Today it happened.

My heart could heal the place

where the spear had run it through

at the foot of the cross.

Too young to understand that awful day,

the larger truth at work,

driven mad with grief

when the light of the world

could so easily be extinguished.

I ran myself on a soldier’s neglected spear.

“You’re going to give me this love,

this joy, and then take it away?

I don’t think so.  I’m going with you.”

And forever since I’d relived the trauma,

always a doomed love affair, deep passion

with the same king who never once left his kindgom

to choose me instead, and so again

the execution and eternal curse–

(I’ll take beheading any day!)

It seemed bigger than me, this pain.

That nothing I ever did

would matter in a world turned so wrong.

I was feeble to approach it,

but willing to be weak and brave, all I could do,

until croaking like a frog fallen ill

at last the painful place could fill.

As long as I beseeched help from outside

all was mute,

and when I looked within,

it was my own beautiful yoni

that filled my heart up.

And then I was lifted high.

My own resurrection,

the one I missed before,

that life could be not only crucifixion

but truly this pure essence of soft and gentle wonder.

An endless fluffy, mildly translucent light,

sea foam Lumerian green,

unfolding from my chest to infinity,

to rest me in it lightly now forever.


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