REVELATION-final1

DAY 8(Saturday, 26 April 2014)FIRST PRAYER ON THE DAY OF DAYSI had hoped this day would never come since I dislike public display and detest being the centerof attention. But Pope Francis and his cardinals are in hiding and I need to force them out ofhiding.As expected, I am a little nervous – or more accurately shy – as I walk towards St. Peter’s Squarein my hand-woven, white cotton, Gandhian garb. At the same time, the kurta gives me a feelingof otherworldliness, purity and untouchability. The moment I stepped out into the street on thisbright, sunny, spring day, dressed like this, I felt different, special, like an enhanced version ofme, Kevin plus something esoteric, maybe even divine. In this cloth I am a religious figurewithout a religion or, more accurately, a spiritual figure bringing to life a new spirituality with anew morality that is yet to be named. I feel it is preordained, but I keep my thoughts and feelingsto myself.Nick walks by my side pretending, like me, to be just another day and just another walk. But weboth know otherwise. This is not just another day. This is the day. This day will one day berecognized for what it is, a historic day, a day of days, regardless whether the Vatican or themedia acknowledge it or not. On this day, a New Axial Age is born.By the water fountain, sprouting from the Vatican wall, we stop, as we have planned, and I takeoff my shoes, place them in Nick’s backpack and let him get a head start so he can set up thecamera and film my arrival. This is a routine that we establish on this first day since I willalways walk onto the hollowed grounds of St. Peter’s Square barefoot, as a sign of humility andto emphasize the holiness of my mission, which is to save humanity from self-destruction.Never has there been a greater mission.The black pavement stones are warm from the sun and feel almost soft. In front of me is themassive colonnade, four columns deep, hewn out of travertine, a cream-colored limestone ofindescribable beauty. Beggars ply their ancient trade among the throngs of tourists and faithful,as I climb the stairs up to the colonnade and then down onto the square proper. My heart beatslike a hammer on an anvil but there is no going back. I am here to make history and history Iwill make.I walk with firm steps and trembling knees with my gaze on the ground as in a trance towards themarble marker of the West Wind, which is part of the dial that surrounds the giant Obelisk at thecenter of the square. I place my feet on each side of the carved face with my back to the Obeliskand my face to the Basilica, close my eyes, clasp my hands, take a deep breath and go into theLovelight, where I am home.41