by Kim Fabricius (reposted from Connexions)
or whatever metaphor tickles your fancy,
I believe in Jesus of Nazareth, a great guru, a good mate,
who was conceived as anyone is conceived,
born of Mary,
suffered under Pontius Pilates,
was crucified, dead, and buried (or at least dumped on the city rubbish tip);
I repeat – he died.
On the third day – he was still dead, I’m afraid –
but his disciples had fond memories of him.
On the fortieth day – yep, still dead;
his memory entered into yet more hearts,
he is “seated” at the “right hand” of the whomever-or-whatever
(it doesn’t really matter – this is all dispensable archaic imagery),
and he won’t be coming again – think “Norwegian Blue” –
and if he were to come again, he’d be mega-tolerant.
I believe in good, good, good vibrations,
going to church,
goodness in everybody,
forgiving and forgetting,
I don’t know, Nirvana, some kind of memory bank, whatever,
but nothing somatic – yuk!
and the Big Crunch.
That’s a wrap.