in old times a man who had a evolved mind started thinking about his experience, his life and joining dots, he comes’s up with a philosophy based on a new way of thinking and despite being surrounded by people making philosophical claims the mass begin to single him out and listen to him for he is a story teller.
he has a message for humanity, ‘love.’
love your enemy is a fucking warriors concept.
why?
because to say it is one thing but to walk it is another. when you walk that truth you can know no fear.
imagine standing in front of your murderer, a cold blooded killer and as the knife comes down you look him in the eye and tell him you love him. the implications of this idea are incredibly powerful. for all involved. the warrior does not fear death, he knows that death is just a transit stage, energy cannot be destroyed, his faith is in nature having a direction, a velocity. the killer has failed to kill anything, especially the idea of loving your enemy. the killer, let’s say he is filled with hate is now faced with a paradox, because although his short sighted hate has sated his desire, he is haunted by the very fact that his victim loves him and in that love has forgiven him. the killer is filled with hate and it has driven him to murder. but he has been forgiven by some one who had no fear. love cancels hate, not only does it cancel but it transcends.
so anyways the man, the one the masses now call ‘holy’ is just a man. he has the same frailties and weaknesses as any other man but the masses have elevated him, they think he is something he is not. he wrestles with this, understanding their need to have sages and assigning holy status to philosophers but at the same time he finds it irritating and bewildering. and sometimes it makes him angry. he spends as much time as he can away from the crowds but they chase him, they follow him and hang on to every word, he attempts to be more thoughtful, make every word count, make his every interaction significant so that people will heed his central message. but it is trying and takes its toll.
the man finds peace in the woman he loves, the woman grounds him, she speaks to him like he is a man not a holy man, she is his inspiration, his muse, his goddess. she is his teacher. she walks with the shekina.
over time the authorities discover that the population are following this man, and listening to his teachings. even their own people listen to what he has said, people are asking questions and the status quo is under threat. so one evening the woman and the man find themselves awakened by the door being broken down, the man is held down and the woman pushed aside.
they take him to the main political figure and he interrogates the man.
‘they say you are the king of the people.’
‘i’m just a man.’
‘they say you preform miracles.’
‘i heal the sick.’
‘they say you are the son of god.’
‘we are all sons and daughters of god.’
‘i cannot have you undermine my authority king of the people.’
‘i have no authority, my truth does.’
and so it went.
the man was left on the street. he wandered home through the streets, it was night time. he walked under the stars and talked to himself, ordering his thoughts, attempting to find meaning in his life.
the only way to life this life is an an example for others, the only way to be an example is to be unafraid, to embrace that love is the way. to do this i must die. from what is death but a door way to be reborn.
the man had spent many years wandering the eastern lands, he had seen many cultures and peoples, he had spoken with many holy men and embraced their teachings. he had evolved from humble beginnings as a man who works with his hands he was practical and as a traveller his mind had opened and he was now a man of spirit. he had done many things, vision quest, sweat lodge, he had drunk the strange desert drink syrian rue and spoken with intelligences higher than his own he had fasted for nearly a month and experienced how to control his thoughts and train his mind, he had learnt the meditation techniques, the yogas and the ultimate truth. death awaits every man, it is inevitable and inescapable. he has to die. and it must be publicly, for his death must be an act of forgiveness and redemption.
everyone must see the example of love and then they will have nothing to fear. for now i am just a man but after i die i will be a philosophy, an idea, perhaps a way of life. this is my power.
months later they come for him, he is publicly humiliated and degraded, he is beaten and tortured and then crucified as is the tradition. his friends all play their part, his trusted friend judas plays his role and carried it’s burden, judas is the chosen one. the one who must suffer most. he loves judas the most and entrusted him with the secret. and jude, hey jude, has agreed to be the sacrificial lamb for his mate. his best friend.
he is dying, the last few rays of sunlight warm his skin, his body is numb, his throat dry, he feels no pain now. there is a glimmer in his eye. his beautiful wife washes his feet with a rag, the blood has caked around his wounds, she kisses his toes, his raspy voice whispers to her.
‘sweetheart. what is it?’ she sobs.
‘forgive them. they know not what they do.’
she loses her temper. struggling to understand the depth of his love. then she feels the love radiate from him, the crowd all ask what he has said. when she tells them they are silent, even the guards are stilled.
she turns to him
‘i love you.’
up there on the cross as the sun now sinks, he smiles.
‘i’m going home.’
his eyes close and he looks at peace.