I’m pacing on the stage. Below me, clay dolls peer up at me with wide, expectant eyes. “Who are you?” they ask me. “Are you the Saviour?” I’m waiting. I expect Michael to swoop down any moment and draw his sword of fire, slaughtering me as he had attempted to with the Sun of the Morning. I wait. Nothing is happening. Yahweh, are you watching? What are you doing, sitting on your throne and doing nothing! Come down, send anyone down to kill me, why don’t you? You who made this world. Have you grown weary? Has your infinite power exhausted your senses?
It is I; your adversary. The one who stowed away upon your creation, and begun to lead it into ruins! It was I who tainted your precious garden. I shattered your connection with these clay dolls you call divine. I tempted your angels to sleep with your most beloved; I created a means to flood the lands. I even tempted your most precious angel. I planted myself within his thoughts, and made him love his own self more than you. So why, when your followers come to me, thinking I am you, why do you not intervene and show them your divine light?
My eyes scan the masses again. Each one of them make me shiver, and I clench my fists in anticipation. I feel it. It’s right there, just behind their eyes, the seeds of doubt; the wistfulness of darkness. Is that why, Yahweh? Are they too impure for you to love? Are they mine? I open my mouth and say the words that had been on my tongue, trying to claw their way free to penetrate the hearts of the those beseeching them.
“Here I am.” These words echo through out the vast void that is, and I feel as if I could scream out these words and old heaven could hear the new god’s call. “I am here; I am here!
You, why do you cry? Wipe those tears young lambs and reach your starving hands towards this wolf, your new Shepard. Flock to me as you had in the New Testament, for one touch shall make you as clean as the visions of heaven you so idolize. Come, my children, and sit on this psychoanalytic couch, for I am your Father, so submit unto me your confessions. Don’t be skeptic, dear believers. You, Jews, who have waited, welcome to the first coming; you Christians whom, which the Romans exorcised, welcome to the second. And all you other gentiles whose name for God is not westernized, I have come to bless your crops and end your floods.
So follow my words and burn your religious texts for they aren’t needed anymore! I have given you a way into my new domain, so follow the trail of serpent skin and drop down into the hole I have dug in the ground with your faith.When you get there, take the iron rod from the fire and place it upon your foreheads. Bear my seal, my dears, for I am the modernized crucified Jesus.”
©Marie Meyers, 2013