The men who wrote the New Testament screwed it all up?
What if the message was really that as I believe, every child born is holy, even one born in a stable to an unmarried girl? And that even a child born out of wedlock could become a great teacher, a holy man?
And because they did not want the world to know that he had been a bastard child, they said that Mary had been impregnated by god instead of Joseph and in doing so, they screwed up the whole thing.
What if? What if the message from the very beginning was to love and respect everyone, despite their origins, whether born in a barn and laid in a manger or born in a palace and laid in a bed of down and silk, and that everyone, given enough love and adoration, could become a sort of savior with a message of love and forgiveness?
What if because of a few human men's fear of women and sex, the entire thing got twisted around and it's not Jesus that we should be worshiping but all the babies, all the children, and that we should take care of them and nurture them and love them with all of our hearts?
Well. I do not know.
Here I am making a soup and I don't even know if that's going to be any good. I am simmering mustard and turnip greens from the garden, and onions, finely chopped with sesame oil and red pepper and vegetable bullion and leftover bits of chicken from the one I roasted two nights ago. Also rice is in that pot. And in the oven are an acorn squash, a butternut squash and a sweet potato and a twisted up piece of foil with a head of garlic in it is lying there roasting too, waiting to be squeezed out, a flavor to make you cry.
Somehow I plan to wed all of this together with cumin and curry powder and chili powder and we shall see. We shall see.
I walked today for the first time since I hurt my knee and it was fine. On the sandy path I saw the baby prints of raccoons and the tiny dog-prints of foxes and the pointy-toed prints of deer. My big, clunky shoe-prints joined them there going this way and then back. The sky was as blue as the Madonna's cloak and the hawks keened overhead and I stopped to pee in the woods and it was so quiet.
A good day and one I've had time to think in as I cut down the still-fat, juicy stalks of the bananas and hauled them to the place where I lay such things. The tide is up as applies to my relationship with Mr. Moon and we go over house plans for the house we want to build in Apalachicola someday and there's another dream maybe becoming real. Who knows? Who knows?
Not me. I do not know shit.
But Mr. Moon he keeps telling me, "I told you. I told you it could be like this."
And it's not like I didn't believe him, it's just that I didn't believe good fortune of any kind as applies to me.
Maybe eventually I will and in the meantime, I can't stop hugging him, my arms reach out of their own accord and I must pull him close so that his body presses against mine and I turn to tend whatever is on the stove and then turn back to hold him again.
My kitchen smells of garlic and simmering greens and onion and maybe they got it wrong, those men who wrote the New Testament and the message was that this is all holy, the stable and the warm, hay-breathed cow and the sheep grazing on the hill and the chickens roosting on their nest and the woman-man love and the resulting baby and the bread which Joseph found to feed his wife after her work of giving birth, some bitter greens and some sweet onions and perhaps a sip of sweet wine to restore her blood and yes, the kings who brought precious things which Mary may have looked at and thought, "What shall I do with frankincense? What shall I do with myrrh?"
And there is a star over every baby born and even if angels do not appear, they may be there or they may not and that does not mean that every birth is not the birth of a savior of mankind. An inventor, a doctor, a writer, a poet, a painter, a well-digger, a greens grower, a mother, a weaver, a lawyer, a judge, a preacher, a believer in mankind.
What if we are supposed to be worshiping that which is of this earth and right here in front of us, not that which is of heaven which we cannot see?
I do not know.
Just a thought. Just a little thought.