The day of Easter

God of the glowing and the knowing and the growing, break forth within me as I breast this day.  Break forth from all the stony wastelands, the dead dreams, the ancient aches, for this is the day of Easter and the breaking of the grave.  This is the day of your body burning anew in the quick pulse of life that is now synchronised with eternity, a beat that is burnt into the rhythm of the world, into tortured hopes and wasted years, into my heart and all filled with yearning.  This is the day when the wave crests quietly, ready to roll and flood and fill and burst dangerously, wiping out the old with its deluge of delight, with the surging and excitement of a force that cannot be tamed or held hostage but that breaks forth in the power of life.

We get it all wrong, think that the strength of stone and the force of punishments, threat and revenge are the victors, the necessary armouring to protect our fragile beings.  But near the path there is a tiny shoot emerging, green leaves I could crush in my hand that have eased their way through stone.  And that other stone that was rolled away in another garden wasn’t the triumph of punishment and fear but their breaking, the energy of love, the example and offering of a new beginning.