An important day to millions and millions:--in order of historical precedent: the last day of flinty March (the god of war), the advent of April, the month of Venus; a long, degrading enslavement, then exodus, then arrival; a horrible death then resurrection.
The Pagan. The Jewish. The Christian. What they've left us is a window into their needs and hopes. Harsh, stubborn masculinity changing to the showers of feminine fertility, the reception of the earth, harvests ahead. The persecuted finding their way across the desert, each step guarded by their god, who parts the water for them, so they can find their true, destined home. And the other kind of persecution, the terror of death, of becoming nothing, transformed to a a promise of deliverance after life.
I stand apart from these traditions, thinking I understand their purpose, their deep passions. Doesn't one enact this evolution--for isn't each a theory of evolution?--in one's own life? Isn't the point of being here to find out what it means to be here? Isn't the point to enact one's own version of these transforming myths in the here-and-now of one's own life?
These great rites bound and bind millions, summoning them en masse to a consecrated act of identification and unity. But for those who stand apart from them, the daily work, from light to night, is none other than this work of self finding its purpose through the work of its mind, hands, imagination, and heart.
The Pagan. The Jewish. The Christian. What they've left us is a window into their needs and hopes. Harsh, stubborn masculinity changing to the showers of feminine fertility, the reception of the earth, harvests ahead. The persecuted finding their way across the desert, each step guarded by their god, who parts the water for them, so they can find their true, destined home. And the other kind of persecution, the terror of death, of becoming nothing, transformed to a a promise of deliverance after life.
I stand apart from these traditions, thinking I understand their purpose, their deep passions. Doesn't one enact this evolution--for isn't each a theory of evolution?--in one's own life? Isn't the point of being here to find out what it means to be here? Isn't the point to enact one's own version of these transforming myths in the here-and-now of one's own life?
These great rites bound and bind millions, summoning them en masse to a consecrated act of identification and unity. But for those who stand apart from them, the daily work, from light to night, is none other than this work of self finding its purpose through the work of its mind, hands, imagination, and heart.
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