GRM 41.1
The Gospel as revealed to me
Quotation
41.1 I see Jesus. He is an adolescent. He is dressed in a tunic which I think is made of white linen, and it reaches down to His feet. Over it, He is wearing a pale red rectangular piece of cloth. He is bare headed, His long hair reaches half way down His ears and it is somewhat darker in hue than when I saw Him as a child. He is a strong boy and very tall for His age, which is still relatively young, as is obvious from His countenance.
He looks at me smiling and stretches His hands towards me. But His smile is already like the one I see in Him when He is a Man: mild but rather serious. He is by Himself. I do not see anything else for the time being. He is leaning against a low wall on a minor road which is all uphill and downhill, littered with stones and has a ditch in the middle which in bad weather must turn into a rivulet. But at present it is dry because the day is lovely.
I also seem to be going near the low wall and I look around and down, as Jesus is doing. I see a group of houses irregular in formation. Some of the houses are tall, others are low, and they are scattered in all directions. They look like a handful of little white stones thrown down on dark soil: the comparison is poor, but a good one. The streets and the lanes are like veins in all that whiteness. Here and there I see some plants protruding from the walls. Many are in bloom while others are already covered with new leaves. It must be springtime.
On my left, there is a massive structure distributed, on three sets of terraces covered with buildings and towers and yards and porches. In the centre, the highest most solemn and rich building rises with its round domes, which shine in the sun as if they were covered with copper or gold. It is all enclosed by an embattled wall, the merlons of which are like those of a stronghold. A tower higher than the others, built over a rather narrow climbing road, commands a clear view of the huge building. It looks like a stern sentry.
Jesus stares at the place. He then turns round, leans back once again against the wall, as He had done before and looks at a hillock which is in front of the building, a hillock crowded with houses at its base, while the rest of it is bare. I see that a street ends over there in an arch, beyond which there is nothing but a road paved with square stones, which are loose and uneven. They are not too large, not like the stones of the Roman consular roads: they resemble the classic stones of the old pavements in Viareggio (I do not know whether there are any still left) but they are not joined together. A really rough road. Jesus’ face becomes so serious that I look at the hillock endeavouring to find the cause of His sadness. But I do not see anything special. It is a bare hillock and nothing else. Instead I lose Jesus because when I turn around, He is no longer there. And I fall asleep with that vision.