Good Friday: Reflections

I've always had a reverence for Good Friday.  As kids, we weren't allowed to breathe on this day.  No radio, television, sweets, snacks, just fish and platski (potato pancakes).

I've read all four passions in one sitting on Good Friday.

I've made love in a meadow at the top of a hill on Good Friday.

I've written poetry in the style of Federico Garcia Lorca on Good Friday.

I've walked to the top of the mountain and meditated under a tree on Good Friday.

Today, I've taken a walk, reflected on the nature of death, read from some Buddhists texts, some Christian texts, and the texts of the mystical golden retriever who calls himself Jan Zawadzki when he's a few hours to the east but settles for Zavacki and John when he's elsewhere.

In the tradition of the high Christian Churches, it is the day upon which we reflect on the death of Jesus, the Messiah.  Accordingly, I do reflect on his death, and the deaths of other Buddhas, enlightened ones who allow us to deviate from their path to find our own within the guidelines of leading a good life and finding the strength to teach in the face of critics.

A few days ago, a friend asked if I had read 'The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying'.  I thought that I had and went off to get a copy to ensure I was right.  I wasn't.  I am now.  One of the things I really like about Buddhist belief is its tremendous respect for life and for death.  Death is a mystery, the ultimate adventure, but not one to be sought, only to be found.  Life is a preparation for death which is a preparation for life in the Buddhist tradition.  Heaven or hell are the state of mind you are in when this ultimate reality occurs.  What happens after that is up to you.

In the presence of Easter Rabbits and their colorful eggs, the idea of rebirth is an annual one.  Here, at Steinstrasse 1A, it is a continuous rebirth.  Every morning, I say 'I'm not dead', then wash my face and prepare to die by living my life in the company of everyone I love,  No one is dead to me who has ever touched me as I will never be dead to them.  Even when I die, I live on in them, and when my consciousness is transferred from the realm of death back into a sentient form, they'll come with me.  Whether or not I will be able to access them will depend on the development of my access to the collective unconscious, the wellspring of all knowledge, creativity, and creation.

Happy Easter.