The Musical Saviour

Maria birthed herself a baby named Jesús

Jose was pissed: “he don’t resemble me.”

so the kid was an outlier from the start, shunning toys and burro rides

“I’ve got bigger things in store.” he said

And that Jesús did.

 

“Mamá and papá, I’ve been anointed to think big”

Jose rolled his eyes, Maria just smiled, bringing some to-die-for Holy Mole to the kitchen table.

“My future is way beyond these sands of Sonora.

I am willed to start a mariachi jazz band.

We’ll charge nothing and fill the plazas and bullrings with the sounds of the future.”

“I heard a messiah complex is spreading rapidly,” playfully said Jose. “So be careful, you know there’s no vaccine as yet.”

“Don’t you upset the cartel,” warned Maria. “Pilatin is extremely protective of his gold, myrrh and frankincense trade.”

“Is your plan to live fast, die young and leave a good-looking corpse,” deadpanned Jose.

“Not at all,” said Jesús. “I’m will live forever.”

 

Jose and Maria tried everything — conversion therapy, military school, a vegan diet, even heavy doses of amplified Lawrence Welk music,

However, Jesús was not to be sorted out.

You believed in him or not. He didn’t need to believe in you.

A calling is a march forward, no slowing, sidestepping, or deadliest of all, explaining.

 

In succeeding years, Jesús’ trumpet licks sharpened and song lyrics became more dangerous.

The status quo worshipping naysayers still taunted, “hey snowflake, can’t you find a halo that fits?”

However, fans and a few groupies mostly stayed loyal especially when he produced wine and fish before the concerts.

Jesús and Los Discípulos (Juan, Pedro and Pablo) became established.

 

“Selling what people can’t buy is the worst of all business plan” snorted Jose. “Hire a consultant.”

“I’m a prophet, and not for profit,” answered Jesús.

“Let’s be inclusive and be both,” quipped a light-skinned hanger-on from Texas nicknamed Joel, who smiled a lot and ate up talk of earthly riches here and now.

Jesús feared the amount of time Joel spent in the company of the moneylenders.

 

In his 20s, Jesús developed a tick of sorts, visibly shuddering whenever anyone in his company exclaimed, “nailed it.”

Even the best doctors could not reach a diagnosis, much less a cure.

One wizened and elder white-robed physician called for an invasive history-ectomy.

He soon lost his admitting privileges for such heresy.

 

Jesús sometimes misspoke, despite his great deeds of giving sight to the blind, hearing to the the deaf and helping the lame walk,

As ‘time heals all wounds’ often came out as ‘time wounds all heels’

Many attribute it to a spasm of intermittent dyslexia

But because of this, Jesús lost a fond friend, a foreigner named Achilles, who prided himself on his individuality

 

The blue shield-toting federales soon began taking a harder look at Jesús

His musical riffs had become incendiary, therefore dangerous, and international

Jesús soon replaced Flavius Fave as Interpol’s Public Enemy #1

His lore morphed into that equaling a union of Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata.

Then avant-garde Jesús disappeared

The jazz revolutionist joined the many thousands, especially students, women and campesinos, who vanished forever

But the holy infidel mocked authorities with one last offering

It was a cross with an upside down bebop music scale inscribed

situated at the entrance to a rundown desert amphitheater just outside his hometown

Try co-opting that.