PS Cottier

Two thousand years (or so)

And so, before this, in Europe,
there were eggs, and celebrations
and the lovely call of Spring?
So what, my dear, so what?
Give me the man
with the steel pierced hands
and the rock rolled back.
Give me blood, and the wine and bread,
the kiss on the cheek
the love of the leper,
and the woman loving too much
he dismissed with equal love.

This is the man;
and always the women
listening and learning (and even teaching),
and mourning, until he came to whisper;
I am faithful and I am here;
always alive and always here.
My Easter, so very old.
My Easter, so very new.

P.S. Cottier

I really don’t know how I managed to post two ginger Jesuses, but I suppose I can pretend that’s one for each thousand years or so.

The poem is based on the type of comment one often reads that points out that Christianity ‘stole’ Easter, and that somehow proves that it has nothing genuine to it.  That’s how all human institutions work, through influence and parasitism.  Look at the English language, for example!  Doesn’t prove or disprove anything about the existence of god, really, the fact that people previously celebrated the arrival of Spring.

I started watching the film The Passion of the Christ recently and found it beyond terrible.  I have yet to see a good film about Jesus; perhaps because the words and ideas are the important thing.  But a poet would think that, I suppose.

I had a nice time at the coast over Easter, swimming and enjoying the last warmth. Soon Canberra will demand gloves and coats. Which is cool, in terms of being able to flaunt accessories, but miserable in that you actually need them to avoid freezing.  The moment where cool meets cold is an unwanted slap of reality.

So there you have it; religion and fashion.  Next week: what’s with the outbreak of ugly camel coats and will they squeeze through the eye of a needle?