TRUE STORY:

WAKING UP JESUS


The ongoing story of Jesus waking up in Chicago, in the body of an agnostic writer,
who is nothing like the Son of God the right-wing Christians watching him expected.


You are welcome to share my work with a link bank... keep getting asked this...

Last time I was here, I told them I would not lead a revolution, that I was there to spread heresy. The crowds thinned. The day they killed me, I marched alone... This time I have returned to find Romes Soldiers Sleeping, content they have killed off the Troublesome Jew. I was surprised how bloody the Indiana boy became as my sword fell again and again ....


In the years since this story began in 2007, my secret fame has spread out from the halls of power that kept me secret all these years, as they waited for the Christ to finally wake up...

I try to imagine their anticipation.

Remember a dream I had in my twenties about running thru Chicago screaming that Christ was coming back, and man oh man was I happy... a cloud came through the middle of the skyscrapers above me, in the thin strip of blue above Dowtown State street, and I expected to see Christ... instead, just a bunch of musicians painted up like Ziggy stardust.

I surprised my keepers. They thought they had me figured out from the Bible. If that book could have told you everything, there would be no need at all for me.


Jesus: "I have become Known across this planet as a dangerous man with a growing force of hidden followers who value my orders more than life itself. A prophet of war. Once and future King in a court of shadows. Life and death in my hands every damn day. I ROAR, your most mighty shit themselves and run. I make myself a known threat, so I can try to negotiate what otherwise requires bullets and blood. I am here to free the enslaved in body and mind. I cannot be defeated. When the Will of God and The WILL OF THE PEOPLE ARE ONE, NO FORCE ON EARTH CAN STOP US!"





WAKING UP JESUS...

WAKING UP JESUS...
We come into this life expecting too much and leave expecting too little

Saturday, December 20, 2008

A PARABLE FOR THE DEPLORED

There has been a battle waging since the angels split off, some becoming demonic, others trying to stop them. We have fought on earth in the forms of men forever. We fought as Neanderthals... as soon as the image of God began to appear in the faces of the creatures of Eden. We have kept all of this secret to the humans, fearing the mass hysteria that would have enveloped the world. The massacres we could see down that future path kept us from allowing events to steer us into such a dark place.

Now we are coming above ground. Demons and Angels are actively appearing int he unconscious of the humans; possessed since birth by deities they will never undrestand, these humans now wage the ultimate war between good and evil.


We have gathered in Chicago to meet the one. The Christ. The humans have known about since his birth, a secret that t most learned about when the Awakening Movement needed their aide. I have been a sleeper agent in my own mind, learning of the humans and their times by the ultimate tool - becoming one of them. Waking up from deep cover is not easy. There is no instant switch. You exist as two people at once, and in my case two warring people.

The battles would be fought in the old ways. As when the Gods themselves clashed over planets... or Gods they seemed to themselves, warring with powers that are unheard of here on earth.

You begin to remember the other lives you have lived as you fought the dark ones. The countries where you found them and their armies and tried to destroy their followers, before they could sweep the earth and earn their dark right, to avoid the flight to the father, to rule here on earth for eternity. They fear the fathers dark vengenge for the war they inflicted on the Son. They seek to keep humans on their sides purely to keep their delusion going.



I am weary from the battles I have returned from. The wounds of angels are all internal, mixed up with killing beings who were once your lovers, your fellow angels singing in the court of The Almighty. I know Jesus is close. Can feel his warm presence. I do not know if he is awake yet. He is usually the last, though sometimes the first. I find him in a dive bar, scribbling on napkins a poem that would be later lost from his pocket and dissolved into the snow lightning the Chicago streets.



I sit on a cracked, acrylic seat beside him. "Do you know me?"
His clear blue eyes look at me with rage, then he seems to go to another part of his brain to calm down, and answers in his gorgeous voice, "I have known you, my brother, since before you knew there was such a thing as I."

He never has grown used to being the Father's Judge, the siren for the four hoursemen with the steeds of fire. He came up later this time, 44, and his beard is greying. The waif of skin and bones he had been in the last life was gone. He looks skinny, yet well fed. He has grown the long hair of the mystic and magic. I can tell he has had the dreams. One showing God's Face to prove that he was in touch with a deity, and the next of the endless lightening and fire flowing from his trembling silhouette.

"Your father sends his greetings."
"Yes, he would."
"Have you seen the demons?"
"They are everywhere. They cannot attack me and I leave them alone. I have become like an animal in a zoo to them. The lion they never want to meet in the jungle, chained and neutered."

I order a beer and take a cigarette out of his pack. Angels are like soldiers on leave, forever trying to just stay in the moment and if drink and drugs are needed, the humans have an endless supply.

"They think I will not fight them. I want them to think I am defeated."
"They can hear you and yet...."
"Now that you are here, they understand that I am about to burn their Eden down."
"You loved here?"
"How could I not... these were my children once."
"You know I speak with the new Satan?"
"He is nothing like his father."
"His fate was worse than mine. Still, he believes in these beings, sees their free-will in the perversions, the lust for life itself."
"The heavens makes this place seem like a hell."
"The babies don't know."
"Now you sound like Satan. This is a planet meant to grow souls. To send seeds out into the cosmos. We go to the father's face, he sends us to the heavens where we will be happiest, or off to some other war."

"What have you been doing here?"
"Writing."
"Anything good?"
"No. I wanted to change time itself, make the end a dream no one needs to have..."
"He sent you here to burn all this shit down."
"Collectively they are a virus. One on one though...."
"Save a few for breeding..."
"And forget the rest."

I understood again why only the son himself could bring on the end of a world. Angels would have died from the pain I could see in everything he did, from the grim resignation that he sipped his coffee to the cigarettes he left to burn away in the ashtrays.

"When?"
"The goal will be to save every soul on the planet. The projections are much smaller, of course. First we will need to use the armies to eradicate those who are not going with us. There will be even more blood... I have already shed more than I feel like I can take, though I know, being I am, I can take anything."

"Where are you staying?"
"I sleep on the subway."
"We'll need a better field office... do you know where the other three are?"
"They will find us within hours of opening the office. Call the company the Reluctant Apocolyptics. I want the left over demons to know where we are as well. I forgave them."
"What?"
"Oh, I perished a few... mostly I offered them their old jobs back. They knew from the beginning of this battle that they were going to lose. They were stuck with Satan after the revolt. He was the one who had to hear their cries of pain over their fates. I would have even forgiven him for trying to teach the humans that they are for a reason, that God relishes their lusts. Of course, like an angel, he took it too far. The distance from the father drove him mad. The impending end, where we find ourselves now.... must have preyed on them."

We spoke of the other wars raging across the cosmos, where bits and pieces of the Son of God was still battling the left over pockets of the demonic invasion.

"Any closer to figuring out why he does this to them?"

Jesus sighed, "Not that question again... he is not going to tell me his plans, because... who knows?"


New reports that night were filled with firefights between shadowy figures who witnesses claimed were flying around on white wings. Scientific experts were brought in to speak about mass hysteria. In a secret agency within the CIA another entry is made into a file labeled project omega. ^To his superiors, James Kenny wrote that an aplha red pronto emergency scenario was breaking out in downtown Chicago.

News teams filled the streets surrounding the battles. Burning swords and blasts of lightening and fire flew back and forth between the creatures, destroying store fronts and leaving ominous fires up and down State street. A white being, too bright to be photographed or looked upon directly, appeared above the carnage and the entire scene disappeared. A melodic voice of authority filled the streets, "I am."

Speculation filled the news shows for the next week, though nothing else happened...

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