Phillyosophicalizing Easter

Main-stream Society has done far more irrectifiable damage to individualism than any distraught bullies have ever hoped to inflict upon society labeled Plain Janes or Computer Geeks. One need not be of Christian faith to enjoy the spirit of Easter nor does one need to be so of Christian faith as not to be able to participate in the frills of Easter. For there is such a thing called a medium – a middle ground; a point of view midway between extremes. Truly here is where individualism thrives. But how many dare to walk such a thin line? Come, stray for a moment if you will and walk with me away from the main-stream. For surely if it is true that life imitates art and art imitates life than what of this book called the Bible so many protest, perhaps merely literature, symbolism at its best. Gethsemane? Surely Surprisedbyjoy writes "all of us will experience Gethsemane in our lifetime. They are moments of great distress, fear and anguish. We may experience hatred and betrayal. We may be called to pick up our 'wounds' and we don’t want to do it. Even Christ needed companions in Gethsemane. Sleeping friends were better than being alone. We would be wise to ask for friends to be with us in our Gethsemane. Don’t be upset when ‘some’ let us down. Judas betrayed, the others slumbered, Peter denied their relationship and they all ran away in fear. We see a picture of life drama and human frailties." This is Gethsemane, merely truth; facing the truth – moments of truth. As for the cross, we all have ours to bear, some more than others. I think the hardest cross to lay down and upon is forgiveness. Surprisedbyjoy states "All of us have forgiveness issues. Human nature clings to grudge holding which leads to destructive bitterness and venom. For 'any hope of any kind of' growth, healing and maturity, 'though' we must forgive ". Often the hardest person to forgive is ourselves. Truly we are our own worse enemies at times. And so begins the crucifixion; we crucify those who have done us wrong and worse we crucify ourselves. It is a vicious circle, one perhaps of a dog trying to chew his own legs off only to succeed in immobilizing himself to never walk again. Oh but if we could forgive, especially ourselves; we would truly rise again anew. A testament to all the Doubting Toms! Here in lays the problem, here in indeed. Inside this fleshy shell of ours, our very own tomb. Maybe the secret is buried in first healing the wounds; rather inflicted by others, and/or circumstances, or self. After all it is Spring and 'Hope Springs Eternal'. And so this is Easter, the passing over and into the realizations of Gethsemane. We have ventured far enough now from the Main-stream Society for most to have seen the middle ground of art imitating life. I much rather join the allusion and dance with the Easter Bunny and color eggs than spend any more time dissecting life’s many illusions, delusions. Cause for now; liken love, spring is in the air - spring is every where!

Related Posts: Epiphany Easter, 1916 by W. B. Yeats

Epiphany

Easter, 1916 by W. B. Yeats

I HAVE met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

That woman's days were spent
In ignorant good-will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When, young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our winged horse;
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road.
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute they change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it;
The long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call;
Minute by minute they live:
The stone's in the midst of all.

Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse -
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

"Easter, 1916 is a poem by W. B. Yeats describing the poet's ambivalent emotions regarding the events of the Easter Rising staged in Ireland against British rule on Easter Monday, April 24, 1916. The uprising was unsuccessful, and most of the militant Irish republican leaders involved were executed for treason. The poem was written between May and September 1916." Wikipedia

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Bloody Well, Who Stole The ShamRocks?

By now several people have christened toilets with green urine from all the Irish beer they drank, while others reading this are wondering if such is true; the answer-merely ask a Leprechaun when you find him beneath a rainbow protecting the pot of gold. Good Ol’ St. Patrick’s Day! If only every Holiday was akin! We would as cheerfully embrace African American History Month, drink many a brown beer, and christen toilets with ebony urine. Wear buttons and t-shirts that say, ‘Kiss me – I’m African-American’. Oh well, the ‘luck of Irish’. Yea, right! Surely it isn’t all about partying and beer, nah! This is a spectacular holiday filled with Irish symbols, folklore, blessings, songs, and food. And foremost; March 17 is in honor of a Saint. “In his sixteenth year, Patrick was carried off into captivity by Irish marauders and was sold as a slave… Admonished by an angel he after six years fled from his cruel master… his heart was set on devoting himself to the service of God… The fame of Patrick's marvelous power of miracles preceeded him” Catholic Encyclopedia“By the eighth century he had become the patron saint of Ireland… March 17, …is believed to be his death date” Wikipedia and is the is the feast day the Roman Catholic Church celebrate Saint Patrick. In fact, Pubs used to be closed on March 17.! “In 1780, General George Washington, who commanded soldiers of Irish descent in the Continental Army, allowed his troops a holiday on March 17. This event became known as The St. Patrick's Day Encampment of 1780. Today, Saint Patrick's Day is widely celebrated in America by Irish and non-Irish alike.” By drinking green beer and partying! Bloody well, who stole the shamrocks? I went to Wal-Mart to find one freakin’ shamrock, only to be overwhelmed by everything else Irish. Irish mugs, shots glasses, Irish sweatshirts and t-shirts… Okay, so the ‘Big Foot’ Chain Store Stompers of Ma and Pa Shops know how to market. Disappointedly, not finding a shamrock would have been bloody well, except Wally World has to always incorporate two holidays, as if they might miss some green. Only this time I think they went too far! St. Patrick’s Day and Easter! There adorned on the cold shelves were the delightful Easter products. Fluffy Easter Bunnies with their adorable floppy ears and cute noses. Charming Easter Baskets filled with yummy goodies! And Irish shot glasses… scattered amidst my Easter bliss! What could one expect when the Irish paraphernalia was only on the next isle! St. Patrick may not have indeed driven the snakes out of Ireland, but someone needs to drive them out of Wal-Mart! No shamrocks and now blaspheming Easter! May all their toilets be stained green beyond reconstruction! BTW: One more Irish folklore; rumor has it, on March 17 some could have been partying with the Smurfs and drinking blue beer! Let me know Readers if you find any truth to this:

“The original colour of St. Patrick's Day was not green, but blue. It wasn't until the 19th century that green became Ireland's national colour.”