The interior of my home, curiously, looks like a shrine to all things spiritual. Curious, as I belong to no religion and bow to no man. Don’t come knocking on my door with any pamphlets or bother trying to recruit me for your cult. Respectfully, I ain't the one. I go into full rigor mortis at the thought of such things.
But ever since the Spirit of Christ slipped into my Civic coupe that morning through a crack in the passenger side window, enveloped my entire being in his loving atmosphere, and as if by telepathy indicated that I needed to forgive all the selfish, sick souls who'd ever trespassed against me—that it was the only way I'd untwist myself from this burning kink of pain—I began, in earnest, collecting spiritual icons of various faiths in remembrance of my divine encounter.
It was 2003, and I was in my prime. I was also in the grip of a nasty addiction to drugs, alcohol, sex and crime.
Before that miraculous morning, I never believed Christ existed. His followers and their exasperating self-righteousness ruined the guy for me. Even at a young age, I was taken by the readiness of folks to believe wild tales preached by men that were obvious mythology. Or mostly so. "Why doesn't any of that magical shit happen today," I pondered one morning during church at my Catholic grade school. "Virgin births and resurrections. My ass."
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| Cabazon T-Rex |
It was the mid-1980s, and all I gave a damn about was my mom getting sober, doing gymnastics and Mark Thomson, may he rest in peace.
Why did I go to Catholic school if I wasn't a Catholic? My father thought I'd get a better education at a private school. Which, perhaps I did. The way he saw it, if you had to pay it must be better. The bossy nuns were an added bonus since he had a fetish for discipline. And being an outlier among men didn't bother me. Rather, I was captured by the beauty of the building—the colorful stained glass, reflected light, musty smell, architecture, all the rituals, music, art, and stone cold serenity lingering therein. I loved being in the church itself but didn't necessarily believe all the yarns being woven there.
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| St. Francis of Assisi, La Quinta, CA |
On the bookshelf to the left of my bed are two glow-in-the-dark plastic figurines—the Virgin of Guadalupe and Jesus. On the bookshelf to the right of my bed sits a jade Buddha, smiling wide, holding a koi fish, its tail chipped at the base. On the glass table in front of my picture window sits an array of porcelain angels, most of which I plucked out of yard sales and thrift stores. I also have a pair of nightlights plugged into adjacent walls—one of the Virgin Mary and the many faces of Krishna.
Given such inspiring decor, it should come as no surprise that I'd experience some strange dreams from time to time. Last night was once such time...
* * *
I'm dead... asleep in my soft, dreamy room.
Suddenly, I'm propelled awake by the howl of wind snapping against my window, rat-a-tat-tat-tat. I pry one eye open and roll it toward my alarm clock that blinks 5:55 in bold red digitalis. Did the power go out in the night?
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| The view from my bed |
Between the snapping of the wind, I hear faint shuffling intermingled with some mumbling sounds coming from somewhere in front of my bed and quickly realized in my hypnogogic daze that I wasn't alone. I lifted my head and peeled the other eye open. I was wide awake in dreamland now.
There, atop my dead mother's 12-inch mid-90s television set stood glow-in-the-dark plastic Jesus, miraculously come to life, nimble as a grasshopper, puffing away on what smelled like a Grape Optimo spliff.
Mmmmm. Yummy. I had no idea he glowed that bright. I wanted to squeal, but my jaw felt like it'd been wired shut. From the fruity spliff of Christ came a smoldering rainbow of pastel smoke. Luscious swirls of color rushed in to fill my room with aromatic clouds of rhubarb, banana, cherry, tangerine, and yes... orgasmic grape. Through my little nose holes I tried to take in as much divinity as I could.
As he released a gust of thick velvety smoke, a very pliable plastic Jesus began to speak. His voice wasn't what I expected. It was even softer... “I’m scared, Pearl," he said. "I’m scared to speak on half the shit I wanna speak on. Can you believe it? I’m still scared to talk! But I gotta. I gotta. You know when you gotta do something you don’t wanna do cuz yer scared to death? The mere thought drops the floor out from under yer sandals. And you feel sick. You wanna puke. You wanna grab hold of something but there ain't nothin' to grab. You feel me?”
I couldn’t move a muscle, but I felt him.
“It’s about integrity. You got that, Pearl?" asked Jesus.
Pearl? As I wondered why he was calling me this, my jaw loosened up and I was sort of able to speak.
"Why do you call me Pearl, sir? It's Pa—"
"Cuz that's what ya are, baby. A Pearl among swine," said the Son of God.
"Truth is, I've been struggling to find meaning in my life. I feel scared and uncertain about the future."
"I understand your struggles, my sister. Remember—I am the way, the truth, and the light. If you follow me and trust in God's plan, you'll find meaning and purpose. I promise."
(If he were not an inanimate object brought to life, I'd be more skeptical. But since he's literally ambling about, puffing a joint, speaking to me, lit up like a Christmas tree, I'm more inclined to listen without prejudice.) "How can I possibly trust when there's so much pain and suffering in the world?" I asked him, breathless, as I scooted up straighter against my oak headboard. "How can I trust when people prove so goddamned fickle?"
"I know the world can be a challenging place," he replied.
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| Beaverton, OR |
"You're right. The problem is not the world but in how you and I get along... or don't that's at issue. It is you and I in dysfunctional relation to one another that creates a problem, and that problem outward is the world problem," said Jesus like a sage.
"Hell is other people," I replied, paying homage to No Exit. "My mom would always say—'If there's a hell, this is it.' "
"Virginia was right about most everything. Hell isn't some place out there waiting for you. It's here and now, everywhere all around. But through faith and forgiveness you can find peace even in hell. In times of trouble, and there will be many along the circuitous path of life, turn to prayer for support. Ask, in my name, and you shall receive. And always, always love one another and yourself, for in love you'll find salvation."
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| Our mother who art in heaven, her uncle & a dog |
"I understand, Pearl. They are your benevolent companions and guides. Completely free of motive or judgment. Precious, innocent, sentient. I approve of how you regard them. But doubt is part of the human experience," Jesus explained. "It's ok to question and seek understanding when in doubt. Remember Thomas?"
"Thomas D.? My first cat? That Mrs. DeRouen gave us?" I asked in a sprint, excited by the sound of his long lost name. "Who could forget that majestic old alley cat."
"No," said Jesus. "From the New Testament. Thomas doubted too. Blessed are those who believe without seeing. Keep seeking the truth and your faith will grow stronger."
"How can I live a life that aligns with your true teachings?" I implored the High One. "I ain't goin' to church or pledging allegiance to nobody, so just tell me what else I can do."
"Those are unnecessary," Jesus replied. "Start by loving your neighbor as yourself. Bear in mind, the hardest to love need it the most. Show kindness, compassion and forgiveness to all. Even the fickle and pugnacious. Whenever possible—feed the hungry, clothe the naked and care for the sick. In serving others, you serve me. In serving others, you serve our Mother who art in heaven. Especially important is forgiveness. As you forgive those who reject and betray you, you free yourself from the bondage of anger and resentment—twin poisons that make devils out of men."
An extended moment of silent introspection filled the smoky room.
"Thank you, Jesus. I understand what you ask of me." But I sensed he was holding something back. "Is that it?" Then... he opened his mouth, poised to speak, but his words seemed to get caught in his throat. His eyes went blank, rolled right to left, then glazed over as his glowing body flickered like a waning bulb.
"Sir? You still there? Jesus..." I said softly.
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| CA Highway 62 |
"It’s about doing the right thing when nobody's lookin'. In spite of the haters. Thing is, ya start speaking yer truth and all the lunatics start gettin’ crazy. Crazy insecure. They get all insecure cuz they ain’t gotta clue what their truth is. They know what somebody else says the truth is. What somebody else told 'em's true. But just beneath that thin layer of somebody else’s truth, they ain’t got no idea who they are. Or where they're goin'. Or what they're doin'.
So they start misinterpreting what you’re trying to say. Twistin' yer words up, spittin' ‘em back out atcha like a half-plucked chicken. But it’s about them not you, Pearl. Let 'em be. Leave 'em alone. Ignore 'em as best you can, and just speak on what’s right. Ya hear? You tell ‘em they need to stop judging others’ right to love. It's the most fundamental thing y'all got—the very thing each and ever' one of y’all's starvin' for. Essential as air. Right as rain, buttercup.
Y’all have forgotten how to love, if ya ever knew. Y'made love the enemy. What kind of hypocrisy is that? You tell all the gays that their style of love is somethin’ wicked—downright evil—"
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| Self-portrait of the author in her room. |
"Not me, Jesus," I interrupted. "You know I've always loved my gay brothers. Even Dan fucking Harris though he tried to kill us that night driving down Highway 74 like a psychopath. Scared the sophomore shit out me, but I still loved the bastard. God rest his soul."
"You did Pearl, and I approve. I ain't talkin' 'bout you. I'm talkin' 'bout them others. You know who. All them so-called Christians judgin’ folks from some false sense of authority. That's a goddamn sin right there. Anybody who tells you somebody else's love is wrong, is a goddamn liar, Pearl. Judge not, lest ye be judged. I forbade you to judge, but instructed you to LOVE. What happened to that? Love thy neighbor as thyself. What happened to my shit? I said love yer brothers and sisters, every damned one." Plastic Jesus, in the middle of his excitement, paused to take another hit.
Upon exhaling, Jesus pulled up his translucent robe, flopped down on his backside as his bright legs dangled over the bluish-white TV screen... “They got me got me twisted, P, and in all that twistin' they done got lost, lost in the black forest of their own confusion. I said love the gays, the dope fiends, and the poor. Love the sick, insane, ignorant, and dumb. Even those who call their God by a diff'rent name."
"Like Buddha?" I squeaked.
"Buddha's a name you can trust," said Jesus. "Until you love 'em all, my obstinate little lamb, unfortunate twists of yer fate will keep trippin’ ya up around the bend. Haven’t ya noticed?"
"I certainly have."
"And the worst is yet to come. Unimaginable scenes of catastrophic proportion await you in the darkness of your own ignorance. Cuz guess what, Pearl?"
"Talk to me, Jesus."
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| I do not own this fabulous image. |
"You create your fate, Pearl."
"I... create my f—" I swallowed back with a hard gulp, feeling my throat tighten and ache.
"That's right, Pearl. Buddha calls it "karma". It ain't me. It ain't God. It ain't nobody but you. Everything that happens to you, you're responsible for. Everything."
"Every—" I started to say, but he interrupted me as someone smoking an energizing sativa often will.
"I know it's hard to believe. Good news is, and this here's the real secret—the more love you give—the more you get back. What you give is what you get, Pearl. I'll say it again. What you give is what you get. That’s the Law. The Highest Law. God never forgets the love you give. She's well aware of every loving gesture. Every act of forgiveness. Word of encouragement. Smile. She knows the only thing you take to yer grave are yer bones and good deeds. I hope yer writing this down, Pearl. It's good shit.”
As his once bright light twinkled to a slow fade, glow-in-the-dark plastic Jesus took a final drag off his shrunken spliff, puckered his white-hot lips like he was gonna blow me a heavenly kiss and exhaled a tornado of ultra-violet smoke that lit up my room like a rainbow supernova.
“Alrighty Pearl," he said with a cough and a sigh. "Remember this above all else... Never fear. Never doubt. Never stop fighting. The world is full of opportunities, and it’s just 'bout time for you to wake up."
