Many traditions celebrate this time of year as a recognition of new life, rebirth, and a fresh start. This year, of course, is different. Many do not feel like celebrating, and many of us still feel enclosed in the darkness.
No one really knows what is ahead. We never did, really. It’s just that, now, this unknowing is painfully obvious. But throughout history, across philosophy and religion and art, we have learned that light does come after the dark.
Easter is my second-favorite holiday, after Thanksgiving, because it is (was) an opportunity to gather around the bounty of spring — roasted lamb, fresh peas and fava beans, baby gem lettuces, early season strawberries with fresh cream.
I met my friend Colin at the OnBeing Gathering a couple years ago, among the redwoods in Santa Cruz. He and I hatched an idea for a ‘reader’ to accompany whatever kind of gathering, virtual or otherwise, you hope to have during this season.
It is a collection of readings by and for people wrestling with the fragile preciousness of life and a world in transition — and without any doctrinal, dogmatic, or denominational assertion or agenda.
May my mind come alive today
To the invisible geography
That invites me to new frontiers,
To break the dead shell of yesterdays,
To risk being disturbed and changed.
May I have the courage today
To live the life that I would love,
To postpone my dream no longer,
But do at least what I came here for
And waste my heart on fear no more.
JOHN O’DONOHUE, en excerpt from “A Morning Offering,” from To Bless the Space Between Us