Jesus Christ

Jesus Christ
Skreeworld has expressed some ambivalence to Christianity over the years. A period spent discussing whether the soul and the mind are emergent products of the brain concluded with an atheist perspective. More recently, following first hand religious experience, the atheism I was brought up with has softened to agnostisism. I believe none of us know what is really going on. Though the better science books often slip in atheistic asides, there is still little progress on the hard problem of consciousness. A few months back, following my experiences, I explored the possibility that the inverse of the scientific consensus could be true. That our fixed foundations of time, Gravity, matter, space are proving more slippery than at first thought. Perhaps the only thing we can say with any certainty is that we are conscious. Well, I assume you are like me.
In the story of Skree and Liptons adventures around the search for Jesse presleys underworld rock and roll empire, me and Lipton followed up the story of Christ and Joseph of aramatheias unconfirmed journey to England. Landing in lynmouth we followed the journey they took to the Holy Thorn, legend has it that this bush not native to these isles grew from Joseph's staff after he plunged it in to Challice Hill, and to the Tor where we met up with Jesus Christ who remained in the area and continues to live amongst New Age travellers. I mentioned that both Lipton and I are big fans of Jesus. Separating his teachings and moral code from modern day Christianity we agree with much of what he preached. Perhaps due to having a Christian mother and growing up in a post Christian culture, I try to live by Christian values. Never has his message been more relevant. Sadly the churches, in general, that proclaim Christ as the messiah have drifted far from his word.
Christianity was an anti materialist concept. The meek will inherit the earth. A rich man can no more enter the kingdom of heaven than a camel can pass through the eye of a needle. He abandoned his woodwork business to spend his time hanging out with the homeless, street drinkers, prostitutes and others from the lowest rungs of societies ladder. Seeing money lenders, bankers working outside the temple Christ went mental, tipping over their tables and incurring the wrath of religious leaders of the time. Seeing his threat to their authority, the priesthood conspired to have him executed. Christ accepted his fate, indeed, forgave his best mate for grassing him up. After his execution he rose from the dead and we were fortunate to meet up with him and consider him a good mate.
As shamans on a longer arch quest, my and Liptons aim is to stop what we refer to as the 'growing grey'. Few recognise the utter wonder of existence. The sheer oddity of being. Waking each day on a blue planet in an arm of a spiral galaxy in a vast universe, resplendent with sumptuous life, most have lost sight. Instead they spend this breif window we call life pursue img futile careers, worrying about status, polishing horrible uncomfortable shoes, preoccupied with pension schemes, insurance, taxes, sleep walking through this earthly paradise towards the grave. Our mission is to cure this malady of the soul, prevent this terrible drift towards the dull. Through our ceremony's and sacraments we seek to help cure whoever we can.
As a boy, my mother took me to church. I prayed as hard as I could. She got cancer and soon died. Clearly this was a broken religion. Either the Christian God had abandoned man or simply no longer cared. As I grew older I grew to see why. Discovering shamanism in my teens I found a still functional religion. I saw Angels, had visions, figured out spiritual truths delivered to me whilst under sacrament. For thirty years I remained a shamanic witch, a believer in shamanism. Both me and Lipton were made shamans and as such were responsible for the spiritual health of others. Our battle with the growing grey goes on.
Realising we were few and the grey of heart were many. That they distrusted our medicine, we embarked on the task of assisting true Christians to get their religion up and running again. We are on the same side. This is a Christian country. If we could help fix Christianity we stood a much greater chance against the grey.
Rising early each Sunday morning, we embarked on a search for Christians. First we looked at the churches, amongst our nations finest buildings. To our horror, the congregation weren't those who had seen past the money trap, quite the opposite. Big cars driven to the churches from large suburban houses, crammed with material goods. Our initial reaction was to help these lost sheep. To rob their houses, to smash their cars, to strip them of their wealth so as God would start answering their prayers and ensure they'd get to heaven. But so deep was their malaise, they could not see their own spiritual sickness. They saw us as mentally ill tramps. No ammount of explanation could convince them of the clearly obvious, that we were exactly the type of people Jesus chose to hang out with.
As we got to know him better, Christ turned out to be a sound bloke. A bit keen on the wine and other drugs but great crack to be around. Since his crucifixion though, he'd had enough. He made us promise to never reveal his exact whereabouts. He thought we were wasting our time. The main body of western civilisation was on a highway to hell. Economic growth, working lives away for money to buy material goods, living beyond their fair means. Animals not yet discovered were becoming extinct, global warming was sending the planet into its sixth great extinction. And those who used his name were unable to see beyond their greed. Those who saw the environmental disaster happening were like junkies or alcoholics, aware they are destroying themselves but unable to stop. There was no way Christ was sticking his neck out again. We knew he wasn't paranoid. They'd killed him once. The authorities were after me and Lipton for trying to raise Jesse, God only knows what they'd do to Jesus if they found him.
But our search was not entirely in vain. Our first meeting with real Christians was in Bath. In a car park a crowd of homeless were gathered for the free sandwiches and soup delivered by Christians. These people could be home watching coronation street but were out instead bringing comfort to the poor.
We began to discover that in most towns the homeless shelters, the soup kitchens, the free food outlets for the starving poor, many overseas charitable aid relief workers were all Christians. Even where the broken shadows of street beggars took the Micky, considering them foolish dogooders, sniping behind their backs, it mattered not. They were doing christs bidding.
Yesterday I went to a centre in south Somerset to see the work done. A house had been donated as a halfway recovery hostel where rough sleepers could begin to put their lives back on track. Many were gathered for the Wednesday meal that was free to anyone. Tea, coffee, clothes were there to be taken. The cross section of homeless stretched, as it does, from the mentally ill to the kicked out teenagers to those who'd simply slipped through societies net.
As I talked to one of the Christians about their work their it was clear they had found a happiness from caring. When worrying about others there is no room for self pity. These were good people. Jesus would have approved and had it not been an alcohol free zone, no doubt would have magicked up some wine and shared it out amongst the people.
As we talked I became aware a bible group was taking place behind me. Religion can be the saviour for many who hit rock bottom, addiction requires something bigger than the individual to conquer. I couldn't help but listen to the archaic tales of John the Baptist. Of Christs one liners, spoken all those years ago but still on the button. Steeped in this old book the teacher seemed somewhat deluded to a cynical shaman such as myself. But I thought, what the fuck? Does it really matter if we believe different truths, operate in differing realities. We are on the same side. They too fought the grey in their own quaint way.
I was dieing to let on about Jesus who I'd seen hammered, staggering through town just the other day. He'd pounced a roll up and we sat a while, watching folk pass by, all in such a hurry.
"Never, Skree. You know what I said. Never let them know!" I'd have loved to tell them he was within thirty miles of where the Christians spread their good from.
"You know when me and Lipton first met you? We'd tracked you down on our hunt for Abel. Weird thing is, to be honest, we never thought we'd meet you. I mean we knew the story of you and Joseph of aramathea landing just up the coast from Porlock, near Lynmouth. Truth is we just guessed Abel would follow your path. If anything we expected to hear what happened to Joseph after his staff took root. What happened to him?" I asked the lamb of god. He drew deeply on a second roll up he'd just cadged and said, "well there's a story."


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