Jashmina, I heard you in the contemplative air of the night
as I felt the windswept dead leaf, rustling
to my ear, waking itself up and me, so I feel
a resurrection! But who is being resurrected?
Lazarus, was dead three days, Mary of Bethany implored
of Jesus! And Jesus then, spent a whole night
alone with Lazarus? What transpired between them?
Jashmina, you seemed to have sided with Jesus
for a long time in this lifetme. I am James, the love
that breathed you as my Goddess at the onset! What do I deserve?
Every time I feel resurrected, I die again for you!
I heard you say, in the whisper of a star, so faint,
and I am partially deaf, but that faintness I still heard.
I listened in assiduous dedication, you were saying:
Don’t leave me! Don’t go! How must I be saddened
to depreciate one loyalty over the other! Did I have
no disciples of my own? Did I not know that, though
I didn’t claim to have miraculous powers like Jesus did,
I was a selfless miraculousness in myself?! Did the
Church deem I was unloved by the Jews? Is it not
known that I was proclaimed from Jericho to Damascus?
That I was the real Father of the Jewish Christian Church?
That they thought they could nail my coffin by erasing me off
every mention in the New Testament? As if the stoning to
death by Saint Paul wasn’t enough? They wanted all to believe
that only Jesus had disciples? And that the liar Saint Paul was
the glory of the Gentiles and Rome? His fake light overlapping
that of Jesus’ and his wickedness being exalted as the sword of the Vatican!
And in this overdrawn night, I whisper back to you, Jashmina, faint-heartedly,
feeling the futile blanket over my soul, in disillusionment, despite
the patience, strength, and resilience of my Godhood:
How do I always subject myself to the ignominy of my defeat
and fail in the duty to my loyalties to maintain the essence of my love
for you, when you make my love for you so impossible?
Yet, all eternity, I have dealt with every impossibility!
But I ask you now to answer to my soulful question:
What am I without my convictions? And what am I without
my love for you? And I feel so awkwardly ungainly at such a timing!
That I feel my Godhood is nothing. That everything I worked so
hard for is nothing! That all through eternity I may have just been
a corpse dying and resurrecting in an empty nothingness!
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