(For: Czeslaw Milosz, the Poet)
It is easy for Czeslaw Milosz to say what he
says about Christ, the sleepy and dream filled horny Christian in church while
listening to a sermon thinking vulgar thoughts, the Church—he’s thinking
they’re thinking what he’s thinking, but does he know the mind? Poetry,
perhaps! Nobel Prizes’ are no more than a political tool stressing a point of
contention, the committee wants expressed (they
use people like him to get their agenda filled):
they mean very little in a world that you can buy them for a price. Actually I
think he is like the Jew, expecting Christ to return tomorrow and beat hell out
of everyone, the Jew wanted him to do it 2000-years ago, and he just had a
different agenda.
It comes to mind, no one needed to question
Christ’s divinity, once he walked on water, healed the blind, crippled and
crazy, turned water into wine, raised the dead—what other person could do that,
had ever done that: no one! We need not believe this, but then it is as
documented as Julius Casers’ life is. Perhaps better than George Washington’s
life: whom should we start not believing: how about the existence of Alexander
the Great? Did he do what everyone says he did?
If this is only a dream, as he might have put
it, then I never did experience seeing Christ in my visions, five times, or got
healed out of a coma and its devastating stroke, the doctors said I was a
Fruitcake—but was healed in three days, while an angelic guard stood guard over
my bed: missed two air flights that crashed, that I was supposed to be on, but
wasn’t because of last minute alterations in my agenda. And of course the
demonic world, who visited me perhaps as much if not more, right after I became
a Christian, more than the doctors at the hospital did when I was ill. Whatever
the case may be once experience, never to be forgotten. I was a Doubting
Thomas, should you bend your knees, and ask Christ for a demonstration, Winner
of the Nobel Prize, tell him I sent you, I get the feeling he might give you a
demonstration.
