On an early Spring Friday night I walked among the infidel and heathen, attempting to claim the high moral ground of indignation from the soulless
and sinful in my midst. I wandered in this dark night of my spirit hoping to find some light to cling to, some rock to hold me steady. I passed through
a labyrinth of images designed to distract and disorient me, to arouse the prurient interests in my heart and plant seeds of repugnant rebellion in my
mind.
I turned a tight corner and found my heart's desire, there before me was a vision of the most profound holiness – Jesus on the cross. Stunned by
the sheer power of that presence I stood dumbfounded. I looked the figure over from the crown of thorns about the head to the delicate feet. In
that instance the figure looked me over as well, silently looking deep into my eyes and seeing my soul, in all its nakedness.
I fell to my knees at those feet wishing to hide from the piercing eyes, that forgiving look, that plea for acceptance and union. I kissed those worn
and tired feet with my salty tears. Wiping them back I looked up at my savior and gazed at the firm taut muscles as they strained to hold the body
up under such stress. I tried to grasp the interplay of light and shadow in the curves of that form, covered as it was by only the thinnest of gray
duck tape loincloth – and I felt desire; desire for acceptance and forgiveness.
Forgiveness is such a sweet word, like water to a parched desert. I wanted desperately forgiveness for my sinful past, which I felt now, under the
gaze of those eyes, like a burning hole in my heart. I longed to fall into those eyes and seek this sacred balm offered me. I looked up and watched
the rise and fall of the full rounded chest under labored breathing. I wanted absolution from my desire, from my sinful longing. I sought in those
cool eyes forgiveness for my wanting to be up there on the cross too, forgiveness for my desire to nail the figure on the cross. I wanted this as no
other desire before, and as none that would come after. I wanted the figure above and over me, whose light pierced me, to be pierced by my thorn
of darkness. I wanted the she and me to be – Deity.
Sue V. Moab