She is no Messiah.
That complex is not one of hers.
She is no daughter of God. And yet.
Maybe, this Easter, resurrection is on the cards?
Has she been brave
Letting the words fall out?
Maybe.
Will the truth be heard
So that the voices of the pharisees and haters can be shaken off?
Or will they carry on strangling
In the solitude they prefer?
Until they win
And she can breathe and speak her truth no more.
One thing is for sure.
She shall not any longer aid that process by trying to hold her breath.
She is actually good, tilted or not.
No more show.
She cannot wait for those who
Hold the power
To push back that boulder and help her escape.
Waiting is no longer an option.
And of course the obvious irony:
That the boulder
Is partly of her own making.
Gathering up the excrement
That others have thrown at her
Over time
Like a scarab
Until she has become trapped by it.
Unable to escape.
Even pushing it up the same hill
Over and over
In some perverse morphing of Sysiphus and Groundhog.
But hell is not other people.
No one else can push the burden away
Until she is ready to accept
That it needs to go.
And then the helpers will be there.
To see her rise again.
Dance again
And fling off that devil on her back.
To smile more
Talk less
And in so doing
Say more
Love more
Save more.
But before she saves someone else
Save her.
She requests forgiveness where she has sinned
Maybe, not least, for these shocking allusions
And offers forgiveness
To those willing to repent and change.
She is worthy of redemption.
Resurrection.
She is no Messiah.
That complex is not one of hers.
She is no daughter of God. And yet.
Maybe, this Easter, resurrection is on the cards?
