Poem: Who Jesus is to Me

Who Jesus is to Me

“He said to them: 'But you, who do you say that I am?'”

The Father said: tell others

tell the flock

who Jesus is to you

who is Jesus to me?

he is the terror in the night

that puts the terrors to flight

the stranger more strange

than the strangeness of the world

the monster more monstrous

from which the monsters flee

he is that broken, twisted body

hanging on the pole

the pierced flesh

all pierced flesh

bleeding

rotting

the curse

blasphemy

horror

in the sunlight

foulness offensiveness

obscenity

of the body

emptiness

of the heart

the pause, cessation, caesura

of the mind

and the soul

rest

respite

fulfillment

and

he is the stray dog

its fur matted

whining at the door

the kitten crushed on asphalt

by indifferent wheels

its eye staring

he is the child

who will not stop crying

carried at the shoulder

and he is Tommy

his beard matted

drunk for days

his liver hard and distended

unable to eat

looking for more beer

and Ricky

on narcotics

weeping like a little child

calling his mother

and

he is the broken-hearted, rejected

lover

nailed to his beloved

the blood draining

arms extended in embrace

fingers twisting

touching my shoulders

in sleep

comforting

and

he is

the soft darkness of the night

and the strange brightness of lamps

in mist

the white star

and the rising sun

and the setting sun

bleeding, dying

in the west

he is

sharpness of air

roughness of asphalt

strength of yielding grass

he is the rich smell of dirt

and the worm that crawls from it, slowly,

across the sidewalk

in the rain

and he is the rain

and the wind

and the lightning

fire

he is what moves through the sky,

drawing the tempest about himself

as a garment

he is what shakes the trees

moves the branches

makes fall the leaves

scatters the petals

and

he is the shifting, shining surface

of the sea

infinitely extending outwards

and the infinite murky depths

drawing downwards

and the moving waves that uphold me

lifting flooding covering pulling

far from the land

into the deep

he is the sweet breath of wind

in suffocating heat

cool water wetting the tongue

in burning dryness

and

he is the heat that fills my veins

burning boiling seething sweating 

purifying

and the icy wind that passes through me

making me alive

he is the sunlight

filtered through leaves, branches

at the heart of the forest

the step to one side

of the beaten path

the running water

at the bottom of the gulch

the concrete drain

in the hillside

and

he is

the richness

brightness

purity

of color

the red more red

the gold from which 

all things condense

he is the blood in my veins

the air in my lungs

the taste in my mouth

he is the atmosphere

the texture

the feeling

the being

of all things

and

he is what I see

with my eyes

when the lights go out

what I see

with my mind

when my thoughts flicker

the deeper darkness

behind the darkness

the floor of the abyss

down, down there

at the bottom

below every torment

and aloneness

where there is nothing

(only him)

he is my enemy

against whom I have striven

all the days of my life

and my only friend

the only one who was with me

there at the bottom

the only one who has loved me

as I am

(I am not)

and

he is the one who holds me

and carries me

helpless

trusting

each moment of my life

forward

into

and the one who stands behind me

watching, waiting

I turn and turn

but he remains behind

and yet

he is before me

always

unforeseen

invisible

yet

scented 

anticipated

weight, gravity

moving my limbs

desire

drawing my steps

he is the glimmer that draws my eyes

just ahead of my reaching hands

and

he is a circle of bread

placed on my palm

the only reason I am alive

and the only reason I live another day

and

he is what is beyond all these things

these words

beyond my outermost borders

and the borders of this world

and he is just another man

born in a far away land

and long dead

and he lives

Amen