A vision I had of Jesus Christ while in tantric yoga breathing meditation in which I felt energy like none before, like spring rapids of fire on my arms, through-chest, back... back to Jesus.  

He, as men recline, was cast upon a coming of age wilderness, deserted, alone.  As one arm propped his upper carriage he, in wide-eyed wonder (or was it horror?) witnessed an erection.

An ejaculation.

touched by angel? (witnessed, was not creating, that is the Father's job, is it not?)

Here am I, quaking as I am, asking myself, is this a calculated, liberalizing demonic possession? Or Divine Truth?

Jesus, being led to orgasm by a host of angels who are invisible beside his humanity.  Laudeum.

I think that the sensation one feels in church with a congregation surrounding you, swaying in their hearts, minds and feet to a Truth that you can no longer believe must be a little like what it feels like to get high.  I mean I've never smoked pot, but one of my friends told me it's like you get really huge and float out of your body, watching yourself and your surroundings.  They say it helps you think about things, those incessant noises in your head grow quiet and deeper truths work their way to the surface.

That's probably why I keep coming back.  It's free and totally legal, and if anything you leave smelling like floral perfume, quiche and coffee instead of that acrid-type of smoke that so signifies a punk.  I love that feeling, coming off cloud-9 from heavenly worship, stepping into the flow and satisfying your munchies on chunks of bread that your bro says is someone's dead body that gives you life, and washing it down with the contents of little plastic cups that inspire you to consider the laws of cohesion and how they might be affected by the solutes of grape juice as opposed to pure water or wine with alcohol.  That shit is fucked up.  I read the scripture, and hear it repeated again and again the stories of how Christ could get you high on wonderment, on logic-defying miracles, on healing power as you stand and wait your turn for the healing touch to come your way, sweating slightly in the hot desert air, and feeling your head spin because you're just a little dehydrated, waiting your turn for that sensation which quenches something deep down and washes you clean of anxiety and anticipation.  Yo, Hey-sus, hit me up with that shit!  Halle-lu-jah!

And there he sat
There he stood,
And in a gaze
I saw in him
And deep
Sensed in the spread of his iris
The fresh, chilling air
Embracing, forcing each leaf in a dance
Yes, the wind was in his eyes,
Blowing over the many-hued landscape
And whistling across the caverns ‘round the tree roots.

In his cheek was the consistency
Of bark that stops, catches,
And bark aspen smooth.
And in his brow an embracing canopy
That folds you in the larger landscape
At once for you and at once for the land,
For the order that beats in our hearts,
Each of us
With toes pressing in the pine needles
With wrists, busts in the breeze.
Here, standing in each other’s eyes.