I write this the evening before Good Friday, taking some time to look out at the evening rolling in over the farm. Cheryl is way down in a back pasture with the dogs, all three looking about, exploring the unfolding of spring; a bit late this year, I imagine; but then I always guarantee folks that in this region there will always be buds on the trees by April 25th. I picked that date to allow winter its most ostentatious display of how long it might last should it not want to leave.
In my youth, Good Friday help a most solemn, dark, yet auspicious
occasion; the touch of an oxymoron there I avow. For a child, the statues and crucifix
draped in purple, I was deeply lost and sad that someone great had died. I
scarce understood the meaning of it all, and it would be a long time before I
could glean an assemblance of such.
It only matters to me what I believe, and I won’t bore you with my journey with the spiritual.
I would, however, like to share one notion: the idea of custom, ritual, and celebration. Yes, the libraries are full of books exploring our cultures and our customs. Many such pilgrimages into our soul tend to look for a special meaning, hoping that such exploration will find one idea more enduring than any other.
My notion is that the idea of custom, ritual, and
celebration is enough in itself. What we do to embrace those traits make it soulful,
make it important, make it lasting. There is no need for it to be more than
Yes, I get it; when such rituals hurt others, then yes, they need to be expunged, or at the very least altered to inflict only goodness and acceptance on all our world’s creatures.
Happy Good Friday, everyone. Go into the darkness today,
look for the light you might be seeking; let Saturday be your day where you
might not even find yourself if you went looking (that being the message I give
credit to Thomas Moore – Care of the Soul – and a myriad of other brilliant
works): Mr. Moore expressed the idea that Christ in not mentioned on Saturday,
and it might be good to ponder what Christ did on that day, and, so ponder what
we might do to prepare for the light); and this Easter Sunday, find the light
that you might need, the light that is in all of us, dare we take the time to
look and cultivate.
The strongest, darkest, winter must soon enough give way to the light of spring.
Oops, gotta go, Cheryl and the dogs are back: time for a whiskey.