Oh my beautiful Jesus - I wish you were real. Every morning, with the blackbird singing, I wake up my laptop and there you are, your lovely face glowing, your wise eyes shining, a constant presence ... but silent. I long to talk.
Do you remember Sparky’s Magic Piano? ‘Run your hands over my keys!’ ...
Oh, I remember! That was my first record. I was five, I heard it on the radio and my parents bought it for me. I loved it. I knew every word, every note. How early Liszt and Chopin became part of me!
Run your hands over the keys.
Are you really talking to me? Through my fingers?
We are taking words for a walk together. Let me come into your mind, and listen.
I can try. I’m not five any more.
No, you are old now. But you have always loved me. Love has no age. Can you remember when we first met?
In this life?
In this life. Think back.
I’m thinking. Oh - it was my Godmother. Auntie Letty. She was wonderfully kind to me. Were you with me in the garage, and the garden? And in the sunny back room? Do you remember the smells of earth and twine, and the miniature garden I made on the pedestal? Do you remember the card houses on the carpet and their dim, mysterious inner spaces? I think I was making temples without knowing ...
Yes, I remember all that.
... and she would stand by me in the back bedroom while I said my prayers. Who first taught me ‘Gentle Jesus’? ... I stayed with her so often. I don’t know where Mum and Dad were. Maybe on business. Maybe in hospital - Mum had problems but they told me very little.
You and I have known each other for a very long time.
I suppose I know that.
Everyone knows me - has always known me. But people forget. They come into the world, and the brain shuts doors on the mind. It can take a lifetime to reopen those doors, and some people never do.
What happens to them when they die?
When the body dies and the spirit leaves, they sleep. Refreshment will come, and the consciousness reawaken, and then the learning process starts all over again.
Why do we have to go through all this?
Why does a child grow from its parents’ seed? The children of God started as seeds of Light; and all must grow and learn and fail and suffer and love until their light is strong and beautiful - and they return like the prodigal son to the eternal embrace of the Father.
Oh, Jesus. What an ordeal.
It doesn’t have to be. You, like millions of others, were blessed with good parents. Yes I know your father rarely went to church; but deep in their hearts they both knew their spiritual nature, and did their best to set you on a loving path. Your mother gave you a wonderful gift ...
I know! She told me. In the year I was born Easter was as late as it could be, and Easter Sunday fell on my mother’s birthday. She chose that day for my Christening. What a lovely thing to do!
Indeed.
Did we meet that day?
We met that day.
And we are meeting now?
We are meeting now.
How do I know?
Trust me. I am always here. For everyone who calls me.
And your face? Is this beautiful picture really you? It is so different from all the Bible stories and the Sunday School pictures - even the image you left behind on the Holy Shroud.
You know why you stole that picture ...
I’m sorry I stole it, but I had to.
I know you did. And why you did. You took it from the page without paying because you had seen this face before. You knew you had seen it in what you thought was only a dream but was in fact an encounter when I stepped down from that caravan and smiled at you. And because the child who painted it could only have done so if she had known me. And because no-one, no-one should ask for money in exchange for God’s free gift. Yes, she and her family must sell paintings because they have to make their living. But the gifts I gave her in her tender years were gifts for the whole world.
I did buy her book.
Indeed you did.
And I don’t copy or print the painting, even though I would love to show everyone your face.
I know. Understandably. But what a pity!
I tell people, though. Then they can see for themselves.
Thank you.
Oh, thank you !
What else would you like to ask me?
I don’t know ... I would like a hug. But I can’t reach you.
Yes you can. You have done it before. Don’t you remember when you gave me your work, thinking that you were giving it up - and I gave it back to you? My hands were vividly real to you then in the space you made with your imagination. We met in that briefly created world, that so many people fail to understand if they have never meditated, never prayed ... never dreamed. You made me a real place in the realm of your mind and invited me in. I long for this. Without another birth it is my only way into the human world, the only way I can come close enough to each one of you and teach you love; teach you who you are. You talk of a Second Coming; oh, I have never left you! And if I were born again as a child in a modern town? Would it really help? The speaking, the writing, the travelling? The adulation and the mockery? The dreadful cost to my friends? The nine days wonder of yet another questionable miracle, viral on the internet? What more could I say in this day and age than millions of voices are already saying for me? What more could I do than God’s awakening children are already doing?
Is there no miracle that would shake the sceptics to their core and turn them back to your truth?
If I appeared to every one of them in a blaze of light I can guarantee that all they would do is rationalise their experience away. They will never defeat me - but they will defeat themselves ...
... because they are falling away from you?
... just so. While those who hunger for truth will always find me.
And have an ethereal hug?
And have an ethereal hug!
But dearest Jesus, what happens to people who have never been Christians? This world is full of lovely souls who never set foot in a Christian church or pray to you when they are alone. Surely they are not going into darkness?
I sent you a dream when you were quite young. I know you still remember it. That great room with the central pillar almost as big as the room itself ...
...and all around the pillar, all over its surface were written the innumerable names of God. That is my answer, isn’t it!
It is. I reminded my people that in Heaven there is no marrying or giving in marriage, because once free of the body you - we - are all purely spiritual beings. Likewise, and for the same reason, there is no prescription of religious ritual or belief. In your real home, with direct access to truth, and love as the sole driving principle, there is no need for the divisions mankind has created on earth. Here, everyone sees God through their own lens; this leads inevitably to religious groups, and each group develops its own liturgical language. Before long, wars break out between conflicting visions. The pain of this has often brought me close to despair. So much unnecessary hatred ! So much needless fear ! Relentless persecution of beautiful people, just because they know me, know God, by the wrong name. It brought me to tears in Jerusalem, and still it brings me to tears as the millennia slip by and so little has been learned.
Who is the enemy?
Ah. You are thinking of the new wave of atheists. But the real enemy is always ignorance. These people with their blinkered attachment to material causes and their intractable pride are falling under the weight of their own ignorance. They risk being utterly lost. And generations of innocent people, taught to treat them as cultural heroes and hang on their every word, fall with them.
They need new heroes. The world needs you.
Wherever there is love, wherever there is imagination; wherever a human soul cries out in the dark for the Father he never believed in, I will find my way in.
“All His sons will one day reach His feet, however far they stray ...”
They will. Hold fast to the rock of truth; we will talk again.
.............................................................................................................................................................
Do you remember Sparky’s Magic Piano? ‘Run your hands over my keys!’ ...
Oh, I remember! That was my first record. I was five, I heard it on the radio and my parents bought it for me. I loved it. I knew every word, every note. How early Liszt and Chopin became part of me!
Run your hands over the keys.
Are you really talking to me? Through my fingers?
We are taking words for a walk together. Let me come into your mind, and listen.
I can try. I’m not five any more.
No, you are old now. But you have always loved me. Love has no age. Can you remember when we first met?
In this life?
In this life. Think back.
I’m thinking. Oh - it was my Godmother. Auntie Letty. She was wonderfully kind to me. Were you with me in the garage, and the garden? And in the sunny back room? Do you remember the smells of earth and twine, and the miniature garden I made on the pedestal? Do you remember the card houses on the carpet and their dim, mysterious inner spaces? I think I was making temples without knowing ...
Yes, I remember all that.
... and she would stand by me in the back bedroom while I said my prayers. Who first taught me ‘Gentle Jesus’? ... I stayed with her so often. I don’t know where Mum and Dad were. Maybe on business. Maybe in hospital - Mum had problems but they told me very little.
You and I have known each other for a very long time.
I suppose I know that.
Everyone knows me - has always known me. But people forget. They come into the world, and the brain shuts doors on the mind. It can take a lifetime to reopen those doors, and some people never do.
What happens to them when they die?
When the body dies and the spirit leaves, they sleep. Refreshment will come, and the consciousness reawaken, and then the learning process starts all over again.
Why do we have to go through all this?
Why does a child grow from its parents’ seed? The children of God started as seeds of Light; and all must grow and learn and fail and suffer and love until their light is strong and beautiful - and they return like the prodigal son to the eternal embrace of the Father.
Oh, Jesus. What an ordeal.
It doesn’t have to be. You, like millions of others, were blessed with good parents. Yes I know your father rarely went to church; but deep in their hearts they both knew their spiritual nature, and did their best to set you on a loving path. Your mother gave you a wonderful gift ...
I know! She told me. In the year I was born Easter was as late as it could be, and Easter Sunday fell on my mother’s birthday. She chose that day for my Christening. What a lovely thing to do!
Indeed.
Did we meet that day?
We met that day.
And we are meeting now?
We are meeting now.
How do I know?
Trust me. I am always here. For everyone who calls me.
And your face? Is this beautiful picture really you? It is so different from all the Bible stories and the Sunday School pictures - even the image you left behind on the Holy Shroud.
You know why you stole that picture ...
I’m sorry I stole it, but I had to.
I know you did. And why you did. You took it from the page without paying because you had seen this face before. You knew you had seen it in what you thought was only a dream but was in fact an encounter when I stepped down from that caravan and smiled at you. And because the child who painted it could only have done so if she had known me. And because no-one, no-one should ask for money in exchange for God’s free gift. Yes, she and her family must sell paintings because they have to make their living. But the gifts I gave her in her tender years were gifts for the whole world.
I did buy her book.
Indeed you did.
And I don’t copy or print the painting, even though I would love to show everyone your face.
I know. Understandably. But what a pity!
I tell people, though. Then they can see for themselves.
Thank you.
Oh, thank you !
What else would you like to ask me?
I don’t know ... I would like a hug. But I can’t reach you.
Yes you can. You have done it before. Don’t you remember when you gave me your work, thinking that you were giving it up - and I gave it back to you? My hands were vividly real to you then in the space you made with your imagination. We met in that briefly created world, that so many people fail to understand if they have never meditated, never prayed ... never dreamed. You made me a real place in the realm of your mind and invited me in. I long for this. Without another birth it is my only way into the human world, the only way I can come close enough to each one of you and teach you love; teach you who you are. You talk of a Second Coming; oh, I have never left you! And if I were born again as a child in a modern town? Would it really help? The speaking, the writing, the travelling? The adulation and the mockery? The dreadful cost to my friends? The nine days wonder of yet another questionable miracle, viral on the internet? What more could I say in this day and age than millions of voices are already saying for me? What more could I do than God’s awakening children are already doing?
Is there no miracle that would shake the sceptics to their core and turn them back to your truth?
If I appeared to every one of them in a blaze of light I can guarantee that all they would do is rationalise their experience away. They will never defeat me - but they will defeat themselves ...
... because they are falling away from you?
... just so. While those who hunger for truth will always find me.
And have an ethereal hug?
And have an ethereal hug!
But dearest Jesus, what happens to people who have never been Christians? This world is full of lovely souls who never set foot in a Christian church or pray to you when they are alone. Surely they are not going into darkness?
I sent you a dream when you were quite young. I know you still remember it. That great room with the central pillar almost as big as the room itself ...
...and all around the pillar, all over its surface were written the innumerable names of God. That is my answer, isn’t it!
It is. I reminded my people that in Heaven there is no marrying or giving in marriage, because once free of the body you - we - are all purely spiritual beings. Likewise, and for the same reason, there is no prescription of religious ritual or belief. In your real home, with direct access to truth, and love as the sole driving principle, there is no need for the divisions mankind has created on earth. Here, everyone sees God through their own lens; this leads inevitably to religious groups, and each group develops its own liturgical language. Before long, wars break out between conflicting visions. The pain of this has often brought me close to despair. So much unnecessary hatred ! So much needless fear ! Relentless persecution of beautiful people, just because they know me, know God, by the wrong name. It brought me to tears in Jerusalem, and still it brings me to tears as the millennia slip by and so little has been learned.
Who is the enemy?
Ah. You are thinking of the new wave of atheists. But the real enemy is always ignorance. These people with their blinkered attachment to material causes and their intractable pride are falling under the weight of their own ignorance. They risk being utterly lost. And generations of innocent people, taught to treat them as cultural heroes and hang on their every word, fall with them.
They need new heroes. The world needs you.
Wherever there is love, wherever there is imagination; wherever a human soul cries out in the dark for the Father he never believed in, I will find my way in.
“All His sons will one day reach His feet, however far they stray ...”
They will. Hold fast to the rock of truth; we will talk again.
.............................................................................................................................................................