RASTA JESUS
It had been a quiet COVID working from home sort of morning when the mail crashed through my letterbox like waves breaking on a beach. Mesmerised by my computer screen I had been woken from a seemingly hypnotic trance, relieved only by the chance of a change of scene.
What had caught my eye most of all about ‘the’ letter was that it was postmarked 4th March 2020 exactly a year to the day before its arrival. Its battered state providing enough evidence for a conviction in any decent Court of law. I remember sitting down in my spacious dining room looking out across the fields which surrounded my house. My life on the surface looked like a rural idyllic existence yet it hid like a plaster a frustrated lonely carbuncle of a life. My grandfather clock stealing away the hours left of my three score years and ten.
The letter was post marked New York. New York, the city of dreams, hopes, capturing my imagination like a film score over a catacomb of poverty. A glamourous actress walking in dirty shoes.
It was then that my mobile buzzed. I abandoned the letter, frantically in search of my twenty first century opium. ‘My mobile’ was hidden somewhere amongst a pile of papers on Ethiopian history that I had been researching recently. The text message was stark and to the point. “Clive I am the King of Kings the Conquering Lion of the tribe of Judah”. It had sounded freaky yet deep within ones spirt I felt a peace after so many years of searching. Searching yes, for something which I could never quite fathom. For I knew I was here for a special purpose, a calling yet in my early 50s I had begun to believe that my life was passing away without meaning.
I had texted back waiting for a reply but there was none. Instead I returned to the letter before me. Its ramblings revealed a revelation from a guy in trouble. It revealed that I was to be the next oracle the one chosen to lead this change in history. I remember laughing out loud. I was a 52-year-old Civil Servant exiled to rural Lincolnshire, probably the most obscure county in the United Kingdom! I was a conservative Monarchist working for the Military in RAF Lincolnshire as they called it. A beautiful county steeped in history but small in population & significance.
My phone had buzzed again. This time pointing me to the story that a guy called David had sent to a magazine in New York. I Googled its strange title ‘Empire of the White Rastas’ by Clive Uckfield. Cuckfield, the village where I had been born in Sussex and where my grandparents lived at what used to be called ‘Belle Vue House’. I realised that he had obviously taken the C and added a name in order to create a pseudonym for me! But how could he have known! Feeling in a state of shock I remember it took me some time to comprehend what was really happening. It was then that my wife appeared.
I must have looked guilty as she began to question me intensely. This time I managed to fob her off. My work was sometimes of a secretive nature and took me abroad frequently, so I pinned the blame on this. I could see she was not convinced but for now the secret was secure.
Googling the story was to be the first piece of the jigsaw that lay ahead of me. My many questions began to be answered as I had started to push open each door.
According to David the author of the letter & ‘Empire of the White Rastas’ story, (although you will come to see this as the first chapter in this mystic Trilogy) he had been receiving text messages from the former Emperor of Ethiopia His Imperial Majesty ‘Haile Selassie’ the Messiah of the Rastafarian movement. These messages had led him to discovering a piece of history, a fragment of the Cross of Jesus. This precious relic hidden now in Central Park New York would prove to be the key to the opening of this mystery & perhaps history itself.
During my initial confusion & doubt I must admit that like Jonah of the Bible, I tried to hide from this calling. Throwing everything I had into my work & home life to avoid having to deal with it. I even sought help from a psychiatrist as mental illness had been present in my extended family & I even sought this as an excuse. In fact, I had been drowning in doubt.
Then to my surprise while casually using You-tube some weeks later I was contacted by an African Rastafarian Actor/Writer living in the north of England. He loved the story and instantly felt a connection to me. After numerous chats on the phone & without any mention of money he set about creating a feature length film script for me. For we agreed that this media was the perfect way to share the message with the World. Almost in parallel with St Paul transforming a small Jewish Sect into the new World faith ‘Christianity’ we set about an achieving a seemingly impossible task.
Frantically, I set about promoting both the story and film idea through social media. Contacting hundreds or organisations and posting comments on You-tube videos but with moderate success.
The opposition came swiftly as David said it would. After all some had even laid down their lives already and my increased use of social media annihilated any privacy previously enjoyed. The original magazine had been maliciously taken off- line once Empire was published, and similarly numerous attempts were made to silence me.
My conversations with my script writer became long and intense and promises were made but like a magician he disappeared without explanation. Only later did I discover that the mysterious hacker had already discovered him. Someone or some organisation was trying to eliminate us from history. Just like the Ethiopian communists had tried to eradicate the memory of HIM Haile Selassie. Only the Rastafarians (Who take their name from ‘Ras’ (Duke) Tafari the birth name of Haile S elassie) had been able to keep his memory alive. The Royal family being dispersed across the globe with little financial provision.
By now I had begun to despair with the situation. Only to be guided by HIM to LinkedIn. It proved to be a revelation. Within weeks I found myself connecting with those who could help me in both film and Ethiopian émigré communities. The diversity of people who responded was incredible, but His Majesties guidance was to focus my support towards the most marginalised group in society ‘Black women’ & especially ‘Black single mothers’. Many from all walks of life, classes of society, religions, politics seemed to be brought together by my posts and encouragement. Using my pseudonym Clive Uckfield or ‘Papa Clive’ as I would soon become to be known.
Despite having no previous knowledge of LinkedIn, I had quickly learnt its intricacies networking with a host of film makers and organisations across the globe. Some relationships proved to be time wasting sucking me like an orange, yet others unlocked a labyrinth of communications.
In my naivety I had imaged a treasure of support from the Reggae community. In the stark reality in the light of day my mentoring in fact crept out of the old émigré community of Ethiopia. With more than a few relations from the Imperial days this pushed my goals closer to a conclusion. Discussions were made and contracts drawn up to hand over my rights in return for a credit for myself and ‘Aaduna’ Literary Magazine. It had been my time to decrease and His Majesties time to increase.
Produced on a low budget in Africa with a famous Ethiopian director /lead actress with just a few scenes in New York. It was hard to trust this child with others, but my role now was largely immaterial. Banned in Ethiopia (although flooded with pirate DVDs) The film opened in Kingston Jamaica where I was able to finally declare that the story & messages were true. New York was slow to follow suite but a showing on late night television soon drew a following amongst the student fraternity.
To be honest the pressure was full on and it slowly began to affect my work & mental state of health. The responses to the film were overwhelming and after all I was just a lone outfit. But as work signed me off as long term sick due to stress, I became more creative in gathering a support network of volunteers.
Strangely it was only then that the ‘messages’ returned pointing me to New York. Registering myself as a formal charity/mansion within ‘Rastafarianism’ the ‘Empire Rastas’ was born.
Flying into the big city I had lacked the funds at ‘David’s’ disposal to stay in any up- town hotel. Instead, I slept on the settees of student supporters in the poorest ‘black’ areas of the city who treated me as an object of fascination & reverence. Just like the Emperor had been treated on previous trips to Harlem. It was my way of showing solidarity with those who had been oppressed for so long.
In gratitude to his fatherly support and encouragement, I also paid a surprise visit to the editor at aaduna who invited me to preview the film at their winter event. We laughed about my ‘rough diamond’ of a story as he had called it, and he and Lisa Berryman’s warm welcome into the ‘aaduna’ family.
Cocooned in this blanket I barely noticed the car following me. With its shaded windows it appeared at times out of the corner of my eye. Always there, always menacing.
On the night of the ‘aaduna’ event I had clambered to escape from a barrage of journalists looking rather theatrical in my HIM Haile Selassie 1930s outfit. Bill Berry my editor pushed on ahead of me to clear the way when a photographer in sunglasses leaped forward with a gun. Unconcerned for his own safety Bill pushed me to the floor taking a bullet to his shoulder in the process.
Obviously, this turned what had been a low-key Auburn event into a sensation. As social media took up the batten. In the aftermath of which crowds began to gather in Central park. My student friends gained a licence and tapered candles were handed out for a Meskel bonfire was to finally take place.
Although on the night we were not aware of where the glass box holding a tiny piece of the ‘true cross’ had been buried by Liya in the ‘Empire of the White Rastas’ story but with more media than followers present it was worth taking a chance.
For an unknown reason we decided to use some ‘Taizé community’ chants to begin the event as a mysterious Priest had brought some boxes of them. Overseen by the curious eyes of the New York Fire Service we lit the Meskel bonfire (smaller version than normally used) Ethiopian carpet borrowed from a local Orthodox Church was laid out and I was able to communicate to the crowd via a loud speaker system lent to me by some Rastas.
It had been an awesome sight looking across the vast expanse of the park with what seemed like hundreds of fairly lights glittering in the darkness. Yet at the same time I had felt nervous, for although Bill was recovering in a hospital bed my attempted assassin had managed to escape the crowd. Was he or she here tonight? The site of a dozen or so Policemen & women did not comfort me. The night dragged on with some Rastafarian music and chanting being heard in the background.
Falling on my knees I then had called for a ten- minute silence. A silence that was painful to the ears then engulfed the meeting. Faces gasped in bewilderment at what would happen next and the flames of the meskel jumped high. He then revealed himself to me, his face so loving and father like that it transfigured my own. Through a combination of tears and I shared the message audibly with the audience through the mike I was holding.
“We have chosen you to be my Oracle for this generation, for you must reveal me to those who will believe. Yes, I will appear myself soon but in the form of my Son. But first you must enter the Omega age. Learning slowly like babies taking milk as ones not yet ready for solid food. For no one has seen God face to face and lived. I have had many names down the ages many of which you will recognise across this little earth. In this form yes, I was the Emperor Haile Selassie but in this later age I will come with my Son for we are one. He whose name is ‘Rasta Jesus’ will become precious to you. My own hidden name is ‘Melchizedek’ King of Salem and priest of the most- high God who is without beginning or end. I first appealed to Abram in Genesis 14:18-20 but to others I am know as Buddha, Muhammed, Zoroaster, Guru Nanak and many others. In this Omega age you will see many colours and creeds coming together. I have not come to found another religion, but to call you into a Rasta community where all will work together as one for the benefit of the planet. And the female race who have been like slaves will soon become the head and not the tail. They will take up their rightful place as the mothers leading the community & enjoying ‘polyandry’ taking many husbands to enhance their lives. And when the Meskel the celebration is held over the exact place of the true Cross we will return to rule the World”
After this as you can image the crowds became ecstatic and soon the Police had to be brought in to calm them. But even before the media could get to me, I was escorted into a police van and extradited back to the UK. Banned by malicious forces from entering the USA again.
My return home proved to be a tough time both at work and with my relationships which largely floundered. I found myself being signed off on long term sick with stress and finally medically retired. A good pension and the sale of half of my property and another enabled me to relocate to Jamaica. Here I was welcomed as a missionary and now own a large property for our HQ in the hills near pinnacle the former Rastafarian settlement. Our first marriage has just taken place between a female follower and 3 husbands and countless ‘disciples’ are now coming in.
In fact, I had started to feel settled when a buzz from my mobile came. Flicking the message, I found myself being able to read just one word and that was ‘Ethiopia’.
About the Author
Clive Uckfield is married with two wonderful sons. He has travelled to many places around the world and lived all over the UK. While working out of the RAF College at Cranwell Lincolnshire, Clive enjoys bringing happiness to others through his stories, poems and photography. His photographic work has appeared in Country Life magazine and can be seen in the Café of an International Air Museum. His previous story ‘Empire of the White Rastas’ published in aaduna 2020 with its beautiful Ethiopian female hero and universal message of hope is being adapted into a full-length feature film, with its script written by a famous African Rastafarian writer. “Rasta Jesus” is the second part of his ‘Rasta Empire Trilogy’ which he hopes to publish as a book. He is extremely grateful to be part of the aaduna family and expresses thanks for their support and has included the staff in his latest story!