In this increasingly angry world,
He had no friends and kept to himself, but there was a novice he liked. A boy of about eleven who sang in the choir, his beautiful clear voice soaring high above the others at times, then more controlled now, a crystal clear note that blended with yet stood out against the others, making the tapestry of music that much more moving. The singer’s duties were light because he had to rehearse his music all day, but when he did work in the kitchen or the vegetable plots he found the novice with the Moorish face going out of his way to be kind to him, even protecting him from the bullies who were jealous of the special treatment he enjoyed. He never acknowledged the kindnesses that he received, having been spoiled by parents and priests. Nor did the giver mind the snubs that came his way. There was something so defenseless about the golden boy who sang like a bird, a dark cloud that he had seen over his head, that he could only feel sorry for him.
Then the boy who sang so beautifully was taken away, and a few days later he found out that he was sent to Rome to sing in the Papal choir after being castrated so that his lovely crystal clear voice might be preserved forever. And when he heard that, the rage came again, a rage to burn the monastery, pull down its walls, kill them all and leave nothing behind, just a clean pure space so that no more of that cruelty might live again. And because he could do nothing, it turned into a great sadness that turned into the sickness that came in to take him.
he was still bound to the flesh and had to return. And when he did, the rage came, the rage that wasn’t at his fate because he had chosen his path, but at Lucien and all that would come between lovers, between husbands and wives, between man and freedom and his thoughts, between anything at all, with their intolerance, their hatred, their jealousy and greed and inhumanity.
“Looking at these words dispassionately, one can only see that you believe yourself to be a messiah who would destroy the Church and set himself up as a spiritual ruler for all of us who cannot find ‘Truth’.”
“There are no messiahs, Lucien. Only teachers.”
Lucien could not look into those eyes. He could not look away. They compelled him, made him come back to them, only to once again feel the flames that melted the flesh from him…He couldn’t do anything. There was no defence against it, not even the power he had could protect him from the rage.
So yes, I rage. But that rage is directed into a passion for helping people and teaching those who are ready. Yes, there will be many sad events in the time to come. People will die and be killed unjustly. Yesterday in China in the city of Shenzen, a huge landslide. But when you meet me, you will see not the anger, you will feel the peace.
And instead of rage and violence met with violence, there will be flowers.