My friend Renee told me about a dream she had a few weeks ago:
“You were just sitting at your desk facing your computer but your hair was feathered in, you didn’t have a grade, your hair was just feathered in, and you kept referring to yourself as Jesus the whole time and everyone was sitting around you. I remember turning to look at you and you were talking and I said, “Oh, Okay, Adam”. You just kept saying you were Jesus and you never turned around and you hair was all feathered in. You were wearing a robe, but I couldn’t say what color it was. I couldn’t see the front of you at all, unless you turned around, but that was almost too quick to make out. It was more about your hair and you referring to yourself as Jesus.”
Renee’s sketch of my hair all feathered in
Twice in my life I have referred to myself as Jesus. The first of these was when I was a tween, as hard as it is for me to refer to myself in this term. I got crunk. A friend and I were invited by some girls to hangout in a playground at sunset. When we arrived they had a two liter bottle of soda that had been spiked with something from a parent’s liquor cabinet. These girls were sweet-eyed and kind, and probably wanting a make-out session, but no one got one with me. I got hammered in 10 minutes flat then found my way beneath the jungle gym. I stared at the stars and I felt open and I felt like a veil of shit that I’d been wearing had been cast from my face. I stared at the stars and asked “Am I not the son of god?” Everyone started laughing so I said it again and this went on for way too long to be entertaining.
Some girl just wanted a kiss and I went and got too deep. Story of my life, half of it at least. It’s not that I didn’t want kisses. The truth is it took me most of my life to believe that anyone would really want to kiss me, that this sort of attention wasn’t some kind of joke. I remember my mom told me I’d get overly concerned with what others thought. I kinda skipped right over that and went full internalization of childhood ugliness, some looking-glass self-type shit. I don’t think Jesus spoke directly to these issues but, fuck, in that moment I felt like I was being reborn. It’s not hard to see how I got to the point of putting needles in myself.
The second time, I was 17. I had just scored a batch of really good mescaline. I was a runaway, I can’t remember why, but It had something to do with Pink Floyd. I dropped a bunch of microdots and caught a ride to the park. I was walking through the park and I was remembering the first time I referred t to myself as Jesus and I was saying “I really am Jesus”. I was seeing a glow in everything and I could swear my feet weren’t touching the ground as I walked around Washington Park. In a way I still feel this way.
I think everyone’s a Jesus. I think we’ll all ascend. I think we’re all the objects of our own adoration and tribulation. We’re all going to die. We know this. We can see the future. It can see us. We speak in science fiction. We are a hair growing in on itself, feathered back into the skin by shame and guilt. We can grow our hair straight up into the sky for millions of miles if we let ourselves. Free yourself of Hairem Scarem. Dream, but don’t sleep on the possibility of spontaneous transcendence.
Some bow down a hundred times a day or more
To find a way, to get back down to the temple one day
Find the temple, to bask in the glory of
Roll around on the flora furry carpet there
Sleep soundly for the first time in forever and breathing deep inside