You are one of the twelve... (Israel, God, Jesus, Earth)

[domenic]

The reading of scripture is filled with our personal imagination. We build picture of characters based on those we know, or on actors we favor as the good guy, and those we consider scoundrels. This is something our mind does automatically…it takes no thought to bring them to life. This examination, and construction reveals there are only twelve personality types. Facial, body figures, and speech patterns will vary, but the core of twelve remains set.

In the 1930’s, advertising companies discovered the use of twelve, greatly increased sales for their clients. Law enforcement soon started gathering files on criminals, and cauterizing them in the same manner. Hitler’s SS set up a whole agency for the purpose of racial identification. It was a new science every field tried to capitalize on. Even baseball players were graded in this manner.

How did these old writers of scripture know what modern science just recently discovered?
There were many writers of scripture…some were life times apart, yet the writing of all these men render only twelve character types? Would this important detail point to just one author…God? Lets test how we view those characters of scripture. Below is one page from a book, "The Clay of the Gods." The character is Jonah. I ask that before you read the books one page, you close your eyes, build your picture of the man. After reading, please comment on the difference in your Jonah.

(Note: Jesus also had twelve.)

This copyright material is printed with the permission of the author….me


Jonah frowned at his bare cold feet. He picked at the scaled dirt between his toes. The stink from his rotted teeth, and sick gums gave off a foul smell. A growl came from deep within his lungs. He spit the yellow of its foul onto the dirt floor and covered it. Old age was not settling well with Jonah. He found nothing to look forward too. He felt of no value to anyone, nor did he care to be. His penis, once the symbol of his strength now hung lifeless. His toe nails had become a dark yellow-breaking off at their edges, revealing a rotted black like those of dead goats. Pink spots covered his legs. Before him the bowl of oiled sweet cake and lamb gave off a smell he found unpleasant. He watched his old woman shuffling her bare feet into the sandy floor for warmth. Shadows cut deep into the line of her face revealing years of depression. Gone was her long black hair that once smelled of summer flowers, now a dry yellowing gray tangled mess. He found her scent more offensive than his dinner. Was this truly the woman he had vowed to love forever? Her lower lip hung down, almost pointed in the center. He watched the droll increasing with every movement of her open mouth. It formed a thin line from the crevice of her lower lip to the boiling pot before her. Where was the woman he had felt so much passion for? Was it she who had made his blood boil and his heart pound? He could not recall the last time they had made love. A picture of her young unclothed body flashed before him. What happened to her? Did he look as repulsive to her, as she to him? It had been many years since he had seen his face in the mirror his father had given him. He regretted having traded it away for wine. Where had youth gone? Was he now one of those pathetic old people? He pushed the clay bowl away, and let out a heavy sigh.
"Naomi, wipe your mouth," he stammered, "are you trying to spoil the soup?"
She turned and smiled, but said nothing.
Jonah opened his mouth, but his words lodged in his throat. "Am I stt-ill
th-the man you fell in love with? Am I still handsome?"
Her grin widened, but she remained silent.
He pushed the bowl of oiled sweet cake and lamb further from him. He tried to speak,
but his lips would not part. He took a deep breath and bellowed,
"If I had known old age was like.... this, I, I would have taken better care of myself."
Naomi stopped her kitchen duties and began to comfort Jonah with song. "You have always been my lion. You were born a man. You will always be a man. My heart sees no other."
"I cannot give you what a wife needs."
"It is I who cannot please you. Who wants an old woman who is pulled downward by the earth?"
Jonah stood and embraced his wife. She rested her head on his chest.
"Even God has found no use for me," he sobbed, "I am good for nothing. When I was young I dreamed that God talked to me. I told all the people of the village that God would expand the lands of Israel."
"My papa," said Naomi, "it was the wine talking."
They both began to laugh, and soon Jonah was eating his oiled sweet cake and lamb. Naomi sang and continued with her kitchen duties.