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

Friday, February 11, 2011

the praxis

the mantra of my supernatural experiences keep me sane
remind me there is more going on here than my mind can perceive

the world a loose cloak over a timeless bit of gathered energy
astral projected after spending almost a year reading books
practicing, trying...
listening to people who said they'd flown off
without their bodies with
pitying skepticism
feel again leaving my sick bed and flying around the house
astounded a soul could leave a body/wide awake


other bits and pieces that no drug or dream or folly or science can explain
make up my cosmology of ghosts
the logic I hold up before myself when the material becomes so dense
nothing else seems to exist

the holy one rebuffed and wounded
kept off-kilter in an endless mind maze
by secret societies
set up long ago
 to deal with the second coming

The mystical fears quantified by the scientists as they witnessed the miracles

no ready explanations for this one

they want me to be from another planet
they want me to be from a fluke in their gene pool
Wizard King
a clown, a tear, a laugh

another puppet who doesn't realize there are strings involved

a stray wandering off from the herd
missing the safety of numbers

stranded alone in deep space
Centuries away from next contact
whistling away the silence
puttered away days napped and lost

waiting for life to send me invitations to act
that are urgent and worthy... not just stemming off the disaster of poverty

absolved daily in  a wash of frantic prayers
 prying open eyes
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