47. Light Switch: Write about coming out of the dark and seeing the light.
Again, this is completely free-written.
And they said unto Jesus, "You are the light of the world."
The day I found the truth was the day I died.
I turned to Christ and I learned from him
The wailing, the untruth and the lie.
He broke me on his cross and left me bleeding
While he rose up, pointed his jewel bearing finger,
And laughed at me contemptuously.
Christ bound me in chains of razor wire
Ripped the nails from my thumbs
Nailed ice fire into my palms
And thirty-nine times lashed me with accusations.
He squeezed all resistance from me
Made me his slave, wove his will over mine.
He told me that he stood in my place
When all the time I stood in his as he pressed
That thorn crown into my flesh until I could bear no more.
Then he pressed more and I cried out,
"Jesus save me. Save me from you."
He just smiled and hammered the nails deeper,
Twisted the wires, though muscle and marrow,
Then ordered me to give up my life for him.
Not once. No mercy from the man of sorrows.
He told me "Die each day for you are burdensome."
So I died, expired, and once more ceased to breathe.
And under the cruel tyranny of Jesus Christ's rule
I was stretched on the rack of heresy
And burned on the pyre of the witch.
Unexpectedly, the fool spoke on the street
Preached his sermon in majestic simplicity.
"The cross you hang on is not given by the Christ.
He who is your light is darker than the universe
Before ever matter exploded into form."
The fool spoke and I, agonised, writhing, bleeding,
Opened one ear to listen, saw with one half-seeing eye
The garish display of colour he wore in his garments
And how his words too broke richer than rainbows.
He held out his hand, beckoning me to his side
But I would not leave my Christ love behind
I could not leave my chains, dared not struggle lest
Even one wire tip broke my heart again.
The fool wept and walked away.
I cried too for he was a more beautiful being
Than the precious hatred person of Christ.
I yearned for him, longed to be like him,
Dressed in the eighteen shades of freedom.
There was no way for my Christ was the only way
No point in dreaming for the fool had moved on.
And all the time I made my many tears an act,
A pretense, convincing the blessed one that I wept
Always for him, never for myself.
By the time the fool returned to me,
Holding out his wrinkled hand once more
I tried to reach out my hand to his.
In that act my chains fell off and when
Our hands met I learned a more penetrating truth.
There never had been any chains.
He smiled broadly, full of extravagant compassion
Held me tight did not let go as I bled on his robes.
He never promised to heal me.
Never told me he would pay my way.
The fool encouraged me to become a fool
Just like he. Then, to be more foolish still.
When I asked him who he was he told me.
"I am he who you may choose to call Jesus,
The fool who sets you free,
The wisdom who points you to light."
When I asked who it was who gave me a cross to bear
He told me this:
"He was Jesus too, but transfigured by men
Into religion's deathly shadow. He was death's witness."
Then he entreated me not to hold him any longer.
"Go out into the world and make fools," he said.
I went. I came. I stand before you now,
Fool among the wise, wise among the fools.