|
By Misti Date: 2003 Nov 13 Comment on this Work [[2003.11.13.23.11.17876]] |
|
Today Jesus spoke to me in a dream. I met him in a small no frills bar. There was a glowing jukebox in a dark corner. A song I'd never heard before was playing, sung in this eerie voice that sounded like a young girl. I don't remember all of the lyrics, just this: and when you are drunk and happy and in love with the world that's when you know that I am real and I love you the most I love you the most and you are held and you are carried While this song was playing I was sitting beside Jesus on a bar stool at the old wooden bar. There was no bartender or any other people. Jesus was drinking something from a Flintstones glass with a crazy straw, the kind that has loops in it. I wasn't drinking anything. I was smoking a big fat blunt. This is what Jesus told me: I wasn't that great. I wasn't a star football player or gourmet chef. I couldn't dance. I was never the life of the party. Some of the ladies dug me but they were always the strange, lost ones that no one else wanted. The ones with the most tears stalked me. I felt sorry for them. The only woman I ever loved in an intense, sexual way was Mary Magdalene. No, we never hooked up but I wanted to. I had to keep my eye on the goal. My dad was real paranoid and focused. He told me that sex would screw everything up. In hindsight, I disagree. Mary wanted me to run away with her. If I had done that I wouldn't have been killed on that damn cross. Everyone thinks the cross is the answer. It isn't. It was a symbol, more than anything. I wish I had lived with Mary and had children. I would not have asked my son to die on a cross for murderers and hypocrites and pedophile priests and repressed nuns and stupid presidents and rapists and tele-evangelists. I would have picked my son up and spun him around and around and made him giggle deliriously. I would have taught him how to fish. |