Today is Easter. We may know the tragic story of Jesus (Yeshua) on the cross, the betrayal of Judas, the anguish of the Mother – we may have been taught that he died for our “sins”. This is the externalized view of Easter.

Then there’s the story that Christianity appropriated the pagan worship of the new life of spring, that fertility was sanitized into a spiritual rebirth. Because, fertility means sex, and you can’t have any of that – or, if you do, at least don’t admit you enjoy it. Let it be whitewashed into bunnies and baby chicks, both sweet representations of “fruitfulness”.

There’s a different path into this story.

You are Yeshua. You are the human who doubts and loves and wonders if it’s all worth it. Who wonders if there’s a way to escape your destiny, or escape your past. Everything you have done, with all your best intentions, with whatever tools you had at your disposal at the time, all of it has led you here.
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I didn’t go into Lent with high spiritual ideals. It was a mindfulness exercise. But, perhaps unrelated, I’m more in touch with some mysterious thread, or, more appropriately, a thread of mystery. Was it uncovered because I’m more rested from consuming less caffeine and getting more sleep? Perhaps. It may be a combination of that and being hit by the hardest virus I’ve contracted in many years. Fever is harder on me than I remember it being in my youth. Being brought to my knees seems a particularly Lenten activity. The part of me that knows there are no accidents tunes into this.

I’m simplifying somewhat. This thread has actually been growing and strengthening for many years. It’s the core of my work. The core of my life. But, there’s a confidence in what is known that has reached a new threshold.

What is known is:

A wild woman herbalist in me who likes to sniff and boil and steep and sip.

A shaman dropping into liminal space and moving toxins out of this body system. I’ve seen Lyme literally dropping out of my body. A spirit teacher ripping a length of DNA that had developed from ancestral trauma and habit, and knit my building blocks back together without them.
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