I tailed at some distance, for that seemed most prudent at the time; as the motley mob of confused and disorientated apostles entered yet another garden. This was the same place I'd left earlier! I realized, as I noted they were heading toward the cave I'd visited only an hour or so prior. Maybe I should have just stayed here? I chuckled as I simply followed everyone else into the shadowy opening, making as if I was just patrolling the area to ensure the peace.

It was rather dark and many clusters of people huddled for shelter from the cold. There were men, women, children and animals all hiding in this cavern. I realized as I casually strolled past them. No one seemed to pay much mind to me, so I figured they did not think my presence unusual. When I encountered another two soldiers headed the other direction; I recognized that patrolling such spaces was not uncommon. They hailed me as they passed and I saluted in return.

Lit torches and lanterns scattered the various locations; with barely enough light to actually see the goings on. Some stray folk had scampered in, hoping to escape the cold and I noted their getting comfortable, while my eyes searched for a certain group in particular; whom I had seemed to lose in the crowd coming in. More and more people filtered through, but it was difficult to determine at times, who they were or where they were going? In the middle of this grand dug out space, stood an olive press. A stout flat surface rose out of the floor, with a large tree limb protruding through a huge millstone. Several other wooden planks and rope rigging established the remainder of this apparatus, which obstructed my view of the rest of the cavern.

I scouted passed the press and into the many caves that housed vast amounts of clay pots, vats, utensils and the suchlike; all assembled for the purifying and bottling of oil. The further interior was also dimly lit and as I continued to walk deeper and deeper into it's recesses; I noticed that the crowds grew thinner and thinner. I finally came to a place where there was only a small spattering of folks lounging around, when I recognize a few of them.

Sitting there was Luke and Matthew, along with a few others; (who'd managed yet to stay awake) all waiting together. I looked around briefly to see if I could find Jesus, John or Peter, but none of them were anywhere in sight. I decided to go 'disappear' some place, before anyone began to fret about my presence. I followed the narrow contours of the cave until I came to the very end, or at least the end that had no more lanterns. There I hopped behind a rock and sat down to rest.

I peered beyond this rock between two other tree limbs when I noticed the crew I'd been waiting on come in. How did I get here before they? I wondered as I watched several of my.... tags; immediately flop down, taking up residency against branches, limbs and a few boulders; as well as each other. I could hear voices engaged in worrisome conversation as I watched a few of the more frazzled folks trying to calm one another. Several more disciples were with them; when I suddenly figured out how I'd arrived hence the rest. They had obviously stopped to talk when they'd encountered the others.

It wasn't hard to spot who was who; even though they were still quite some distance and the light wasn't terrific. John stood quietly and listened attentively while Peter and James glared at each other with expressions of profound helplessness. Jesus on the other hand, was quickly deteriorating and I watched in shock as He plummeted into a full-blown panic attack.

Is that really the son of God Almighty? I seriously started to question as the other two tried to comfort Him. Jesus seemed so calm just twenty minutes prior, when I watched them all leaving the other garden! What all of a sudden happen to Him? I wondered and watched as He took a deep breath. It seemed as He was trying to compose Himself, as the others sat down with the indication that they would indeed wait for Him. Jesus paused a moment before He turned around and came walking toward me.

I began to panic for fear I was in the wrong place and about to be noticed; when Jesus suddenly collapsed on the ground. I winced as He hit the stone floor like a crushed olive branch. Suddenly this place made sense! A Gethsemane; an olive press! There's at least a few of them around the city. I'd noticed, when I was watching from my perch up in the rocks the first night upon my arrival. How odd this all was. Everything made sense, yet none of it seemed to fit; or at least fit how we in the 20th Century perceived it should.

It suddenly got extremely loud. I quickly froze and listened as I could first pick out the the winds howling wildly outside and eventually; I tuned into what I finally figured out was Jesus's breathing. I crept past part of the rock and peered around another tree limb, when I noticed He was laying prone, arms and legs spread eagle like a dead man stopped in his tracks.

This strange and eerie whine filled the air; only to be suddenly and periodically broken by a wail, before I realized it was coming from Jesus. I rarely heard a human being make such a noise. I crouched lower, pulling my arms up over my ears. In all irony, I thought to myself; He sounds like a wounded animal.

I picked up my head when I noticed the sobbing had subsided. Jesus was crawling around on His hands and knees in what looked like a drunken stupor, before He bumped into a stump. He pulled Himself up; holding onto a beam as He staggered back toward John and Peter. He paused for a moment and mumbled something before He came staggering back and fell on the ground again.

He was laying on one side, before rolling over and pulling His legs up under His body as the sobs began to escape. He stayed curled up in the fetal position for several minutes before the wails started again. I put my head on the ground and just waited. This is a rather sickening thing to witness. I cowered, as I came to question that maybe I should have just stayed at the house.

I never dreamed it would be like this? I mumbled as I thought of all the artists' paintings we'd inherited through out the ages. Those beautiful depictions of Jesus sitting serenely in the 'Garden of Gethsemane' with His hands folded, gazing at Heaven looking sort of.... Woodstock stoned! What an awful contrast the brutal truth is! I thought to myself as I realized that here is case in point where art does not imitate life, nor does life imitate art for that matter; but I guess that's the way it usually goes.

I recon I can sort of understand though? I confessed as I considered how there really is no way a drawing, painting, or even a photograph (not that I would want to take a picture of this) could capture the true magnitude of what is going on. Even on the printed pages of a Bible; how do you capture the wrath of God? I concluded as I quietly hid behind my rock; peering out, only when I could muster enough courage to look at what was happening.

The refugees in Iraq and all the desecration the war had brought suddenly came to mind; the numb little children, screaming women and terrified men. That's what Jesus reminded me of as I watched Him trying to control the shakes. He looked like an Iraqi EPW with a bad case of shell shock. I found myself wiping away the tears when something suddenly clicked in me. This.... was not a movie; but real life! Why? I found myself pleading as I started to wonder if maybe the disciples had the right idea. After all, it's much easier to go to sleep then deal with this! I realized as I closed my eyes and tried to drown Him out.

I awoke to a swooping rush of wind and a blinding light! I scrambled to get behind my rock, crawling as far under as I could; praying I'd wake up from this nightmare. I could see the piercing light bleeding in from around the perimeter of this boulder and all I could think of was a headstone; as I wondered if I'd make it out of this alive? What is going on? I cried in terror for I could no longer hear Jesus's sobs; only screaming and what sounded like shrieks from... hell? Then suddenly - it was gone!

The silence was deafening, as I crawled out from under the rock in a semi-surreal daze. Is this a dream or what? I kept asking myself as I pulled my trembling body around the boulder I been hiding under. The ground felt oddly warm to me; like I was crawling across the cooling lava flow. Must be my imagination? I told myself, while I crept up to a figure I only half recognized laying on the ground.

Jesus was now silent and though His eyes were open and I could see Him breathing; He looked like He was dead! What happened to You? I wondered as I dared to get close enough to check if what I was seeing really were signs of life? I put my hand on His face and although His skin glistened white from shock, He was hot and wet like He'd just come out of a steam bath. He'd almost totally soaked through His clothing. I noticed, as I started to wonder if this was all sweat, or had He actually urinated on Himself? He gave no indication that He even noticed I was there.

He just laid perfectly still; breathing very slowly and only blinking on occasion. The eeriness of the whole thing was getting more and more unsettling for me, so I headed back to the rock. What an ironic symbolism? Hiding in a rock. I thought to myself as I stopped between the two tree limbs, turned around and sat down.

It must've been at least a good 10 minutes, for I could tell my legs had fallen asleep; (just like everything else around here) when Jesus finally moved. He picked up His head and slowly got up. No more snuffles, no more tears, no crying; He made not a single noise - nothing! He only stood staring at the pitch blackness before He turned around and walked away. Whatever it was - it was now over and I couldn't say Jesus seemed more ready for the cross; for I could deduce there was a part of Him that had already been crucified!

Time seemed to stand still, as I could hear His voice talking to Peter, James and John; although they were still not quite awake. The commotion of a moving mass of humanity through the cavern told me Judas and his roomies must be here. I got up on one knee behind a tree limb and watched, as Jesus quietly stood waiting while the rest of the disciples began to awaken.

With a cheery "Hail"; Judas walked right up to Jesus and in a flagrant display of shrouded hatred that almost seemed vulgar; he kissed Him. I turned around and sat down as a deep sense of revulsion filled my soul. There was something shocking and all too familiar about this 'kiss of death'; yet I couldn't identify what exactly that was. Even though I knew this wasn't culturally out of context (for I'd seen a few Arab men kiss each other back during the war) there was just something about it that seemed oddly pornographic to me.

I tried not to think too hard about it, when a pained howl suddenly rang through the air and I jumped. I looked up a minute as the High Priest's slave stomped around in a circle holding the side of his head. I really have become callous to violence and suffering. I realized as I sunk back down by the rock and let out one long sigh.

I sat alone with my own thoughts and a silence, only I seemed to notice; since the voices and commotion behind me grew faint. A part of me really wanted to do something, but I felt paralyzed by a force I couldn't identify. Oh yes I could move; (for I squirmed around incessantly) I just couldn't get up. It felt like I had boulders chained to my limbs and the more effort I attempted to muster, the heavier they got. I finally gave up and lay down. Not knowing what else to do; I just waited, as I could feel the burning in my eyes once more and the wet lines that ran down my face.

Not really sure how much time had past? I finally got up and started walking around. I was working some feeling back into my legs and even though I tried not to think about it; Judas and his kiss kept coming back to me. I started to wonder why that bothered me so much; since I knew it was coming.

I sat and pondered this a while, when I felt an emotion I'd rarely felt creeping up on me - I was angry! It didn't seem fair. I tried to calmly explain to myself as I rehearsed all the things that had happened thus far, as well as all the things that were still to come.

What a crude use for affection; when it's not even affection, because affection means you actually care about that person and not just to satisfy your own lusts. My thoughts began to ramble. Don't take something that is supposed to be good and make it all dirty. A phrase from a Pat Benatar song suddenly popped into my head - stop using sex as a weapon; because - hell is for children.

I froze a moment; wiped my face and looked around, as I flirted with the possible reasons that just suddenly came to mind? I've often wondered how all this could be connected? I sighed as I slowly made my way back toward the olive press. I guess being violated in such a personal way wreaks havoc on your spirituality; and suddenly.... I knew Jesus understood that!

I stopped for a moment, frozen in my own terror as I looked down at the sword and dagger hanging from my belt. God help us. The timid prayer lay wordless, somewhere back in the recesses of my mind.

I took a few steps out of the cave and started straightening my self, to finally walk out of this place. It was time to go back to the house and even though (in the back of my head) I was always wondering what was happening to Jesus; I knew I didn't have the energy to go find out. I felt very depressed and extremely helpless. I realized, as I stepped out into the night. Even with all the implements of war; both ancient and modern (I grimaced in pain as I re-tied the sword back onto the belt); I feel so powerless.

I walked back toward the house at a slow and steady, yet stern pace. I was still a soldier; until I got back home, polish my battle gear and put my civvies on. What a welcome thing that will be. I thought as I kept on target, house in mind and maybe even some sleep? It was a long, arduous journey and I soon realized in the fog of war; I had gotten lost on the field of battle.

I did my best not to panic, as I tried to get my bearings and figure out where I was. I turned around to looked behind me, to try and get my orientation from wherever the city wall was; when I heard a familiar voice.

"Kat-reen?" It called. "Kat-reen!"

I know that voice. I realized as I swung around and saw a soldier running toward me. It was Horatio.

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