano and wrapped it. They have taken the piano's legs off..............

This piano has been such a pleasing sign of homeness. so warm and merry.
when i looked at the room 3 years ago, trying to get out of the other house I had commited myself too, I knew that this place was right, I just went to the piano (Carmen was so abiding) and started playing it. couldn't even stop. somewhat embarrassingly kept playing as I interviewed to become a roomate of 327 Market.

"Sure you can play" went Carmen and with such ease let me put my fingers on her piano and dally upon the sweet keys.

I knew I had the house. I knew it was the right place to be.

given (3 in the morning)

Sing to the Lord a new song,
his praise in the assembly of the saints.
Let Israel rejoice in their Maker;
let the people of Zion be glad in their King.
Let them praise his name with dancing
and make music to him with tambourine and harp.
For the LORD takes delight in his people;
he crowns the humle with salvation.
Let tthe saints rejoice in this honor
and sing for joy on thier beds.

May the praise of God be in thier mouths
and a double-edged sword in their hands.

Psalm 149

It's like when I release it to Him, he harnesses the right places back.

I could keep talking and asking with the boy "What rocks are we on anyway?"
I could keep feeling defeated. keep waiting for echoes.
Maybe the lesson is that you can't confront the Cliff, but the dropping off point. how do I reign in?

How do I rain in?

Where do I climb?

I was so angry that night.
Our tumblers not working together, rocks passing mainting chunks. too much me trying to be a tumbler.

Getting up in the night. asking me to be a vessel.
Sing to the LORD a new song...may the praise of God be in their mouths.

so i went back to that place of scabs were I was laying, a place with walls, places blotted out. It was in my very heart! I started praising, sending that one word out of my mouth, breathing in that word. ... and my place was transformed.

The Hebrew word for salvation means literally "to make wide" or "to make sufficient."

There are places of hell and there are places of heaven. of eternity. of pouring. that's how the kingdom of heaven on earth feels to me. and I know it's not all about feeling, but truly it's existence is real. And you have to enter it. And you have to bring it, call it down, "On earth as it is in heaven" it is tactile and it is like a fabric your bring into your right here.

next time I wonder, how can I share that so-much praise place.

even in our honing in between us and gratefulness for the other is that enough?

How can we speak into our places?

How do we be the love of Christ to one another?

I am looking for that constant tide, that kind face.
there is that cornerered place where we both endup. the little shipwrecks.

I want to burrow into Christ with him.

07/08/07

Yesterday was 07/07/07.

I was praying to God last week and I felt God speak into me, in that invisible yet sturdy way, where it's not like full sentences or word-structures from God, but a kind of whole revealing:

That this year is about finding the Treasures. I want to find the treasures Lord!

And almost like there is something coming up. Somewhere to fall into.

Find the treasures LOrd! in my relationship too. that is how i want my relationship to go. that is what i want to be doing.



This is the year of Sabbath and yesterday was like the apex. I was waiting for this day.
It's like Sabbath times Sabbath times Sabbath.
It's the middle of the year of Jubilee.

Then 7/8/07. The next left. The day of infinity. The way we are moving into 8. 8 as in eternity. The next octave. The new land. The kingdom on earth. the next carpeted step, the good ready prepared spacious land. This is where I feel this year is taking us into.

I had spoken to God straight "What, God. What" like what do you have for me? And boy did He give me a treasure.

The following is my account of my 07-08 weekend. please enjoy the little things of my little odyssey.

I woke up on 07/07 in Marin, had returned to see Sarah one more time before she goes to Costa Rica. A Very Molly and Sarah night in a club we could care less about, with girls done up and girlified and bling. we roll plainer than that but we still like to dress up. went with sarah's guy and his friend and danced in that vast and happy sarah and molly way. that was the night before.

Woke up on 07/07 and fetched Sarah from her friend's room. had to get back to Santa Cruz.

The license plate holder of the car in front of us said "Good."
on the 7th day that is what the creator said. He rested. He saw creation and he called it Good.
Saturday was a good day. It was a day of looking back on my life and where I've been, where I've come from, and knowing it is good.
We went to Sarah's Dad's house, in the neighborhoood I grew up in, Meadow Avenue. I passed the little alley way where the boys that picked on me threw rocks at me. I passed the school where my grandpa would pick me up. My street with the Island at the end where I used to walk my little doggie.

I sat there with Sarah's dad and she told him about the drama of the night before, and he laughed and sympathized and nodded, getting Sarah's tough love-me spirit. the steps where i gave her her first violin. the house i played in.

Driving home I kept calling my mom whose line was busy, had the nudge to. Then for some reason I called my Dad, and he actually picked up the Home Phone which never happens. He never picks up, but is handed the phone. This time my Dad picked up. He sounded happy to hear from me in his voice. "I have something interesting to tell you."

Then my Dad gave me the biggest news he has ever told me, one of the greatest gifts I could thinik of and it came from my Dad. He told me about some important people I'm related to. That they are studying our family line, which I know nothing about, I know a kinds of little fascinating things about my mother's line, but nothing from my Dad's side.

He told me I'm related to Emily Dickinson. 7 cousins. Seven.
I am related to Emily Dickinson. My world flooding. I can't believe it. Only the greatest Female Wordsmith. She is the one I looked up to as I started to sharpen my editing in college. Her command of words and structure. Her voice of daggers. Her obsession with the things, with objects, and the way she floats her worlds around her. That is like me.

She is the greatest female poet, and I started to feel this command, this gift from God, that i have a legacy in my family. That if I could be a poet like Emily Dickinson, but with the Jesus thing in there and the 2007 thing.

And I even started to think about the weird ways I've emulated or been drawn to her.

The book I made when I finished my program, It her her quote that is the epitath to the whole book.
"To be a good writer you must Murder your Darlings."

And I think about how I like to go to my attic, when I lived in my attic and I felt so reassured and that was the only place I wanted to be.

I am not trying to claim to be Emily Dickinson by any means but I do think it so interesting of the little embers of ways that I write or places i like to dwell that glow with Emily Dickinson way. The way she gets so fond of things. And even though her poems are somewhat morbid, there's a way she lives through things in the little lives of her poems.

Right when I was told that my personhood ignited. This is what I must do I am being called to be a writer! And God is blessing me in this dear way. I am in the line of Emily Dickinson.
And I know my poems are obsessed with things and mast up and sail in little worlds.

Could there be a way that our voices are related?

to be continued.....

CarmenMollyRachaelMichelleBaby

photobooth6-30
Originally uploaded by camille94019.

one day at the boardwalk a Carmen Molly Rachael Michelle and Baby played. A strange girl in a cowgirl hat and turban came swimming all the way up to these 3 women holding hands and swimming in the Ocean Praising in the Ocean. A weird girl, and at about 3 feet away I realized it was my fabulous roomate dogpaddling up. And how happy and content we were. The ocean was so gentle. Lord, was that you making it so gentle? Not one wave? Just to say "Hey" or "Hey lovelies" or to say "hey this is like me"
or little toes loving the water, first it was so cold, then all under even Rachael with a baby inside. And gusts of warm, Warm came! gusts of cold came! happy laying back in the water with mommy and baby and daughters and my sisters and my favorite roomate.

Ballad to 327 Market Street #1

Summer 07 and the landscape is changing so rapidly, is smearing with my dearest ones spreading out and trunking off to new lands.

My comrade at the end of the hall, my bloggingbuddy and my dearest roomate is leaving. We sealed 327 Market, singing its praises and dedicating our blogs to its abode. The Legend of the 327 Market! we can only witness and even perhaps chuckle at the hoopdy and enlivening ways our house feeds us and brightens with parts added, or the random ways that our house metamorphosizes.

Ode to the chronic gabs of guests feed our spirits with Pop! like Pez Candy Dispensers. I might be the guiltiest with my many high-spirited friends coming-up, coming-down: my homies, sisters, mommies, grandmammie, daddy-man, Agents, oldroomates and their vegan boyfriends, littlebrothers/taller-brothers, bestfriends, and Lovelies! This has been the likes of my entourage!

But don't forget the ballads of Weird Mikes and little little sister and Cambodians and men from Berkeley and Bald Men. And don't forget the sounds and ruckus of didgeridoos and hipsters with Cornrows. the sounds of womens.

And isn't it the Study/The Guestroom that gets the most attention and is the best place to be. How many little DanceParties and crammed nights and let's-gather-round-the-computer-fire-light evenings have we spent and entertained ourselves with. How many type-type-typeity-Blogging mornings have we woke up to where we negotiated no-music, or non-emo music.

Who can sing to Me and Carmeena sitting in a tree waiting for years for no man to climb, like in our little willow tree like in the front year (friendly enough gosh darn it!) Finally one made it up for her, one made it up for us. We watch closely to see if they can hangout in our little . They hang off our branches, watching them strain their limbs and hang in unobvious ways. Them hanging. Our little trees happy to have a friend and hoping they stay and can sit in the tree.

Don't forget the boys that barely tried, that saw the likes of 327 market, the boys on the couch, the motorcycle boys at the door, or the boys in my room.

Don't forget mornings and seeing Carmen in her boxers, seeing Molly in her underwear. Our little roundish bodies and tanktops and huggies in the evening and sleepy eyes.

Don't forget polaroid pictures and tromping around our little neighborhood.

Jesse underneath

A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse,
from his roots a Branch will bear fruit.
The Spirit of the LORD will rest on him--
the Spirit of wisdom and of understanding,
the Spirit of counsel and of power,
the Spirit of knowledge and the fear of the LORD--
and he wil delight in the fear of the LORD. Isa. 11.

Mouthing this into the night with Joanne.
the planting!
Round and Reson.
i know a boy who this is about.
she knows a boy too.

Knowing.
this is him like a locked room.
like a basement.
come into the basement!
root.
God give root. the heftiness of it.
the unblinkingness of it,
like it is knocking to come out.
inevitable.

The Lord planting this in my heart.
The Holy Spirit groaning.

The root, the root, I have been praying for the root.

G*dMom, do you remember when you first wrote your story? and we were editing and speaking over the part about how the Word gets inside and reworks your spirit, how it like, renovates, and almost moves bones or moves the ceiling inside--how the Word enters like a piece of somewhere and goes in your somewhere and pushes in and finds dwelling, and things get pushed aside and new arrangements are made? Do you remember how we fumbled for words but we knew it was like architecture? with structure.

It's got something to do with complete new rooms, with hardiness.

Last night these words pressed like a foot in my Innermost, set down like a foot in the room, like knees bent and folded--bent like a person on their knees, with a bowed-head bowed. waiting and seated. on the ground, in him, this spirit waiting to walk. almost ambulatory.

Dictionary.com says this of ambulatory:
1. adapted for walking
2. moving about or from place to place; not stationary:
3. not confined to bed; able or strong enough to walk:
4. Law. not fixed; alterable or revocable: ambulatory will.
5. Law That can be changed or revoked, as a will during the life of the testator.

Ambulatory will. when the law inside that can be changed. not confined to bed. a shoot.
This Spirit heavy cloaking and beneath and of the very mud and roof. it has nothing to do with prodding, with imbalance, with thing set out in extended or unnatural places. It is all about the righteous place, the right place.

The Mightiness of this man with the Spirit can only make such a shoot break through!

because I have seen it, it is very much him
the wisdom, the knowledge,
the Spirit of counsel and of power,
the Power! the Spirit of counsel!

the branch.