9:59

Perhaps Jesus was Mary's creativity, fathered by god, sliding into her body while she slept or ate. It gathered wisdom as the years passes, teaching and healing others, curing illnesses, feeding the hungry with words and images, bringing a man back to life after he had fallen into the death of his own subconscious. The productions of her mind were so clear and impressive that they had to be mutilated, tortured, displayed for her entire community. She may have cried at the feet of her own destroyed passion, which she entombed, and within days it came back to her, strengthened, moving rocks and soil despite its scars and cracked joints. Perhaps Mary wrote the gospels, daring enough to suggest that her work should replace the mythology of her own culture. Perhaps all of Christianity is a celebration of the intellectual pregnancy of an unwed teenage girl. 

Crucifixes are worn to remind us of the inevitable resurrection of poetry.