Rejecting her gesture and voice
without even letting my ego know,
hiding my gesture and voice
deep in my ego,
with boring spiritual lecture
as a background music,
seeing her over there in front
as the heroine in a movie,
I was a man swallowing a pain
In the dark movie theater
watching a movie with my lust.
It was fortunate
that I was not fallen
into her stealthy temptation
and I was not tricked by my own trap.
I almost forgot
that I was becoming a flower.
But I could try to compare
my pain of lust and desire
with the pain of Jesus on the cross.
The agony of Jesus
was not from flesh-piercing nails,
not from people’s merciless contempt,
but from the sugary temptation
of Mary Magdalene,
so even though I am dozing
on the hard chair in sanctuary,
my pain of not materializing the lust
is not less than the pain of Jesus.
Just like Jonah with his language of fear
Who saved the people of Nineveh
The flower whose prior life was a butterfly,
Groping for the memory of flying
And loading its language of temptation on the pollen,
Flies it through the wind of the early summer.
The butterfly whose prior life was a flower,
Refreshing the memory of its root,
And accepting the destiny as it is….
Just like believers who reached
The illusion of salvation with priests’ language of threat,
Just like Mary Magdalene
Who saw a phantom of resurrected Jesus,
My lover is at my feet.
Every single word by word
Becomes a temptation and covers the garden,
Just like a prophet standing tall on the Athens plaza,
The flower consumed by fear,
Driving its root deep….
During the last Holy Week
my heart was unusually hammering
not because Mary Magdalene’s heart
was transplanted to me,
which was yearning for Jesus’ Resurrection
but because my woman’s heart was thumping in me,
who would meet me on Easter Day for the first time.
Mary Magdalene’s heart that met Jesus
became the calm Galilee,
but why is the woman’s heart that met me
still whirling like the Tiberias under a storm?
Because of me who was pacing around
in front of the wide-open door and couldn’t enter?
During the next year’s Holy Week
would my heart be pounding instead of her heart?
Half of people in the world is woman; even Don Juan
can’t love all of them. He might be able to love all the
beautiful women, but there must be a special woman
he loves in a special way just like Jesus who loves all
women as well as man loves Mary Magdalene in a
different way, then who would be my special woman?
Not an easy question to answer; how many married
man would say, “My special woman is my wife”. My
wife being my special woman might make my life appear
dull and boring, so am trying to squeeze my memory to
find out a woman who was special to me, but since no
women dare to enter my deep heart, my wife is destined
to be my special woman? My life has been full of wild
rivers, high mountains and dangerous forests just like
other men’s lives, but alas! no special woman I loved in
a different way! Hold on! She might claim she was a
special woman to me. Who’s she? Do I know her? Um…
Even before the official summer starts
In this steaming hot weather
It wouldn’t be a bad idea
To take a pre-summer nap.
When a lonely fallen leaf
Comes riding on a lukewarm wind and
Wakes you up,
If am nowhere in sight,
Please believe that
Just like a fallen leaf that makes you awake
I am on the long road alone,
Carrying lonesome autumn on my back and
Taking clammy autumn rain.
Road to the truth would be solitary,
Then you can go back to Jesus.
Mary Magdalene’s place would be next to Him.
This autumn already has found its place in my heart.