Easter Island (or Why the Long Face?)

Easter.  That’s what it was.

Easter was supposed to happen somewhere in there.

The Patti Smith album?

No, the holiday.  But not just the holiday.  The Resurrection.  What the holiday means.  (Ways and means?)

It did happen, of course.  It “went by,” and as is sometimes the case given the extended family thing, we observed it not in a “church” (meetinghouse) but in a home where the levels of belief varied overtly (rather than covertly, as they tend to do in “church”).

Was that Resurrection (I’m capitalizing it.  Capitalizing ON it?) supposed to “resolve” something having to do with the shard?  Or with other tensions in this selfsystem?  “Resolve” names a stain remover, doesn’t it?  If so, there’s clearly still a stain.  Scar, stain, residual twinges when I move in a certain way.

Resolving.  Resolution.  Being Resolute.

Sheesh, is it that obvious?  Is it we (I) who must resolve, even when that resolution is somehow tied to another broken, bleeding body, the body of one whom we proclaim to be “risen”?

Risen.  Derision.  Have I recently been hiding, away from the confessional of this blog, deriding the risen and nursing the wound.  Nursing at our own (my own, if I’m Bruce, which is not clear today) breast.  Of course “breast” would come up, if there’s nursing.  And of course a fixation like that will always keep coming up.  It will arise repeatedly.

Which brings to mind cleavage, of course.  And this is all about cleavages.

Cleavages in the soul where my shortfalls permanently hide.  Tensions that won’t go away until we (I) do, because they ARE us/me.

And all of this under shadow of deaths.  Deaths once removed from my self, through other selfsystems whom I love.  Those deaths seep or leak through the cleavages, through the interstices, somehow becoming my death, or prefiguring it, or something like that.

Ah, I think I’m getting something here…

Can the Resurrection (the Rising) similarly seep or leak into us?  Into ME?  Into I?

A statement that feels right/true:  Only the Resurrected body will lack the shard.

Another statement that feels equally right/true:  The shard is a part of who I am.

Cleavage.

Titillating.

I haven’t been keeping this blog abreast.  But happy Easter to us and to you, though rather late.

.

Replies are NOT necessarily posted, but I'll see them.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s