I dreamt last night I met St. Paul
Within the walled Gethsemane.
In pain he said, “I am but Saul –
Not Christian chief or Pharisee;
“For what is missing in the Book,
And over which I always sigh,
Is that I was with those who took
The Nazarene from here to die.
“Although I later called him Lord
And gave my life in his good name,
I suffer still – for I’ve ignored
Too long the truth I now proclaim:
“That, just as Yeshu’s ‘Kingdom’ grew
From his complete and loving soul,
‘The risen Christ’ I surely knew
Was my own Self when no less whole.
“Likewise my ‘expiating Christ,
Whose blood atones for mortal sin’,
Reflected Self – when ‘sacrificed’
So lustful ego may not win.
“That’s not to say I grasped this when
I here on earth performed my acts:
Projections of the mind were then
Regarded as objective facts.
“In short, my ‘Life of Christ’ portrayed
In ‘deeds’ a story all should live
Within the psyche, where are made
The images which meaning give.
“But since projection is our plight
And ‘word’ is often rendered ‘flesh’,
The inner drama that I cite
Should be interpreted afresh.
“Indeed, it has another form
Already in our Holy Writ:
The Garden is the outward norm
To which we humans must submit.
“For there the pattern’s cyclical
In fact (not just as some ideal,
Which makes most folk irascible):
In gardens resurrection’s real.
“Salvation’s also earned by all
Who gain integrity inside
And, through projection, then install
In life the love they shouldn’t hide.
“So spread the word, for time is short –
Apocalyptic thought persists;
And Armageddon will be fought
If grow the fundamentalists.”
He ceased, and was about to go.
I kissed him gently on the cheek,
Then said: “I will; and now I know
You’ve never failed our God to seek.”
Jerusalem
1 December 1998