Where the Brown Dessert Warms the Heart: The Unwrinkled Embrace

Welcome back, you lovely, crazy rascals. Tonight, we are diving deep into the messy, beautiful space where raw longing meets radical theology. Below are two versions of a heartfelt cry born out of isolation and intense eye-fire glances. The first version is unfiltered stream-of-consciousness—just pure, mystical ache poured onto the page. The second is a polished, rhythmic rewrite that channels that same wild energy into structured verse. Whether you are a bright young ruler or a dim-lit fool, grab a seat in the brown dessert and let love take you captive.

Version 1. Manoj in Full Form

How I wish the hostel building

Had some wheels like Yahweh's chariot,

Carried by clouds—wheely clouds.

The fan's cool breeze makes me feel chilly,

Even as your hot kiss leaves me thrilled. 

I wonder if I drove the hostel,

Full of bright young rulers,

Eager to follow the Lord.

Without investing anything but ourselves,

We bring to his feet wholly,

All the rascals—lovely, cool,

In part crazy, and dim-light fools—

Into that brown book brick block where she hides,

And we are in awe. 

Vicca asked, "Why are you beating yourself up like this?"

Perhaps he could feel my mystical heart ache.

Little could I unveil that the Trinity had blocked me

From visiting the book house where brown books lay,

And hid her face from my sight,

Just above the brown counter—the law's dividing wall. 

Wright says it is the wall that severed the Jew from Gentile,

Telling the Gentle fellow: enter only at the cost of a miserable death.

I'm lonely, and want to know more of my leanings toward her glow.

Will she ever know how she affects me so deep,

With her eye-fire glances and Al Gult moves? 

Fascinated, captivated, mystified,

Oh yes, I am—

Not knowing if it's death or life.

Her sweetness finds its way through the window opened wide,

But I barely see her, even with a careful eye. 

So the inner man, empowered, found a way.

Perhaps Yahweh wanted the hostel to get some wheels,

So I drive it into the brown dessert,

Filled with sweet writing that once warmed my heart,

Made me feel so full that every time I stepped out,

I felt intoxicated... a little giddy. 

Well, a peep into my privacy,

And I felt as if she asked:

Is the brown dessert sufficient, or should we move further in?

Into the place where dancing maidens sleep,

Dreaming of a Pauline future filled with echoes,

Allusions, poetry, and rhetorical prose. 

What if the poiema of God, the sweet living one,

Wanted to know me like Christ his bride?

How cleverly Paul replaced Yahweh and his tainted bride, Israel,

With Messiah and his unwrinkled bride. 

I just want to know her.

She needs friendships deep.

But was Messiah a friend to his lovely bride,

Washing her lovely long feet with water warm,

And maybe preparing her for a deep embrace? 

Until the heaven meets earth in full union,

To unveil the mystery held by time and revealed by envoys new:

No death, no decay, no disaster, no defeat,

No hatred, no deceit shall reign in that hour,

When love takes captive all that he sees.

Version 2. A Structured Form 

I wish this rigid hostel had some wheels,

Like Yahweh’s chariot carried by the clouds.

The fan’s cool breeze brings on the chilly feels,

Yet your hot kiss can thrill despite the crowds.

If I could drive this block of brick and stone,

Filled with bright rulers eager for the Lord,

We’d lay our souls before His sacred throne,

With nothing but ourselves as our accord. 

We’d bring the lovely rascals, wild and bright,

The crazy, dim-lit fools into the place

Where she is hiding out of public sight.

In awe, we stand before that hidden grace.

Vicca once asked me, seeing my despair,

"Why beat yourself up for a distant dream?"

He felt my mystical heart aching there,

Blocked from the house where brown book pages gleam. 

The Trinity had barred me from the room,

Hiding her face above the counter’s edge.

A law dividing wall of silent gloom,

Like the old temple’s sharp and severing ledge.

As N.T. Wright once said of ancient wall,

The Gentile enters at the cost of death.

I’m lonely, leaning toward her radiant call,

Caught in her fire-eyed glance and rhythmic breath. 

I am mystified, completely caught,

Not knowing if it brings me death or life.

Her sweetness through an open window sought,

While I look on through barriers of strife.

But the inner man, empowered, found a way,

As if the hostel gained those long-sought wheels,

To drive into the dessert, brown and gray,

Where writing warms and broken spirit heals. 

I felt so drunk with it, a little blind,

As if she asked if this was deep enough,

Or should we leave the dessert far behind,

To find where dancing maidens sleep in love?

They dream of a Pauline future bright,

Filled with allusion, prose, and echoes grand.

What if God’s poem, living in the light,

Wanted to know me in this lonely land? 

Like Christ the bridegroom loves His holy bride—

How Paul replaced old Yahweh’s broken vow

With the unwrinkled Church, purified and wide—

I only want to know her deeply now.

Did Messiah wash her long and lovely feet,

Preparing her for love’s immense embrace?

Until the heaven and the earth shall meet,

And time reveals the mystery of grace. 

No death, decay, disaster, or defeat,

No bitter hatred, no deceitful power,

Shall reign when earth and holy heaven meet.

Love takes captive all within that hour.

With all the love in the World and also what the Holy Spirit has poured out into us,

Shaper and Me (the little Chintu) 😘🤞