Podcast: https://is.gd/59WxsTAudio-pics with Subtitles/CCI visited church almost every day of my youth, except Sunday's, the only day my church would be unavailable. I loved its relaxed yet respectful silence, the smell of reverence, the promise pervading every aspect of that temple of awesome.I never knew exactly what my sermon would be. In my church, I chose the sermons, sermons just for me. A glorious treasure hunt as I would roam or stalk, excavate and uncover, reveal or discover, finding inspiration as it found me. Guided by curiosity and availability, by ever changing interconnections never quite exactly the same. I might have a theme to which I'd temporarily sacrifice my volition. But always I'd be rewarded with leads, avenues of exploration, journeys of being and culminations of self-discovery as an ever-ongoing grail of inner transformation.My sermons would encompass vast fields of activity, entire continents of mood and emotion, galaxies of possibility and wonder. I would be enthralled by the insatiable excitement those unintended preachings generated. Perpetually my soul was left wanting More, always eager for More. Never never enough.Preachers came and went, each one extracted of their very marrow. They left their own souls with me. Some had multiple sermons, many only one. The…

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