C. Gnostic Jesus Blanket

Gnostic Jesus Blanket

The poem they would have burned. The painting they would have called heresy. The blanket that holds both.

Van Gogh's swirling cosmos as the backdrop — the starry night energy, the sky in motion, the universe painted by someone who felt the frequency before anyone had a word for it. Jesus gazing upward into it, hand on heart, the posture of someone in direct communion with the source — no intermediary, no institution, no priest between the man and the divine. A.R.A. burning in the stars above him like a fixed point in the turning sky.

And over it all — the poem. The one that does what the brand does — says the unsayable in the language of someone who has read everything and decided to write their own text.

Maybe that's a bit Gnostic but it's a Christian doctrine. The opening line that disarms the entire argument before it starts. The Gnostics didn't reject Jesus — they rejected the Roman machine that repackaged him. The direct knowing, the personal gnosis, the kingdom within — that was always the doctrine before the institution arrived and installed the priest between you and the source.

Jesus is in the heart and when I pray, I gaze ta'da stars and remember these scars. The personal cosmology. The prayer that goes outward to the universe and inward to the wound simultaneously. No building required.

Actions will be my fees, ain't need no damned priest. Nor receipts for proof of deeds. The reformation that Luther tried to write in Latin on a church door — written here in spoken word over a Van Gogh sky. No indulgences. No confession booth. No receipt. The only proof of faith is what you do with your hands.

Guess it's a Roman Fair eYe C. Scribes of Author-ity. The eye hiding in Pharisee. The authors of authority. The ones who wrote the version that served the empire and called it gospel.

The horse is dead, shh. The blind are deaf. Who understands parables a'hopeless romance.

The horse has been dead for two thousand years and they're still selling rides. The blind are deaf to the Gnostic reading, to the esoteric layer, to the poem inside the doctrine — and the parables, the original transmission, have become a hopeless romance between the teaching and the people it was meant to reach before the institution got between them.

Wrap yourself in the poem. Sleep under the stars. The priest was never required.

A.R.A. — Artistic Revolt Apparel

The kingdom was always within. The building was always optional.

.: Made with 100% polyester that's 1/8'' (3mm) thick for extra warmth and a feel that is supremely soft to the touch
.: All fleeces come with a one-sided print and a velvety, plush backside for extra coziness
.: Please note: This is a pre-constructed item. A size variance of +/- 3" is possible