Man of humble birth, enrobed as a king,
Speaker of truth, falsified as
political,
Real human being, enshrouded in myths,
One of us, yet interpreted as messiah.
The Christ that one encounters in Jesus
is no anointed king of Israel,
but the ever-present one who speaks
to every mind still-searching for truth
from everywhere, here and there.
You may be seen or unseen in your deeds,
heard or unheard in your words,
found or unfound in your loving presence
flowing into every living being,
as far as the mind can see
You who were present before I was
present to myself, you were here
drawing and pulling me into you,
towards I still know-not-what, but
drawing
ever into a deeper, more hidden union.
You are the one speaking in the words of
Jesus—
no messiah, no king, no revolutionary,
but the divine mind itself probing each,
enlightening, flooding the open stable
no longer just alone, but You in each, in
all.
You who are nameless, called by many
names—
Christ will do, if gently held—
or Jesus, hidden One, enlightening every
soul
ever coming into the world,
not once, but in every moment of
consciousness.
Or perhaps of unconsciousness too,
while the flowers sleep beneath the
earth,
and sun has sunken far below the Zenith,
and nights clear and cold yet promising
your hidden presence to those who seek.
