Hate, hate has humans wanting to maim and kill and murder alive. Xylazine - from what I have read - is a powerful veterinary sedative that is often mixed with opiates: men and women can be seen dotting sidewalks after taking these, or similar chemical combinations, in what is referred to as a fentanyl fold, hovering in space while somehow existing, without twitching or showing signs of life. When the alive but dying death grip is released as the drugs wear off, these broken souls re-animate with one goal in mind: they want to relieve themselves of actually living, and over and over again, they misuse their bodies via a drug induced coma of sorts, so that they do not have to think, feel, or suffer their physical existence.
Seeing a human statue, or many of them, littering the streets with the visible demeaning of their natural state, is disconcerting, and devastatingly sad. A demonic grip on the soul has these lost ones temporarily frozen in time for bouts of nothingness, and nowhere to be found emptiness - shells of themselves, they see not, hear not, know not, and are susceptible to the elements, while making everyone around them extremely alarmed and uncomfortable.
Hate is the fuel that spills from drug dealers: it just so happens that the government of Canada sponsors with taxpayer money, the killing of the living dead, Avarice coupled with malicious intent, turns humans into monsters, and monsters devour prey minus conscience.
The drug induced stock still statues play a massive role in their own demise, and they care not the burden they put on citizens that soulfully suffer on their behalf, or pay for them at the hospital til: but they had help along the way, each time they had easy access to the substances that numbs and dumbs them out of actually living. The druggies are walking talking evidence of things gone horribly wrong in society, and when the streets become dangerous with homeless people wandering in and out of moving traffic, hoping to get a handout for their next fix, we are headed in a direction that does not bode well for future generations. The median beggars, with their cardboard signs asking for help, get money from passers-by, and this is a form of aiding and abetting a criminal act against the soul of the beggar that wants to yet again, fry his brain with ingestible's that ought never to enter in.
I think of the man, frozen for a time, in time and space, on a busy downtown street, and I cannot help but weep anew. There is a God crafted soul in that body of his, and I wonder, will he ever know how precious he is to the one that made him? Will he ever be set free from the demons that have him locked in a sick holding pattern of dying while never really living? Will he die this day, because his heart could not take one more dose of poison? Will this be the day that he leaves the earth to go into permanent torment, without one more chance to be redeemed by the Saviour?
What help can there be for these poor beggars, dear one, except from God?
God saves. God is merciful and kind. We are required, it is our duty, to pray, and pray often, for the salvation of souls. I don't know who the man was that I saw last night, but I do know he was created in the image of God, and that somewhere along the way, he swapped out his purpose for nothingness: God can redeem him, and rescue him from the dark dungeon in which he currently resides, and it is my job to think of him as a lost lamb, and to pray for his return to the fold.
