Those words, they’re what stuck to me from that song my mother used to sing. It was about the human sacrifice of a guy who lived over two-thousand years ago -- whose magical father had possessed the power to save him.
“Christians” planted a dark “knowing”, deep in the bottom of my soul. I grew up watching the double-think, aware of my place in the world, that there was a chance I’d be sacrificed as sure as Jesus was dead.
Still, the ending of Mother’s song echos: “The things I saw, with my own eyes, could not have been more real.”
