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Primitive religion is not believed, it is danced!

Arthur Darby Nock

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Elizabeth Browning



Saturday, March 31, 2018

Saturday


Riotous summer is long gone
brilliant yellows and red
bright greens
faded
into the muted tones of fall
and then
deeper still into the grey and brown
of winter

a death

spring lies in a tomb
of frozen earth underneath the trees
reluctantly thawing and softening
giving hope that it will yield
and life will again emerge
from dark
dirt

and so we wait
and wait
for the tomb to crack open
and a gentle green
piece of life
to push its way into the cool clean air

Holy Saturday
the vitality of one
fully sacred
fully human
is gone
brutally killed for being love and reconciliation
in a world of hate a violence

gone is the man
entombed in stony darkness
and yet
hearts are reluctantly thawing and softening
hoping

that the tomb will crack open
and love and life
will flow again
into waiting hearts

and so this day
we wait
we wait


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