Don Jesus And To Hell With The Old…A Poem Or Prose Of Some Sort
March 30, 2025…Prophecy
You want freedom, then let go of the old,
The old ways, the old people that just love to do it the old way
And try to get you to do it the old way too.
Get out of that river and its sticky, clingy, gooey flow
And on we go with the wild wind of MO.
Not those MO’s that still sit in that old dead letter box.
Break the box and let ‘em roll,
Then roll on out the door with all that you’ve been told.
Watch out for that daylight saving time.
That old devil’s just trying to change the times and seasons,
Because he’s been put in that tunnel and he can’t get out.
He can rant and rave and send his men to try and arrest us,
But all he succeeds in doing is releasing us.
He can’t keep us in his prison or a cage.
Ask the Palestinians; ask the Ukrainians
That have passed up and out
of this world of mud and mere men.
They’ll tell you the truth from beyond the veil.
Let go and let God have His wonderful way.
Death to the flesh is freedom of spirit.
Open your eyes; I’m sure you’ll see it.
Get out of bed, you old sleepy head.
Staying up late, you’re out of gait.
The little sparrow knows more than you.
She’s up with the birds to catch that early worm.
Oh silly you, still swimming in that goo;
Get out and up this sandy bank
for there’s another river just up ahead.
Old M the gypsy led the way,
But you’re too slow to catch her now.
She’s gone with her crew.
They are flying high as kites in the sky.
They aren’t feathered fowl scratching and pecking in the mud with men.
She’s gone with the spirit, the wild wind’s whisper.
Away with you who call from down there;
Away with you all who swim down there.
Take a look what’s keeping you floating;
It’s the old poop and sloop of yesterday’s goop.
Old MO he’s just laughing as he watches our antics,
Running here and running there, trying to catch what’s in the air.
Ha ha, my God look at em there.
What silly old birdies,
still looking for MO back in those dead letters and dusty old tomes.
Get with the spirit; don’t sing to old bones, wishing it was then.
My God, it’s past ten.
Get to bed and get your rest; for sunrise is coming and then it is lost.
The spirit that thou wist is blown on by
And those old wings never got to feel the elation of God’s breath and fly.
Now you’ve heard it; it’s neither rhythm nor rhyme…
But it is a lot like you who scratch your noggin and wonder
“What on earth has got into him?”
Well beloved, it ain’t from this earth I’ll tell you that.
It ain’t from the music and instruments of wood or metal or glass.
I hope you’ve not messed it and simply not guessed it.
The secret of course is to do as you’re told
–not what you think but what He thinks is best.
Well hell, if you don’t believe it, then go your own way,
For the way we are going is straight up, out and away.
Don’t you see M, flying high in the sky?
“What’s that?” you say
“I don’t see any such thing. Are you dreaming?” you say.
“Where is the meaning in your crazy old prose?”
Well, all I can say is the crazy of the craziest has already left long before M.
He’s up there calling with his family all round, “Come on up and enjoy the sights.”
Have you forgotten the shuttle’s orbiting flight?
Some of you are flying awful close to terra firma.
Grab that golden joy stick and give it a yank yank yankity yank,
And you will soon be flying high.
Get out of that river; there are sharks in there.
Is your pride too heavy? Is it holding you down?
Do you think you are someone –somebody renown?
WB’s floundering around in that slow moving mire with intent that is very dire.
It will carry you away, away to the sea.
Let go of your pride, your image and all.
Your shuttle has most assuredly stalled.
Here, I’ll lend thee a hand to pull you out of that goopy quicksand.
I can’t wait long. I’ve gotta run as fast as I can.
I don’t want to be late for my scheduled date; my cave is awaiting.
My Lover is there calling me to come and come and come some more.
Wow! Watch out if you think you’re prophet.
Old MO was the clincher, and we are but stinkers.
Don’t think too highly of those that surround you.
One day before you can blink, they will be gone in a wink.
Now here’s a short story to give you a glimpse
at why the hell I’m all in a tizzy and frenzied upheaval.
It’s a story of flying which I’m sure you all know.
Old CSL knew the scoop; he wasn’t stuck in the poop.
In fact he’s right here beside me to let you in on the loop.
If you think we are crazy when we talk of eagles and soaring,
If you don’t like our song called “Come fly with me,”
Then you just might miss the punch line of this amazing story.
Well, my old girls and my silly young men,
it ain’t in the flesh that you’ll lift on up high with the Master and all His girls and guys.
Come on now, sit still just one more minute
While I blast ya out of the chair and into the air.
Lend me your ear cause there’s tons more to hear.
It’s the air that’s not clear; you’re floating in the wrong atmosphere.
This may be the injection you need;
That stuff you’ve been taking is dulling your senses.
You’re trying too hard, in the flesh that is.
It’s a work of the spirit not push’n and grunt’n.
“What nonsense,” you say. Oh dear, what has happened, to you and your friend?
If you think mine is nonsense, then listen real well to all this nonsense I’m about to unveil.
Can you stand it? Can you see? Can you even imbibe it?
Well, that’s all up to you.
The secret is to get away from the fluff and very very silly stuff at the mouth of your cave.
The way forward is not that way or over yonder bank.
The way is through here, these dark passage ways.
It’s clear and bright to those with the light.
Oopps sorry, you can’t ride on my back.
I’m trying to lose weight for the next flight up.
Get your own stick and give it a yank.
He’ll take you right up where the flesh just can’t go.
Hey, let go of that thing; that’s my lamp not yours.
I’ve got my oil, go and get yours.
Oh dear, the hour is late, and here I’m still rambling.
I almost forgot …This is the gate.
Yes, the cave is the way out of this world and its woes.
Death to self or death to flesh –either way it ain’t easy.
If what I’m saying makes you feel queasy and a little uneasy, take this pill.
It’s blue you can see.
It comes in the form of an angel as pretty can be,
But right there on her chest you’ll find the right key
That will free you from all that is nasty and all that is thee.
Enough said, its on with our story…
I’ll bet you a dollar, a moldy earth dollar
That smells like that old fool Trump’s foot,
And that’s why I will dump it down the chute with all of my junk.
Me Oh my! I can’t stop these rhymes;
If that’s what you call em.
Get me out of this rivery rut and on with this story
first told long ago by an old friend from the Warrior Band.
Okay, that should ensure that the dollar’s for you.
Can you guess who?
Can you guess the author of this fantastic story?
You think I can rant and rumble and chant;
Well, listen to this tale.
If it don’t make you smile and nod and agree;
Well, then I’m terribly sorry cause I don’t think you can come along with me
-to the wedding to hear the rest of the story.
I won’t shut the door here in this realm,
But to be sure of its value and keeping those out that are not invited,
There is a lock and a there is a key.
I told you before where it lies.
That’s right! You’ve guessed it.
Do you know where to find it?…
Ahhh, right betwixt her sweet, inviting breasts.
Come let’s go; enough of this nonsense this folly and New MO.
We’re off on adventure with our friends in tow.
Mount up on your donkey or mule if you please and let’s be on and out of here.
The moral of the story I’m about to recite
Is about flying without wings
And leaving the fears and follies behind you
On that mountain called flesh.
This is the last step a step that only those in the spirit can make.
So come fly with me and with MO and old Quixote,
With M and with Millar and old boss Kitty as well.
Don’t you just love it when it all comes together
Backed up by a story as wild as the weather on the breath of the Lion?
Have you guessed it? Did I give it away?
Oh yes, I did
—but why not? It’s free;
tis the free wind of His spirit for any and all who would have it and want it
—who desire to be free.
THE BREATH OF THE LION
It was very alarming walking back to the edge of the cliff, especially as the Lion did not walk with her but behind her — making no noise on his soft paws. But long before she had got anywhere near the edge, the voice behind her said, “Stand still. In a moment I will blow.
But, first, remember, remember, remember the signs. Say them to yourself when you wake in the morning and when you lie down at night, and when you wake in the middle of the night. And whatever strange things may happen to you, let nothing turn your mind from following the signs. And secondly, I give you a warning.
Here on the mountain I have spoken to you clearly: I will not often do so down in Narnia. Here on the mountain, the air is clear and your mind is clear; as you dropdown into Narnia, the air will thicken. Take great care that it does not confuse your mind. And the signs which you have learned here will not look at all as you expect them to look, when you meet them there. That is why it is so important to know them by heart and pay no attention to appearances.
Remember the signs and believe the signs. Nothing else matters.
And now, daughter of Eve, farewell — “The voice had been growing softer towards the end of this speech and now it faded away altogether. Jill looked behind her. To her astonishment she saw the cliff already more than a hundred yards behind her, and the Lion himself a speck of bright gold on the edge of it. She had been setting her teeth and clenching her fists for a terrible blast of lion’s breath; but the breath had really been so gentle that she had not even noticed the moment at which she left the earth.
And now, there was nothing but air for thousands upon thousands of feet below her. She felt frightened only for a second. For one thing, the world beneath her was so very far away that it seemed to have nothing to do with her. For another, floating on the breath of the Lion was so extremely comfortable.
She found she could lie on her back or on her face and twist any way she pleased, just as you can in water (if you’ve learned to float really well). And because she was moving at the same pace as the breath, there was no wind, and the air seemed beautifully warm. It was not in the least like being in an aeroplane, because there was no noise and no vibration. If Jill had ever been in a balloon she might have thought it more like that; only better.
Just want to say a thing or two now.
Don’t worry; it won’t take long,
But just recently someone suggested a really fantastic story.
I felt it was misquoted to push an idea that was not really floating.
Let’s take a look and see what we’ll see.
Hold on to your tin hats and your great long staff.
Maybe this one will set you free if you use it in context.
Cause there’s mad and there’s mad.
Don’t be misguided by “dementia and delusions of grandeur.”
Oh by the way, it is read by MO himself and why?
Well, he’s done a little tweaking to liven up the story
and to bring it up to date on our spiritual rancho.
So it is only fitting that he reads it through me.
(End)
Don Jesus – Updated March 30, 2025
Jesus lived in a world of fantasy
Where all were mad but He.
He lived in a world of madness
Where He alone was free!
He lived in a world of madness
Where only He was sane
He brought them joy and gladness
They only brought Him pain!
He lived in a world of madness
Where only He was wise.
They lived in a world of sadness
‘Twas folly in disguise!
Where happiness is madness
‘Tis wisdom in disguise–
Where sanity is sadness
‘Tis folly to be wise!
Oh give me a world of madness
If madness is to be glad!
I’d rather be happy in madness
Than only be sane and sad.
If foolishness is gladness
‘Tis folly to be wise!
If sanity is sadness
It makes my brain capsize!
Oh give me pain with gladness
If wisdom is in vain.
‘Tis better far than sadness
And sanity again!
If singing prayers brings gladness
Like praying in the rain,
And wisdom only brings sadness
I’d rather be mad than sane!
They tell me our goodness is badness
Our singing of prayers is in vain.
But I tell them their wisdom is madness
I’d far rather sing than complain!
They tell me our New wine is madness:
We should seek after worldly gain!
But I tell them their saneness is sadness
And it brings to so many such pain!
Oh give me my world of madness!
Give me my prayers in the rain!
They can have their saneness and
sadness! I would rather be glad though insane!
It’s their whole world that’s in madness!
‘Tis their whole world that’s insane!
I’d rather have joy in my gladness,
Than their sanity, sorrow and pain.
It was their world that was madness!
They were the ones so insane!
For His hope, love, joy and gladness
Was better than sorrow and pain.
So therefore if madness be gladness,
And sanity, sorrow and pain,
Oh then, let my gladness be madness
And let me be mad once again!
How crazy are the words of David!–
They’ll say he has gone insane!
But I’d rather be mad and be caved
Than lost in their darkness and sane!
So give me his joy and his gladness!
I’d rather have joy than be sane!
I say it is they that have madness
Who’d rather have sorrow and pain.
They live in a world full of madness
It was He that was really sane!
For our Don Jesus had gladness
In spite of their sorrow and pain.
This world full of violence and madness
So violent and mad and insane!
Would you rather my joy, or Trump’s sadness?
Would you rather my bliss, or Putin pain?
So let me dream on if I’m dreaming!
Oh let me drift on in my dreams!
I’d rather be dreaming than screaming!
I’d rather have dreams than their screams!
So come let us dance in our gladness!
Oh come let us dance in the rain!
I’d rather be mad than have sadness,
I’d rather be glad though insane!
I’d rather be His lover
Than the pompous wise sane king of Vain!
For though he’s a little bit dotey
Jesus was happy, ’tis plain!
For He lived in his mind in the spirit
A great knight was he in his brain!
He was connected to old dear Father
And thus he was freed from the strain.
So give me his world full of madness!
And give me his world so insane!
I’d rather have madness than sadness,
I’d rather be glad than be sane!
They say there’s no end to this madness!
I say there’s no end to their pain!
I’d rather have joy in my gladness
Than all of their sorrow though sane.
You say you have no time for madness?
You have to go quick catch a train?
I’d rather be free and have gladness
While I sit in my cave again!
So give me this King of kings!
And sing me His happy refrain!
Oh can you all see it, or can’t cha?
That He was the one who was sane!
Oh I am so weary with study!
Of the reading of old MO there’s no end!
Can’t you see their minds are all muddy?
It’s they who have gone round the bend!
Trump likes to be rich and be churchy
And wage his cruel wars without end!
Don’t let his pollution besmirch me!
I’d far rather heal and to mend.
They call me Pied Piper of Hamelin:
“He’s old Don Jesus again!”
They say that on Heaven I’m gamblin’
While they wreak their Hell amongst men!
I may be Abominable Snowman
A giant wild happy and free
Who cares and so what?–Come let’s go, Man!
With me you’ve no idea what you’ll see!
So let’s sing a prayer for the downtrodden!
Let’s pray a song for their freedom!
Let’s sing a song though we’re dotey
For we’re bound for Eternity!
So let’s pray a song for the children
And a song for his Children now free!
For I’d rather be mad than a sniper
Who only brings sad misery.
Let’s pray against the Mad Monk Pope
Who lied, stank, and heeled to Satan!
For while the Catholics were disputin’,
He made off with all of their things!
So here’s to dear Alice’s garden!
And Alexander and his seeds!
So what if he’s mad, does it matter
If to children this poem reveals?
So here’s to the “Light in the Plaza”!
So here’s to the madness that sings!
I don’t want shooting in Gaza
I don’t want Israeli things.
So give us the mad Don Jesus!
New wine that make us to sing!
And let us be madness devotees
With the joy our cave living brings!
So I’d rather be happy in Jesus
Than sane as the Devil and bad.
If it’s madness of spirit that frees us,
I’d rather be mad and be glad!
For we live in a world full of madness
Where all are insane but we!
I’ll take my cave full of gladness
Though you call it fantasy.
Your world may be sane but temporal–
While mine is unseen but more real!
You call me insane and immoral
In this madness of gladness I feel.
But I say it is you who are crazy
And it’s I who have reality!
It is you who are mad and amaze me,
For mine’s for Eternity!
For only in realms of the spirit
Can you enjoy Heavenly scenes
That Heavenly sound, can you hear it?
Do you know what such ecstasy means?
No! You’re mad, and you don’t even know it!
It’s you who are living in dreams!
It’s I who am glad, and I show it!
I dance on in spite of your screams.
It’s you who are living in madness!
It’s you who are really insane!
It’s we who have Jesus and gladness,
And we’ll have it again and again!
So here’s to our dear Don Jesus,
New new wine and old mad MO!
I’d rather be their blest devotee
Than have your insane world of woe!
So give me my wild happy Children
Their praying and dancing so free!
You can have your madness that kills men
Bringing Hell and insanity!
I’d rather have dear Simple Stephen
Who tasted the MB’s wares
The “Idiot” who dared to defy them
With fifth floor New new MO!
Give me Blue angels and Don Jesus
Blue Keys, Blue plasma and MO!
I’d rather have all of these doties
Than all of your world full of woes!
Give me trips in the spirit that thrill me
And a mind that with visions God blows!
Your world of killing just chills me!
l like living where anything goes!
So here’s to our dear Don Jesus
And all of our Heavenly tours!
I’d rather have prayers in my cave O
Than bats in my belfry like yours!
So that makes just 49 verses,
And seven times seven must blend:
Or else you will load me with curses–
And wish that my madness would end!
P.S. So wee words of wisdom
Have come from my pen
Though you think my madness
Be full to the brim!
For the foolishness of God
Is wiser than men
And this world’s wisdom
Is foolishness to Him!
–1Corinthians 1:25; 3:19.