Sally #8: The Prophet Portion

As magnificent as the visuals were of a new heart at the end of last session, the reality was still more war.

When I got back to her, she was pretty beat up.  Servant was in a semi-safe hiding place in her belly somewhere, Giver had vanished from the heart and Prophet was still comatose in the brain.

During the battle, Sally warred well and valiantly for a number of days, and then there was a sound in her ears that instantly switched all of her thoughts to blackness, and there was a complete collapse of Sally’s defenses.

This is not the first time we have had that kind of intrusion.

That poses the chronic problem for a healer:  make core progress or stop and go after a sniper?  There is rarely enough time to do both.  If you take out a sniper, there will be another and another, and then the dark side ends up controlling your agenda, and you never get anything of substance built.

I visited with Servant for a bit to improve her morale, then asked if she could see whether there was a varmint or a device in Sally’s ear.  She said she could not see that far.  I decided not to push the sniper issue.

I asked Servant to return to her safe place.

Giver replied weakly when I spoke in her direction.  I am writing this a day later, so I can’t remember what I had to do to get her dusted off and back in the game.  She is no longer in her bubble, but is in the heart.

We explored location and she was pretty sure it was the right atrium, which corresponded with my discernment.  This is the chamber that parallel’s God the Father.

I chatted for a bit about the bubble.  Again and again, I find the Giver in a transparent container.  Often it is an “aquarium” in the bottom of the sea, or some other comparable picture — like the bubble — where they can see what is going on, while having no exposure.

I proposed to her that life was absolutely still rougher than rough, and I could make no guarantees of safety for her, but that she would receive more from Father through being in the game, than through being in the bleachers.

Having had a malicious then absent father, the idea of an intervening, providing Father was totally theoretical to her, not anything she could connect with.

I concurred, shrugged off her lack of confidence, and said the only way God could earn her trust was by being there for her, so her being in the game, would allow Him to show His power and presence.

We parked that one there.  Clearly she was in no shape for a rumble, BUT we made some modest progress on the “critical path” of reconciling each portion of the spirit to Father.

I decided to lean into the Prophet portion which was male and had been comatose for a while now.

When I am faced with problems in the journey, there are two options.  One is to ponder which principle might work, and the other is to ask God for His intervention.

In this case, I probed Sally’s family in terms of time.  She concurred that every single member of the family that she knew had massive, unrelenting problems with ordinary time in ordinary life.

I know that time is the foundation of the five facets of holiness, and I had a hunch a lot of the reason she is so unstable is that time has been corrupted.

Giver is a major player in most time equations, and Giver is female.  Prophet is male.  If I could get both Prophet and Giver cleaned up, maybe we could weave together the time line with female and male time in right alignment with each other.

That said, my discernment suggested that Prophet got slammed on the journey between eternity past and conception.  This is a really fuzzy area and I am not dogmatic about it.  My general feeling is that there is some generational issue that went beyond an iniquity and came into the realm of an abomination.  Whatever those premeditated actions were in the past, it somehow opens the door for assault on the spirit, before conception.

The only cure I have found for that is some robust confession, followed by a redo of the journey, in the company of Jesus.

So I asked Father if He would take Prophet back to eternity, restore him, and then bring him back through that perilous journey in the company of Jesus.

Shortly thereafter, he vanished from her range of vision.

I felt to wait, so we sat quietly on the phone for about five minutes and suddenly he was back, resplendent in warrior garb and feeling very confident.

We chatted.  God established him in the prefrontal cortex.

He was restless and agitated because he was made for war, was ready for war, was highly energized, and there was nothing to do in the prefrontal cortex.

Sally dryly authorized him to wage unrelenting holy war on anything, anywhere in the brain that was not part of original design, and didn’t come from God.

Then I got a nudge to ask for Giver also to have a redo on the mysterious, often brutal transit from eternity to time.

I asked.  She vanished.  And there was a clear sense in my spirit that she would be gone for a while, so we should carry on with life for now.

Sally joyously wrote the next morning that it was the first time she had not gotten punished during the night after a ministry session.

Copyright July 2018 by Arthur Burk


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Goodbye #11: Women’s Lib

As I was driving home from my weekend of many miles, many people and many emotional ups and downs, I rejoiced over being done with the goodbyes.  I was ready to lean into the packing this week, intensely, and it felt good to be looking forward to tangible things instead of circling around old pain.

Unexpectedly, the Lord informed me I had one more:  Safeguard Business Systems.  I was quite surprised.  It was my first full-time job, ‘way, ‘way back, and I could not remember any deep trauma there.

Back then I was still quite divided, so I wondered briefly whether I had forgotten some big ugly episode, but as I felt the emotions of Jesus next to me, I realized He had a surprise for me.

Bring it on.

Yesterday I was busier than a cat on a hot tin roof, but today I came into the office, dealt with the urgent matters, went to the car wash to part ways with a few thousand dead bugs, then headed up the infamous 5 to 6117 S. Malt Ave., City of Commerce.  It has been 44 years and I still remember the address.  Go figure.

Some other company is in that space now, but I sat across the street in the shade and waited for God to surface a memory or two.

It was in 1973 and the women’s liberation movement was going strong.  I was the only male in an office of women ranging from 19 to 59.  And I was greener than little green apples.  I knew nothing about the trade, less about the culture, and was feeling my way along gently, trying to stay out of trouble.

One day, the biggest personality in the room — who sat right next to my desk — had a phone call from her husband and — as usual — exploded all over the room and informed us in gritty detail of her view of it all and how she had put him in his place, emphatically.

Her final statement was a roaring announcement that she would never marry a man unless she was his physical, intellectual and emotional superior.

My agile little Prophet mind immediately crafted a zinger:  “I didn’t know they made men that small.”

My Olympic Gold medal exceptionally agile gymnast guardian angel managed to kindly, temporarily strangle me before I actually said it out loud to keep me from being savagely and terminally strangled by the termagant at the next desk.

God and I smiled about that and I made a note to look up that angel some day and commend him for his extraordinary alacrity.

Then the scene shifted to computers.  They were newly added to this company’s strategy and were a source of immense fear.  There were endless conversations about how computers were so efficient that they were going to eliminate most of the jobs in the world and we would all be unemployed.

The angst was deep and variegated and the verbalization of it was intense and persistent.

I never bought in.

I pointed out that someone had to design, and manufacture, and install, and operate, and maintain the computers.  It was just a shift from one kind of labor to another.

My prescience was flicked away authoritatively.

Nonetheless, I was so right.  Computers have actually massively increased employment by causing a lot of people to fuss about a lot of data that we didn’t used to have access to and therefore did not need to be monitored.

(Insert identical conversations about robots here).

Father pointed out that He had designed me for transition, had gifted me with the ability to be unintimidated by most transitions, and often to be able to see what the new season would look like.

And He likes that about me.

I scrolled through a bunch of the transitions I have lived through and see how time and again, I was an offense to people around me because I was not upset.

So cool to know that those situations were bringing pleasure to Father.

And that it is a portion of my design that matters so much to Him, that He insisted on our having this conversation so He could point it out.  As a green 19 year old, DID jungle kid in a concrete jungle, I was already walking in my design.

Then the scene shifted again, this time to the lives of my coworkers.  He scrolled through the divorces, affairs, debt, hangovers, fractured relationships, fear, legal problems, and general futility in that room.

As I made like a mouse, huddled at my desk, they talked about everything and anything.  Talk about transparent and authentic.  I got an education in terms of dysfunctional humanism!

Father said it was like a vaccination.  From that time on, “the pleasures of sin” have always been suspect to me, as I saw, day after day — especially Monday mornings! — the down side of the culture’s values.


All that from a dorky little job in the accounting department of an aggressive business.  (Can you imagine a Prophet in a windowless room, doing bookkeeping?)

As I drove away, I cautiously pinged the Lord and asked if I was done with the goodbyes.  He smiled and said “Yes.”

So it is official.  As of 9:37 a.m., Tuesday, July 24th, I am free to be done with my goodbyes, and to shift my attention toward saying “Hello” to South Carolina.

The visual illusion of my body being at a desk in Southern California, is simply irrelevant.  This Prophet is out of here.  Gone!  Onward.

Spartanburg, here I come.

Copyright with a smile, July 2018 by Arthur Burk


Posted in Good-bye | 11 Comments

Goodbye #10: Treasures

Some of my goodbyes have been too complex and too private to share here and they were beginning to take a toll on me.

I decided I needed to add some happy goodbyes to the mix, to fill my tanks before the marathon of August.  I put some gas in my car and hit the road for some face to face encounters, not really to say goodbye, but to celebrate some of the high points in the California chapter of my life.

This evening, I am savoring one of my young lions.  She is MADE for fathering and it is a joy to watch her creativity.

She has a highly unusual walk with God and has no one in her current community to share it with.  So today, I provided ears and she did a cheerful dump.  We walked.  She talked about God, community, work, health and future, spiced with sundry side trips.

We talked like a zigzag mixed into a pretzel built by a pair of Golden Retriever puppies squabbling over a ball.  It was easy to go from the granular, to the view from 30,000 feet and back again within two sentences and 15 seconds!

One of the most valuable resources in SLG is people who can reason from principle.

As she talked through the various people in sundry situations whom she is fathering, I smiled with deep pleasure as she again and again described a real life situation, moved to the abstract to fetch a couple of principles from her ample storehouse, then described how she dressed them up in secular clothes and applied them to the situation.

It was especially intriguing to watch the art form of fathering her bosses at times.

She is formidable and artistic, simultaneously.

A delight.

We laughed and cried and did high fives as the emotions swirled around us.

One of her peeps has remarkably high potential spiritually, but is in a complicated construct.  We brainstormed some additional strategies she could use to identify the core of his design, so she could get to work on developing it.

Her life is non-linear, much to the consternation of well meaning community that so dearly wishes she would settle down and make them comfortable by being ordinary.

But she is, in reality, extraordinary, and her friends are just going to have to get over trying to fix her because God is having too much fun unpacking the treasure that she is.

He has recently enrolled her in yet another highly inexplicable “class” which will keep her from using a lot of previously developed skills.  She is going to have to learn a whole new set of skills in this class and neither one of us really has a clue who she is going to be when she grows up.

My personal opinion is that she is being groomed for some extraordinary task.  I don’t think she will make the pages of the history books, but she will show up at some destiny-changing moment, with a collection of insights, a remarkable depth of relationship with God and a formidable set of abilities.  As a Special Forces operative, she will be the one person in the universe who can step into a particular moment to execute a task that matters to God.

I decided that when I get my turn at the archives in heaven, I am going to skip looking at my files with all the questions I still have and go look at hers first, to see if she has had her epic encounter yet.

It will be worth reading.

Another emotionally gratifying visit was with a researcher.  She and I have walked together since she was single.  Before she married, the two of them purposed to make their family a lab for principles.  They have been more intentional and more expansive at implementing things in their family than any other couple I know.

The results are wonderful.

We spent some time catching up on her family.  I so loved watching her enjoy her joy as she interfaced with each of the children in a unique way.

Then we turned to her heart.

For many years she puzzled me.  She was top notch at implementing.  And her life blossomed as she leaned into this spiritual discipline and that, while holding down a rather mundane day job.

I could not understand how she could exist with such an immense engine and a micro-transmission.

Eventually, she finally, gloriously, discovered she was utterly bored with her job, so she pitched it and began to pursue her birthright instead.

God promptly enrolled her in three classes without asking her permission, and life was quite complicated for a while.  But — as always happens when God is in the mix — out of the fire came a much clearer perspective of her passion and who she is going to be when she grows up.

So we talked about her heart passion and the research she has been doing.  She voiced her frustration over having to research heaven’s wisdom in the sludge of humanism.

I pulled her out of the granular and took her to a cosmic view of history.  This gave her a renewed sense of dignity, passion and focus.

I was able to share a few warm potato skins with her since I have dabbled in a couple of the areas that interest her.

It was glorious to watch her engine roar to life and lean into the implications of those principles.

We ended by reminiscing about one of our grand adventures together, years ago.

I drove away with a deep, settled peace.  My seed has been sown in good soil.

The Young Lion and the Researcher are just two who have “ignition.”  If I never invest anything more in them, they already have the tools and the skills to find the principles that will unlock the truths they need, and they have the passion to run hard after their birthrights.

But they are not just technicians in the Kingdom.  They are wonderful people.  I love them both.

Copyright July 2018 by Arthur Burk




Posted in Good-bye | 6 Comments

Sally #7: A New Heart

I checked with Sally this morning.  She reported the most savage demonic attack over the weekend she had ever experienced.

This is new ground for me.  Over the years I have walked with a number of people who have a variety of soul and spirit assaults, but never someone where the demonic was so consistently pounding on her body.

Clearly there are some gaping holes in my theology and practice.

On the bright side, today was a wonderful day for her, which suggests that the critters feel it would be propitious to stay out of the way when I am on the playing field.  Some small victory anyway.

In that context, she went to the doctor and got the results of her blood tests.  Because of physical issues going back to her childhood, her body has been a wreck for a long time.  Doctors told her that she might not live past 20 and she should engage in no physical activity because she had the bones of a 90 year old, due to calcium and phosphorous issues in her body.

Over the years, she has declined to live as fragile and she is well past 20 years old, but every blood test shows those two factors as critically low.

Today, the blood tests show both of those in the normal range.

Astounding and not the result of any change in the natural.

Which, of course, sets my mind racing, wondering what the connection might be between the Giver and those two minerals!  And it underscores how little we know about the spirit/body dynamics.

What if we had an entire protocol that could trace back every malabsorption problem back to a particular dynamic in the human spirit?

But I digress.

Servant is safe in her hiding place, still strong and clear, having been spared the pain of the weekend.  That is surprising and wonderful.

Prophet is still comatose in the brain.  I am getting restless about leaving him that way.

I pinged Giver who we had left on an eagle’s eyrie.  No answer.

I have learned that even when a portion of the spirit cannot “speak” they can communicate through feeling if I give them a simple question.

So I said, “Giver, I suspect you can hear my voice.  Would you please let Sally know if you are guarded?”

A weak affirmative feeling.

I did a little teaching here while Giver could listen.  I pointed out that the Mosaic Law had a minimum number of sacrifices.  Ideally each sin.  At the least, three times a year in Jerusalem.  But barest of bare minimums was to kind of sort of participate in the national Day of Atonement prayer.

However you want to slice and dice the minimum, there is no maximum.  Imagine a guy with sex bondage that he just could not get over, no matter how he tried, showing up at the Temple to be greeted by a sign that says, “Only ten sacrifices for adultery allowed in a lifetime.  After that, you are just damned!”

This is utterly contrary to the whole of our theology of redemption.

So I invoked the unlimited cleansing factor of the Cross of Jesus Christ, and asked for whatever sin, rebellion or iniquity the demons used to capture Giver, to be expunged.

Immediately, Sally could see Giver in a room, filled with yellow light.

So far, so good.

We asked God where Giver needed to be when she was removed from the room.  Back to the eyrie?

Sally felt God said, “The heart.”

Giver cringed because there were waves of ugly color pulsing through the heart.

Sally had listened to “The New Spiritual Authority:  Intimacy” some years back.  I reviewed belongingness, worth and competence for her.

Belongingness comes when your needs are met consistently.

Worth comes when you are included in community.

Competence is self-explanatory.

All three were savaged in childhood, beginning with her mother pounding on her womb to try to cause a miscarriage and extending to all sorts of spiritual, emotional and physical abuse in childhood.

I explained how the three components of our tripod of identity parallel the Father, Son and Spirit and they parallel the first three chambers of the heart.

Giver could see that there is plenty of reason for the heart to be inhospitable, considering the perversion of the work of the Trinity.

I pondered what to do, and where to go.  I heard nothing from the Spirit, so decided to just “go long.”

I proclaimed the perfection of the Trinity in all manifestations and asked God to simply cleanse all of the tissue of the heart of all the defiled events and memories.

There was drama for a bit and Sally felt quite sick.

Eventually it settled and she said she could see the heart outside her body, filled with light.

So . . . what do you do with a heart outside the body?

She informed me that was really weird.  I already knew that.

And I had no grid or framework for it, so I decided to shrug and wait and watch.

My experience has been that it is pretty hard for the enemy to maintain a deception or fraud long-term, so if this is not God, there will be markers soon.

I queried Giver about moving into the new and improved heart, outside the body, and she was up for it.

Asked God if that is what He wanted, and instead, He put her in a bubble outside the body, feeling quite safe.

Go figure.

Now we have the heart and Giver outside the body.

On the one hand, it makes sense, in that the body is the object of a whole lot of abuse from the enemy.  On the other hand, it is just weird.  I have no idea how God is going to process this long-term.

Fortunately, we do weird well here at Sapphire.

We parked it there, knowing that dramatic visual images during ministry times are encouraging, but the real marker is measureable, verifiable, sustained change.  Not sure what to look for, but I am sure there will be a report of some sort.

Copyright July 2018 by Arthur Burk


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Goodbye #9: Closure without Resolution

I had postponed the trip to Oxnard and Ventura because of the pain from that season.  I figured it was going to be a knuckle-buster of a goodbye.   In addition to the high pain level of that chapter, back then I had not even a clue about inner healing.  I just applied the “geographic cure” and ran away every time I made a mess bigger than I could tolerate.

And THAT is how we ended up in Oxnard.  My life had unraveled badly in Orange County, so I took my wife and young son and fled to the coast.  At that time, I was still DID, had all 14 of the seven curses, and had a whole herd of Leviathans that traveled with me, all the time, at no extra charge.

Also a formidable case of brain rot!

I came into the SLG office Sunday morning and did a small bit of work on a project that was behind, then settled into the drive NW.  I opted to go via Highway 1, thinking that beach traffic on Sunday morning would be light enough to keep moving.  I was wrong.  Cars were sparse, but bikes — adorned with ginormous egos wrapped in brightly colored spandex — were swarming.

The attractively funky architecture in Santa Monica amused me again, as it always has.  And I smiled unexpectedly while driving past Pepperdine.  They have an elegant campus with acres of fiercely protected, carefully manicured lawn, which is pockmarked by gopher piles!

Put gophers in that list of things beginning with the common cold, that science and wealth have not quite subdued.

I love the feel of the land and the visual structures around Point Mugu.  I have often wondered about the NAS there.  I’ll bet they draw some treasures from the land, without knowing about the redemptive gifts.

I shouted over the Seabees’ motto, long forgotten, painted across the front of their highest building in Port Hueneme:  “Can do.”

Simple.  Elegant.  Comprehensive.

It was good to be away from the coastal rock formations and see the acres of greenhouses Oxnard is famous for.

I stayed on Highway 1 as I crossed over the 101.  It was a pleasant drive through Old Town Saticoy.  I did a lot of room additions in all of Ventura County, including that area and Santa Paula.

Eventually I turned left on 118 and then left again on Telegraph Road, heading toward Ventura through the massive lemon orchards, crowding the road.  Two years ago, it was a $266 million crop for the county.

Ventura was almost unrecognizable to me after 35 years.  There was such an abundance of new buildings with a different look and feel.  I opted for Thompson Blvd when I ran out of road on Telegraph, and eventually pulled over at Plaza Park.

It was a cross section of society:  signs abounded forbidding smoking.  Homeless people visited on the NW corner while young moms and dads swung their tots in the playground.  The older youngsters clambered around a piece of artillery that seemed ludicrously out of place, next to the nanny-state “No smoking” signs.

I settled onto the park bench, far from the social groups, and allowed my mind to roam through the two short years we were there.

I was shocked as I took inventory of how bad it really was.  I came there with over-the-top pain, and the pounding was unrelenting.

-The doctor who delivered Desiree and botched it so badly.

-Both my bosses.

-The church.

-The landlords.

-The credit union.

-The babysitters.

I have language for some things now.  My first boss had a horrific case of the negative sixth head of Leviathan, as did I.  The two of us were an awful combination.

The flu through the whole family at Christmas.  Midianite Curse.

The landlord who lost in court and still won.  Aramean Curse.

When you are in such high pain all the time, all over, individual pains fail to define themselves.  Looking back from a little wider spot in the road, I hurt all over for our family that was hurting all over in that season.

After wobbling under the weight of that for a while, Jesus began to put small frames around different snapshots.

In the room addition company, everything took too long.  The 90 day job didn’t get finished for 150 days, if then.  I saw the exponential impact of Leviathan in turning a simple job into a trudge through gumbo.

Jesus calmly observed that it was quite remarkable that my boss could keep the company afloat when labor costs averaged 400% of what was normal and budgeted.

Good point.

Desiree could have died in childbirth.  The doctors told us she might be somewhat retarded.  In later years we joked about how glad we were that she had been retarded because none of us could have stood it if she was any smarter than she is now.

Jesus also pointed out that Ann eventually recovered completely from the malpractice.

Painful, unjust, demonically manipulated, but not devastating in the long run.

And from there a picture emerged of His being there, in all the craziness, with all my brokenness and critters, tempering each situation, and protecting me from myself (no small feat) and from the critters inside and outside me.

I started a church while I was there.  I went to the denominational authorities first and got their blessing, with the assurance they had nothing at all going on in that region, nor any plans.

In a twist of classic church politics, a week after the church officially began meeting, I was informed that a highly qualified pastor was going to be sent to take over the church — that would continue meeting in my living room.

Jesus observed in a very kind way, that based on the qualifications of an elder, on a scale of 1 to 10, I was at about -17 right then.

I knew it was true.

Clearly He had saved me from who knows what kind of travesty, by allowing me to go through the smaller pain of having someone else take my “baby” away from me.  I definitely had no grasp of stewarding the King’s subjects back then.

It was a profoundly therapeutic time in the park.  Jesus did not deny the pain or the injustice or the irrationality of anything I was remembering.  He just reframed each one, showing how He buffered me, kept me afloat, taught me some things, in spite of myself.

I left there dramatically transformed, but puzzling over the question of “Why Oxnard and Ventura?”  I am sure He brought us there for some positive reasons.  I was running, and there were a lot of places to run to.  I was sure I had received something there that was a huge, a significant gift, given to me right under the nose of the devil who was trashing me.

I left the park and drove into Old Town Ventura, marveling at how few landmarks were still there.  I flirted with taking a swing through Ojai and decided not to.

South to Oxnard, puzzling on the question:  what was the treasure?

I made my way to Ketch Ave. and walked up and down the street where we lived for a while.  None of the bad memories followed me, just the question.

Hoping for inspiration, I wandered over to the Marina, parked and walked.  There was an absolute dearth of seats, obviously intentionally.  Instead, I cruised by the ocean front houses, where I had logged a LOT of hours, still gnawing.

Then lunch.  The Santa Barbara Cobb salad was delicious, but rendered no inspiration.

I realized that I would just have to trust God on this one.  He had vastly increased my trust in Him as we looked at the pain together.  I could now look at all the dark stuff through the clarity of sight.  I would embrace the unnamed gift, through the eyes of faith.

I had remarkable closure by the time I dumped my trash at The Habit.

I wandered home a different way, more savoring than pondering, as I slogged through the traffic on 101, 405, 105, 605, 91, exiting at Magnolia.

It was a remarkable piece of healing from a chapter of my life that had mocked me and dared me to try to get closure, assuring me I would be best off letting bygones be bygones.

Good advice.

Unless you serve the Lord of Reconciliation.

Copyright July 2018 by Arthur Burk




Posted in Good-bye | 9 Comments

Goodbye #8: Surprised by Emotions


Today, David and Reuben showed up at 9:00 to dismantle the video studio.  We have never worked together before, so I started out at a very slow pace, showing how I wanted them to protect the desk spaces.

Protecting the Desks

Once the plastic was in place, we started at the far back corner with the lights, piping and the ceiling tiles that needed to be replaced. They proved to be adept with tools, a good team, and quick learners, so I was able to leave them alone.

Lights, Bars and Ceiling

I checked back periodically to see how they were doing, but never had to correct them on anything.

And the ultimate test was meticulous clean up.

Meanwhile, I was in the library, slamming books into boxes.  I managed to finish packing the whole thing by the time they were done.  They moved the shelves into my office which is the staging area for the big truck loading day.

I had them move some more materials from the warehouse into Megan’s staging area, since we are getting ready to sell the racks.

As they left and I wandered around taking final shots, I realized three distinct emotions.

-I was really pleased with packing up the library.  I have spent an immense number of hours there, studying, writing, doing personal ministry and just chilling out.  Superb memories.  And now, my books are packed which means they are going to the new place.

As long as my books are with me, I can be emotionally stable anywhere.  As lame as that is, they have been my primary healthy and unhealthy place of solace from the time I was a reader.

Books are my go to comfort food, security blanket, safe place, and if they are going, I am fine.

-I was glad to see the video studio coming down.  We will probably do another video or two there, before I am gone, gone, because the warring for your birthright series is still churning, but it will be without the lights and a lot of the ambience.

As I looked at my joy over being one step closer to being gone from there, what bubbled up was the thought that the video studio had never been mine.

And that comment is going to cost me a few lively lunches with Miss Megan poking, prodding and prognosticating on the topic of the next video studio.

She doesn’t particularly like it when I am not at home in my home, after she has tried hard to make a home for me.

-Most of all, I was glad that Victory Outreach’s van was not available today.  David and Reuben came in their car and could not take my beloved couch away, as scheduled.

My couch is quite worn out and would cause my chiropractor to say some unkind things, but it sure has a lot of memories.  I don’t have room for it in my office, really, but it will be here for a little longer.

Meanwhile, the warehouse is looking more and more bare, which is a good thing.

One step closer to South Carolina.

Copyright July 2018 by Arthur Burk


Posted in Good-bye | 9 Comments

Sally #6: Red and Black Light

Sally had a wild week with ups and downs.  First job was to restore her perspective.

I pointed out to her that in this season of recovery, the attacks continue to be harsh and frequent.  We measure three things.

-Are the low points less deep than before and are the good times higher than before?

-Is the lull between attacks longer, and the duration of the attacks shorter?

-Do the critters back off as an appointment with me gets closer?

The answer was yes to all three.

Specifically, the highs are much higher.  She had six hours of trouble free time, one day, when she was actually able to be life giving in community which was a big, big deal for her.  She is so utterly sick and tired of being powerless and needy.

For most, having only six hours of sanity in a week would sound horrible, but I assure you, it was a triumph of epic proportions for her.  Her life is pretty ugly.

Clearly we are making progress, even though the assaults are still brutal and demoralizing.  So we continued on task, working with the spirit, and not being lured off to the side, fighting the fires.

So, when the triage was over, I bypassed any first aid for the brutality of the last week and asked about Servant. There was no one visible, and no response when I spoke in her direction.

I floated three options to Sally:

-Servant was hidden away, by her choice, for safety.

-Servant left voluntarily because the battle was too intense.

-Servant had been kidnapped.

Sally indignantly said it was 1 or 3.  I felt it was #1.

So I spoke in the direction of Servant, commended her for hiding well, admitted that the battle had been fierce, and said she was wise for taking cover.

Sally reported that Servant heard me.

With that confirmation, I proceeded and spoke to the issues of guilt, shame and feelings of abandonment.  Knowing the devil as I do, I was sure she felt guilty over not being able to fight back, shame over hiding and most likely had a fear of abandonment over the fact that I had not immediately scheduled a call with her when Sally wrote about the tough week.

Sally confirmed that all of the above had been pounded on relentlessly.

I clarified the rules of engagement with Servant/Sally.

-I have not promised to walk with her to the end of life.

-I have not promised to walk with her until she is in a safe place and healed.

-I most certainly cannot be there for her every time she is in crisis.

-BUT, I will NOT vanish.  When I need to stop walking with her, I will tell her clearly and unambiguously.

-When I need to stop walking with her, I will do it gently, without rage and blame.

That discussion landed deeply with Servant and Sally.  Sally said that the abandonment message this week has been blasted at her in every imaginable way.

I reiterated that I am not going to be dependable in any way, in terms of regular schedule or crisis intervention.  She will always have to synchronize to me and fit into the occasional empty corners of my schedule.   But I won’t vanish silently, and I won’t leave with rage and blame.

By the time that conversation had been massaged a few times, Sally could see Servant’s hiding place.  That is common.  I don’t know how the spirit portions can make themselves visible or invisible, but they do and the fact that Servant trusted me and Sally to become visible in her hiding place was a big deal.

I told Servant to stay put and keep safe.

I checked on Prophet and he was visible in the brain, lying comatose on the floor.

I stayed silent for a bit trying to decide where to go.

Holy Spirit said, “Giver.”

I thought I had seen a flicker of Giver in a comment previously made, so I floated a greeting in that direction.

Sally replied that she saw Giver in a small closed room with a red light.

I cringed.

I very cautiously floated the idea that in some cultures a red light signifies prostitution.

After some exploration, we ended up with a picture of a Giver ancestor involved in prostitution which included meals.  There are some digestive issues with Sally and the reactivity now, in the midst of this conversation, was in the belly, not the pelvis.  She remembered that her much hated nanny would curse her as a four year old stating that she would end up being a prostitute.  Lots of other information surfaced of the generational nature of this.

By now Giver was alert and engaged and tracking – from the red and black closed room with red light.

I explained the time line of the death of Christ.  It happened before her forefather’s sins.  Sally is now downstream from her forefather’s sins.  She has the right to go back and cleanse the past, because Jesus died and rose, etc.

I also illustrated it with the Centurion at the cross.  Jesus wanted him in the Kingdom, so He cleared the record with God the Father BEFORE the Centurion was aware there was a record to be cleared.

I prayed confession and repentance prayers.  The room got larger and the light turned yellow.  There was still no door.

I asked Jesus to make a door and to relocate her to a place where she could be safe and be healed.  She was almost instantly on an eagle’s eyrie and she was thrilled.

We spent some time working on the predictable lies the enemy would bring against her, then called it a wrap for the day.

Lots more to do, but there are fewer hooks now than yesterday, we have one more portion of the spirit freed from captivity, and Sally has some truths she has written down and will carry with her everywhere to fight back against the relentless nagging of the enemy.

It will be a long ugly road out of here, but there is a road.

Copyright July 2018 by Arthur Burk




Posted in Sally | 3 Comments

Goodbye #7: The Last Ticket

August and September are going to be complicated.

We ship Ann’s car to South Carolina so it will be waiting for her there.

I go to South Carolina to find an apartment and some office space.  I set up a skinny version of our apartment.

I come back to get Ann to bring her to Spartanburg.  After I get her set up, I return to CA.

Megan goes to Spartanburg to find a place to rent while I finish packing up the apartment and office and load the truck.

I leave headed East while she is flying back West.

She waves as we cross paths, but I ignore her while I chase the white line.

She runs the skeletal office in CA while I set up the new office in South Carolina.

Megan’s parents move her to SC.  She gets to turn out the lights in the CA property.

We reconnect in the SC office.

This has been laid out in principle for a few weeks, with dates.  Various people have poked and prodded and decided the dates and sequence are good.

Translation:  I have a lot of tickets to buy.  Some with cash.  Some with miles.  And all with special gimmicks and considerations.

I knew that and I did nothing.

God has a special angel who hacks the AA website for me.  When the angel is in position, I get an Elbow and jump on and find the most amazing deals.

Today was no exception.

Any of you ever tried to redeem frequent flyer miles?  You want to go from LAX to Denver for 25,000 miles.


It will take three days, you are routed through Istanbul, and it costs $575 in addition to 75,000 miles.

Standard dynamics for anyone who thinks the miles are actually useful.

Except for me – the guy who is best buds with a heavenly hacker who can’t be traced.

You will love this one.

I bought a one way ticket for my wife.  Of course.

Then I had to buy a separate round trip ticket from Spartanburg, to CA and back.  Obviously going back, I wanted to be on the same flight as my wife.  Not an unreasonable request.

I punched in the specs.  The available flights came up and that flight was not on there.  I knew my bud was in the game, so I poked around.  AA has four tiers of redemption miles.  Regular coach if you buy months and months ahead of time, last minute coach, regular business, last minute business.  Each tier is, of course, more expensive than the last.

I started on last minute coach.  That flight was not listed.

I went up to regular business class.  No go.

Last minute business class.  No go.

Got an elbow.

Went to regular coach:  12,500 miles + $6.15.  My wife’s flight was there.  I booked.  And grinned.

Love my bud.  As angels go, he is a whiz.

When I was done buying all those tickets, I realized I had probably just purchased my last ticket out of SNA.

And THAT hit me.

I have been living in the present and the past, along with a leap into the SC future.  I have sort of been dancing around LEAVING Southern California where I have lived for almost half a century.

That last ticket into my nifty little airport stirred a pot of emotions.

Hmm . . .

Then I went back to reread what I wrote and I noticed a Freudian slip.  Did you catch it?

“I come back to get Ann to bring her to Spartanburg.”

Bring her!

Not take.

Clearly the Prophet has already moved to South Carolina and all perspective is from there.  This body sitting at a desk in CA is strictly an illusion!

Copyright July 2018 by Arthur Burk


Posted in Good-bye | 12 Comments