Saturday, July 28, 2018

The Thing with Real Messiahs

If love were the solution, Stewart’s yellow pet Mithra-polos would
be its best purveyor; no other being could have undergone
the burning zap of the electrostatic radiance with which
Mithra-polos had had forever to contend; his beloved
steward Stewart had exactly one aim in his life, which
was to mount a war against the rest of everything. Except
Mithra-polos, who would not go away. Stewart knew the surname
of Mitropoulos – Dmitri with that appellation was conductor
of The New York Philharmonic right up to when Leonard Bernstein
took the reins and thunder and the light away from him:
but mostly Stewart liked Mitropoulos because he led his
orchestras not with baton but with his hands. Otherwise
the name had meaning for its Zoroastrian suggestiveness: hence
his having re-configured it to showcase Mithras: the God
for centuries who’d given Christianity a run: Stewart was
quite sure that Mithras would conduct his forces with his hands,
not with a wand, like that pretender Jesus would have done. But
Mithra-polos cared not at all about his steward’s mystical
peculiarities. It was his lot to love his steward Stewart and he did.
And does. Mithra-polos had even come to love the buzz of
Stewart’s enmity. And Stewart loved Mithra-polos because
it turns out, everyone must love what love is at least once
before they die. Did you know that was a rule? Mithra knew,
and knows. Having come back in the form of yellow pet, he knows
he is the real Messiah. Though no one else can know. That’s
the thing with real Messiahs. One never knows they’re here.
What then is the use of them? Who said they had to have a use?

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