The scene was medieval,
as if he had torn a page
off a biblical scroll:
the crowd going wild,
in heat of a fanatical faith
in a black wooden Christ
burnt in the journey
to the islands
where tribal heathens had been mystified.
If only they could
enflame such passion
against moralists
who couldn’t keep rank poverty in check.
But the sacerdotal hierarchy
with dark stern faces
would hide their secret glee
at the raucous crowd
who never felt duped
by the church
that had left them
perpetually in the dark…
Such carnivalesque,
he mused,
as the bartender switched on
the set overhead,
chuckling at the frenzied masses
screaming & pawing at
the Quiapo Nazarene
who wouldn’t dare
with his stony silence
remonstrate at such pious state…
O Zizek would rue
the masses may be trapped,
on an optimistic note,
in a quicksand of modernist crime,
but they can crawl out
toward the edge in the fog
where ghostly figures lurk
if they refuse to be complicit
to the madding bog.
O there must be a break
where characters & false seers
hold sway …
to be gripped
by the quiet madness
of a Kierkegaard
who sought god but rejected
the eucharist on his deathbed.
[Will Christianity
allow Darwinian evolution
to supplant Adamic creation?]

If this is the Enlightenment age,
or the rule of Reason,
how would you size up
the saturnalian passion
of the mob?
They luxuriate in their petty wounds
& tired bones
as if they were a blessing
for mimicking Christ on the cross…
O there is a subconscious wish
to die, which is never enough,
as if death could never deny
the truth of their holy pursuit?
But the high priests
over the microphone
would egg on the crowd
to exhibit faith in the icon –
never ever saying
things could go out
of hand
& fall into the Devil’s trap
of violence & sacrilege
where penitents would dare proceed…
Buddhists would rather
intertext science with Religion,
the material with the “ world”,
that would expose the fallibility
of the Papal Bull…
[The Emory-Tibet Science Institute
has ruled
as a major addendum
in 600 years
such fusion in the calling
that seeks the real with
the spiritual.]
O No more hysteria then
to mistake divine seizure
for God’s presence in the soul…

It is God’s sword
descended on the West
for the Polar Vortex
to rain down catastrophic snow
on America & Europe?
O It’s man’s techno-abuse
of nature that brought on
the climate change
in Eastern Visayas
where the clueless poor
could only watch the sky
as the howling wind
& mountainous waves
dumped them into the roaring sea
to miserably die…
Should the ruined churches
be rebuilt then to allow priests
to consolidate the people’s faith
in their speech at the pulpit?
Is it sacrilegious to insist
that human governance
is the burden the people must bear,
not the fabled cross of
Jesus Christ
who sits in Heaven,
averting his eyes
as humans squirm & die?
So many lies & truths
to speak & hide
so life must go on
in a universe that madly spins
with nothing in sight.
How would we meet
the Grand Inquisitor
in the last, last days of existence?
Never in our lifetime?
O Will there be no end to
suffering the Church
successfully sells at a bargain?
O It’s a tired, old theme
for spinners of fairy tales.
If only he could see
in a time-lapse shot
the universal spectacle!

& the masses?
Will they ever learn
the lessons of history?
Revolution is a dangerous
but forgotten word
& blind obedience to the Pope
would earn them dividends
in the lottery of chance
in everyday existence —
their prayers are trial balloons
floating in the wind
& heading for the moon…
Doubting Thomases could only
grit their teeth
as the mob jettisons the Apollonian
on the triumphalist mode
of the disinherited…
O How they have prayed
like foolish women
trapped in the prison house
of old beliefs
that are virtual nooses on their necks?
The grand narratives,
philosophers say,
have failed –
the future is littered
with corpses in Auschwitz
& Guantanamo
that stopped the prairie fire
in the East…
[O the Vatican also cracks
the global imperial whip…]

The professor knows,
like the back of his hand,
the kids in front of him
are simply uttering nonsense –
their words have been
by sanctimonious priests
& pompous judges
who confuse legalese
for proofs of infallible truth.
Their mouths are stuffed
with the holy bread
of blindness & discord.
But language deceives!
The apogees of words
& symbols
always intersect
at the edge of the silent abyss
& none is nearer to
the imagined absolute!
So when he whispers
in her ears
she’s the apple of his eye,
she quickly disses him –
“In the ambit of logic,
you’re uncool, far out!
There can never be synthesis
in the Kantian mode.”
There only awaits chaos
in the sphere of modernists!
O lovers could only
be stranded
like frozen figures
in the telephone booth.

So this February,
what will he say
to the blessed One.
Custom & tradition
would put him
on a pedestal
as required,
by the occasion –
to utter the singular spell –
but truth will always
long for a miracle!
Ministers of polemics
will deride his intention,
singling out his misrecognised desire…
& lovers can only avert
their eyes
as if seared by the light
because madness
is a chain of signs
that will futily bind
figures of the heart
that slowly melt like ice…
Will they take stock
of their lives
as they leap into the mirror
at the break of sunrise?

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