I should start going as a visiting preacher to Holy Roller meetings. They let anyone sign up; there are a traveling circuit of them supporting themselves, including the once famous as hell and still profoundly funny .Sam Kinison... the one who screamed all the time... Pauly Shores mentor, wore really long hair and was over-weight. He used to preach at this church here in Chicago that I passed all the time, a sleazy looking store front affair with a box office from some incarnation, a half a block from the train track in the hipster hang out area of clark and belmont, where in the summer gangs of kids hang out, punks and other radical dressers with tattoos everywhere, and piercings... sitting at the edges off all the parking lots. The faithful would show up looking plain dressed as they filled the place up five nights a week to hear what they call Holy Rollers. This Kinison even did this while he was just starting out in Comedy to make extra bucks. So did his brother. They felt like they were making people happy, giving them a moment where they could forget all their troubles. I will never forget his joke about how when you work for Jesus, you can never call in sick, because he is just going to cure you. He pantomimed some apostle trying to fake sick to get the day off... as we hear only his side of the conversation, he asks, obviously surprised, "You can do that over the phone?" There was not a lot of Jesus humor out there before that which was not the watered down Christian loving kind.
Jesus humor. Like I have said before, I am not Allah. I think using my image to spread the message can be fine, but they should not be putting up a blonde haired, blue eyed Jesus. Very dark complected, and Eastern in my movement and slow manner of thinking before I spoke after my years hiding out from Harrod in the East... I was often accused of not being a Jew, though my parents were known as honest, poor carpenters. My siblings known as God fearing. They did not bear the same burden... when I became the Christ when I was Jesus, my own brothers tried to get me locked up. They do not sermonize on why I turned my mother away from a feast, though it has not yet been taken out of the Bible. My family did not at first support me, all but my dear mother, who knew the miracle of her Virgin birth. My father Joseph had also experienced the miraculous. My parents did not speak of this. I was a secret. The reason thousands of babies were slaughtered to keep me from being born. A hunted King, born obscure enough to survive until my message could be left, to effect mankind for awhile, before the priests and the kings once more got control of my words.
This is why Christianity started out a secret cult, as so many do... we were heretics from the start. Long before my followers began to realize just who this young Rabbi really was. I actually did not call myself a Rabbi, they did. I identified then with something new, the idea of the Buddha, which I had been told I was... this was all that made sense to the Indians who kept me in their monasteries. I was a novelty, though I was hard working, and kept up with my brothers and sisters when we meditated; they did not often expect foreigners to respect and follow their traditions. Jews who had passed through learning before had jelously closed their minds to some of their traditions. Jesus had no fear for his soul, a complete trust that God led him to the knowledge for a reason.
By then, Jesus knew his fate. The cross first came to him in a dream from Childhood. His parents had tried to shield him from seeing the men lining the roads when the Roman's cracked down, but there was no way of hiding death from a child in those times. Later, when he understood all he had been being told meant something deeper, now that he knew who he was.... he was a carpenter in that life, married with three children, a boy and two girls. Only the girl would live the rigourous life that took their blood line out of the land of Israel, to England, where an army and an order were established to protect the blood of Christ. Over the years the end of the line had produced great wizards, accidental miraculous, soldiers who seemed invincible, prophets who could call storms and lightening. The blood line was a prize many sought to control. A secret kept by blood, and protected, in the end, by Angels, dark avengers who used any means necessary to protect their prize.
They were of course everytime waiting for me, grew elaborate rituals around waiting for the day of male heirs to turn 32... generation after generation passed away trying to hold on to their belief.... the, just before my birth, a madness swept through the prophets of all religions, dreams showing a golden child with white wings, coming to flood the world with .... some saw blood, others water, others fire... They agreed that Jesus was coming, and watched and protected the line.... my father, they used his talents in WW2, took him to Alaska, where they tried to get me to go after I expressed a love for the state (anything they tried too hard to make me do, I did the opposite, simply because until they were honest with me, I had no way of knowing what their motives were for isolating me. I felt better protected here, where my security has been entrenched for years... those weird, mind bending years when I wrote on without a clue that I was being watched, evaluated, my kindness and superhero antics recorded.. instead of ignored as I had always they would be. What right had I to even write about them? But they knew.
How surprised I was tobe at the center of the storm. During this Easter, let me say that my memories of the cross still haunt me in this life, and such icons drive me from churches, but this is just my own weirdness. When I am around them, I adjust, get reflect.. but I cannot help but remember a bit too vividly my worst day... Easter was okay, not as big a deal to me as my followers. My death had discouraged them, and I was not about to leave my friends like that. I came back to visit them before doing my duty, and going into the next life to do the work of the lord. In my next life, I led a slave revolt... and lived to tell the tale from another country, though most of my comrades died at the hands of our masters. Yes, as they wondered where I was and when I would be back, I was here all the time, of course. After traveling this far, it is not easy to just go home for lunch on this shift. I would not leave you. Period. I wanted to make life as bearable as possible, in every way possible, attain the impossible goal of making thins on earth as they are in Heaven. I am afraid this goal is something that can happen in our hearts, though not in the world over-all.
I will of course keep fighting for peace. I join General McChyrastal in hoping Obama will begin peace talks with the Taliban. Let the people there vote them out. Hopefully we can leave Democracy enough for that by working with them. We will see. I do not have access to enough data to read these wars correctly all of the time. I am grateful they are winding down the Iraq war, and giving soldiers more time during employment.
Thank you once again the military folk who sent out the joke alarm on Japan being nuked. You were just what I needed at the time to keep up the fight, and know you are there. Your clever antics never fail to delight me. Fight on... we get justice and peace will follow. Like I have said before, Only the Goddess of Justice can bring Peace.