11.

Jennifer Farrell

Thursday, March 14 - Noon

Mike had been writing for hours when his doorbell rang. He saved his document and went to answer the door. When he opened it, he was greeted by the newspaper reporter, Jennifer Farrell. “Mike Tomson?” she asked.

“Yes, may I help you?” he asked.

“Hi. My name is Jennifer Farrell. . . from the Sun.” She always hated adding from the Sun because it changed her relationship with other people from potential friend to potential pain-in-the-ass, but she was a journalist and she hated to surprise people with the fact later, especially when she meant business.

Her reporter’s keen sense of observation took Mike in. He had an average build and was somewhat muscular, stronger than the security camera photos led her to believe. She looked past the long hair, mustache and beard into his compelling blue eyes. She wondered if he was a petty fly-by-night singer, or a future big-time rock star. She said, “I was wondering if you could answer some questions.”

He was wary. The fact that she was a woman was intimidating enough to make him nervous, but she was a reporter too. “Like?”

“Like are you the man in the Bellagio photo from yesterday’s article? That was my piece.”

He nodded cautiously. “H–How did you find me?”

“Some readers called the Sun and said you were singing with a band at the Plaza. I called the Plaza, and they told me about The Original Artists. They put me in touch with your agent. He told me how to reach you.”

Mike found Jennifer quite attractive and that attraction shut off all his psychic awareness. Obviously not an air-head. Curvy shape, he thought. Bright eyes, warm smile. He liked that. “So what do you want from me?”

“I’d like to do a follow-up story. Miracle worker found. Mystery solved. Something like that. We can get at least one follow-up. If we swing it right, we may be able to push through two. Mrs. Olsen is convinced you’re Christ Himself. You game? We’ll put a picture of you and the band in the paper–good publicity–and write about how you’re just an ordinary guy doing gigs in our back yard. Of course, we’ll have to dispel the rumors about you being Jesus and all. What do you think?”

“Sounds good. There’s just one problem.”

“What’s that?”

Mike smiled at her, obviously attracted to her. He decided it might be better to talk about his problem with someone, but he didn’t know if he could trust her to keep quiet. He’d have to approach her with caution. He’d have to explain his situation carefully and tell her what she can and can’t put in her article. “Come on in. Let me get you a glass of ice-tea. Nothing about my apartment in your article. All right?”

She looked at him carefully and decided he wasn’t a threat. She had been in this industry long enough to know that risks were a part of the job description, but that didn't mean she took stupid chances. This was Las Vegas, after all. She had learned to size people up quickly and she was proud of her “intuition.” She rarely made a mistake about people, at least nothing serious. Judging Mike seemed pretty straightforward. From the smile on his face she figured he was going to try to lure her into the sack, but she had dealt with that millions of times before. She wasn’t against stringing a guy along for a while before she had to let them down. Business is business, after all, and a deadline is a deadline. Besides, observations about someone’s apartment can tell you a lot about the owner. “Agreed.”

She followed him into his tiny apartment and sat down at his kitchenette. Mike retrieved a pitcher of iced-tea from the refrigerator and poured her a glass. She found his politeness charming. He twirled another chair around and sat down on it backward. Not knowing where to start, he asked, “Are we off the record now?”

“Sure, if you want to be. You were saying there was a problem?”

He didn’t know how to say it diplomatically, so he just blurted it out. “I just found out I am Jesus, or rather, I was.”

“Scuze me?” She began to doubt her original assessment of him, and wondered if she really was safe in his apartment. She thought, This guy is nuttier than a fruitcake. Maybe I can push it to three follow-ups. If I make it out of here in one piece, that is.

Then he told her the whole story, from his passing out on stage to the hypnosis session and his revelation that he had been Christ in a past-life. Once he started talking, he just kept going. He was surprised how easy it was to talk to her. He didn’t have his usual jitters about talking to a woman and it made him feel so much better to be able to tell someone what had happened. As he spoke, she sat and listened, patiently taking notes on a small notepad. Her scribbling made him nervous and several times he made sure they were still off the record.

When he was done, he said, “Now I know what you’re probably thinking. Maybe your headline should be, ‘Lunatic Messiah Found.’ But I swear this is real. I’m not having delusions of grandeur. As a matter of fact, I feel as frail and human as ever. But I remember my life as Jesus.”

“You remember it?”

“All of it.”

She thought Mike was off the deep end. Her voice turned sarcastic. “I suppose you’re going to write your own gospel and try to convert people to your new religion? Maybe give a whole new meaning to the term groupie? You think you’re going to use me to start the flow of followers, but you should be careful with the press. I should warn you: reporters like me have a strange curiosity, and I’m curious about a few things. We also don’t like inconsistencies.”

Mike could tell she was patronizing him, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I’ve been puzzling over a few questions ever since I quit going to church when I was sixteen.” She thought, Church had the shackles and leg irons on me good back then. It’s a miracle I can think for myself. Women aren’t supposed to. . .

Mike didn’t back down. “Like what?”

“Like, how did Judas Iscariot die? In Matthew 27:5, it says that Judas hanged himself, but in Acts 1:19 it says he fell forward on the ground and burst open and his entrails poured out. So which is it?” This was one of the reasons she had left the Church: She knew she wanted to be a journalist, but the Bible was bad journalism; it was full of inconsistencies.

Mike had been wanting a woman with depth, and this woman certainly had it. Maybe a little too much of it. He became defensive. “How the hell should I know? They crucified me. I was dead by then. The last time I saw Judas, he looked me right in the eye, kissed my hand and told me he wasn’t going to betray me. Lying son of a bitch; I saw right through him. If you want to talk about the religion that came after I died, why don’t you go talk to someone like Professor Alice Bailey at UNLV?”

She jotted Bailey’s name in her scribble pad. “You said you were Christ, didn’t you? Doesn’t that make you God? Doesn’t that mean you have all the answers?”

“Now wait a minute. I never claimed to be God-on-a-fucking pedestal. Not in this life, and not in that life either. I didn’t even call myself the Son of God. I called myself Son of Man. Is that so hard to understand? In Luke 18:19, I said, ‘Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone.’ In John 12:44, I said, ‘When a man believes in me, he believes in Him who sent me rather than me.’ Rather than me, Jennifer. In other words, don’t worry about me, worry about God. I never wanted anyone to worship me, I wanted them to worship God.”

“Yeah, but Jesus didn’t deny being God either.”

He remembered his argument with Joe. “That’s because we’re all made of the spirit of God. John 10:33, the Jews said, ‘You, a mere man, claim to be a God.’ Jesus answered, ‘Is it not written in your own Law, ‘I said: You are gods’? Those are called gods to whom the word of God was delivered–and Scripture cannot be set aside. Then why do you charge me with blasphemy because I, consecrated and sent into the world by the Father, said, I am God’s son?’ In other words, Jennifer, we’re all God.” In the bright light of day, his out-of-body conversation with Joe seemed more real.

“All right then, why did you cry out from the cross, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

These had been the words he had screamed on stage and he had given them a lot of thought in the past days. Now, with his memory unlocked by Joe, he knew the answer. “Because it hurt like a son of a bitch. Let ‘em crucify you and we’ll see what expletives you scream and which ones you don’t.” Ordinarily, Mike was insecure around women. He wasn’t comfortable around them, but somehow Jennifer was different. She was challenging but he didn’t feel threatened by her.

She said, “Look, we could stand here and argue philosophy all night, but we’re not getting anywhere. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t write you up as a paranoid schizophrenic wacko who thinks he’s Jesus Christ? Can you prove you are the reincarnation of Christ? ‘Cause if that’s all you got, buster, I gotta tell you, I’m not buying it. Can you do any miracles?”

“Well, let’s see.” Mike thought a minute about what miracles he had done two thousand years ago. The problem was that he didn’t know how he had done those things, just that he had done them. Joe had said he could “bend” the rules, but how? He threw it back on her, stalling for time to think. “Like what?” he asked.

“How about something Jesus did. Like walking on water.” She expected that would shut him up and she waited for the lame excuse he would come up with.

He tried to remember how he had walked on water two thousand years ago. He had told Peter that it was a matter of faith, but that was only half of it. The secret was in manipulating matter, but since physical matter was part of God’s love, the trick was to immerse yourself in God’s love, thereby eliciting the cooperation of the physical matter. He thought, maybe I can do this. Joe had mentioned it as part of the benefits package. “You’re on. Is the apartment building pool good enough?” Then immediately he regretting saying something that may have gotten him in over his head, quite literally.

She was surprised. So now he’s willing to embarrass himself. More courageous than most men. I wonder if he’s trying to impress me. “As long as it’s cold and wet.”

She grabbed her glass of iced tea and headed toward the door. They walked to the back of the apartment complex to the community pool. They were alone. Mike walked up to the edge of the pool while Jennifer took a sip of tea. No pressure, I can do this, he thought, I’ll use affirmations. I’ll talk myself into it. Belief creates reality. I’ll change my beliefs, and reality will follow. This is easy, he told himself. Joe told me that incarnates don’t break the laws of physics because we’ve agreed not to before we were born. I don’t have to adhere to that rule anymore. Joe said so. I hope you’re up there helping me somehow, Joe, because I really need it this time.

In his mind, he telepathically heard Joe laugh and say, “Use the force, Luke.” He said aloud, “Shut up. You’re breaking my concentration.” He glanced at Jennifer, who was thinking, Now he’s hearing voices. Must be schizophrenic. But the fact that Joe had answered him at all gave him added confidence. He refocused his thoughts. I’m bending the rules. I don’t buy into the rules of physics anymore. This particular pool of water is solid enough to walk on. My body is light enough for it to support me. Then he carefully put his right foot out onto the surface of the pool. A small ripple of waves appeared. Jennifer saw the intensity of his blue eyes. Genuine sincerity. Maybe even a little vulnerability. It surprised her.

Faith can move mountains, he thought. He closed his eyes and imagined his aura expanding to encompass the area. With his mind, he reached upward for God, and felt an intense love. The atoms of physical matter spun around in God’s eternal dance of joy, and his mind intermingled with them all. He immersed himself in that love, and with his awareness, he held the physical matter of the pool in a loving embrace. Be one with the pool, he thought. I am the pool and I am solid. Slowly, he transferred his weight to that foot. After lifting his left foot, he proceeded to walk all the way across the pool in front of Jennifer Farrell, whose glass of iced-tea fell out of her hand and shattered on the concrete below. She stared at him, mouth open.

When Mike got to the other side of the pool, completely dry, he felt invigorated and enveloped in a calm peace, the “peace that passeth understanding.” He smiled at her. He sure did like the way those jeans curved around her hips. Hips that passeth understanding. He said, “Satisfied?”

Jennifer was stunned for a minute, but then she came back to her senses. After all, this was Las Vegas, land of Siegfried and Roy, who could make tigers appear in cages suspended in midair over a stage. In fact, this city had seen so many magicians perform so many “miraculous” feats it had become cliche. “A trick,” she said. “Maybe you can replace Siegfried and Roy. Let’s see you multiply loaves and fishes.”

He was angry. He performed a genuine miracle, something he hadn’t done in two thousand years–one she had picked–and she chose to close her eyes. He remembered when he was Christ, no matter how many miracles he performed, it was never enough. People wanted tricks, not the truth. Disgusted by her reaction, Mike spat back, “Yeah. That’s it. A trick.” At this they were completely dumbfounded, for they had not understood the incident of the loaves; their minds were closed. He thought, Maybe it’s better that she doesn’t believe me. She’d just be spreading it all over the newspaper and I’d have no peace. I’d be chased around like Princess Diana until I crashed my Harley like Diana crashed her car. Of course, if she did believe me, she might be able to help spread my message of love. She’s smart. She’s attractive. I wouldn’t mind spending a little time with her. Too bad that’s not going to happen. Resigned that she was not going to see the truth, he decided he needed more time to think about how to spread his message.

His tone implying she was just like all the rest of the women he’d known, he said, “Don’t forget, Jennifer, you picked the miracle. If that was a trick, let’s see you do it.”

The tone in his voice upset her. She could feel his disappointment and for some reason it really bothered her. She liked his self-conviction, even if he did lack confidence. At least he’s not cocky, she thought. Maybe he is a sincere man, if there is such a thing. Hell, maybe he was Christ. “I’m not a stage magician. I bet Siegfried and Roy could do it.”

“We’re still off the record; you said so yourself.” Mike said flatly. “None of what you’ve seen goes in your article.”

“But. . . ” She was a journalist: she didn’t want some man to tell her what to write and what not to write.

He cut her off. “This is my official statement. I never said that I’m Jesus Christ. Who I was then and who I am now are two different things. My name is Mike Tomson and I’m just an ordinary guy. I’m not any different from you or anyone else on the planet. I’m not a magician, I’m a musician. I’m not here to save souls, I’m here to play rock and roll. My band is The Original Artists. Come see us at the Plaza. In the immortal words of John Lennon, all I want is some peace.”

But at the same time, he wondered about his mission on Earth. He wished Joe had been more specific about what he should do. “And as for Mrs. Olsen,” Mike spoke with force, “I don’t care if she thought I was Christ. I didn’t cure her, her faith did.” Then he added, “Or maybe it was God Himself. Or Herself.” He remembered a quote from the Bible: Not me, but He who sent me.

Her heart softened a bit. “No different from anyone else on the planet?” Jennifer asked. “Mike, I just saw you walk on water.”

“Anyone can, Jennifer. Didn’t I once say that faith could move mountains? Christ wasn’t the only one who walked on water. Peter did it. He only started sinking when he doubted himself.” And yet Mike knew his own faith in himself rose and fell like the tides.

She wasn’t about to give up that easily. “Maybe Christ made it possible for Peter. Maybe it was a miracle. Maybe Peter was a holy man, endowed by God because he was a disciple.”

“Peter was just an ordinary guy. Like me.”

Not so ordinary, she thought. An ordinary guy would have hit on me by now. She found that attractive.

Excerpt from The Gospel According to Mike

They asked him, “What happens when we die?”

He said, “Are not the living merely deluded into thinking that this restlessness you call ‘life’ is reality? And in losing your garment called the physical body, will you not shed the illusion, and see life as the wise person sees it? Make no mistake: the eternal dance of the soul goes on. Separation and loss are illusions, as are attachment and gain. There is only spirit, and that is all there has ever been.”

“Do not concern yourself with what happens after death, for what is important is what you do with your life right at this moment and where it leads you. Do not grieve for those who have passed, for they are liberated from the chains of the physical world and their eyes are opened to the truth. Likewise, do not grieve for your own loss, for that is attachment, and attachment is the cause of suffering. Instead, celebrate their liberation and rest assured that you will one day be reunited, eyes opened, in God’s love.”