Realising Easter
There is something in this nothing, this sorrowful gasp, this fast of disbelief. For the wave of excitement never expects the desert or death. Loss amnesia extracted memories of hope, hopeless insomnia gouged through rest with nihilist emptiness, yet purpose is enduring and truth is still breathing, despite every miss-belief and projections of human limitations. The truth of the pain is this; there is more than a consolation in this death. There were whispers of victory in the wind; but the noise of mourning drowned out its tender premonitions. There is something in this nothing, something more than consolation in this loss, this sorrowful gasp. How is one supposed to breath in this space between death and life? this Sheol on earth? this furrowed brow of question-mark day between redemption and vindication? How is one supposed to breath, eat or sleep in this vacuous void? What emptiness there was without expect...