The Mahatma proclaimed the wisest, offering vocally: "I like your Christ; I do not like your Christians, for your Christians are so unlike your Christ."
This is the dandylicious dilemma. Saint Paul has no RIGHT to be as mystically potent as the Living Christ; moreover, the New Testament needs to be a Testament of Christ, not the intellectual rants of Saint Paul. Look, he was a mystic man. A true champion of Christianity before Tebowing became the carnivorous craze in the f&%$ing underground. Nevertheless, Christ's Words are in red, outshining the vociferous imprisonment of the glorious Saint Paul.
And not only are the anti-gay and lack of mercy teachings available in the epic Word of God (Bible), but the transcending wisdom of Pope Francis allows all entrance beyond the Sublime Perimeter that leads to the House of God. Verily, Christ is right. Look, there were a plethora of dangerous demi-gods, and they all boldly banged Christians in carnal fashion; plus, they thrived in fame and fortune, being the Axl Rose (Uncanny Bard) of their time. But Jesus had humility. And the proof of His virginal and inviolate awesomeness is: Up till the 3rd Century, during the canonization of the New Testament, Saint Anthony of the Desert lived the luscious and laxative free life of Christ, digesting the duty of God, finding modesty, continually questing for the sake of an Abrahamic God.
I made a sexual pass at a Prozac-fuelled boss of literature. I am to blame. I am the demon clad in diablo black--the midnight ornamentation of the Devil. But Christ forgave, sanguine till forever on the Cross, promising the mortal-sinned man next to him the perpetual paradise of plush eternity. Verily, Christ is Boss, being the superlative demi-god, humble and sour to the opulence of demonic joy.
Christians are to know Christ's sublime understanding of human failure, offering: "Blessed are the merciful, for they too shall inherit mercy."
This is the apex of cool. The loving song of patriarchal permission to be weird--if that is in your heart and if your heart beats for the beauty of God. We are to hang out with hoodalicious hookers, embrace difference, and allow the perpetual entrance of all that is bizarre and mangled by reason. We transcend empirical value, for we are the slaves of God, obeying till golden eternity, like a
Hindu super flux of forever, blistering and boiling our coolness. Forgive. Forget. Onwards. Till eternity.
The Genetic Revolution will grant true confession. We are ruled and physically usurped by our physiology; specifically, we are controlled by the fullness of the moon and Terra's indifference to the wisdom of pain. We must forgive. We must offer our heads for the "second chance" of others. We are the dolts of mercy. The sisters of mercy. The brothers of mercy. We are Christ. Gelled and meshed forever, a synergy of striving thataway, till the glory of utopian bliss . . .
Too, buy my books: Kings; Books
Sincerely, Mark David King
