Holy Saturday: The Power in Liminality

They take my body bound in linen
And lay it in a tomb hewn out of rock.
I can hear the echo of the large stone

Sealing it shut.

While outside the earth is a formless wasteland
An abyss covered in darkness, 
I hear a mighty wind
Sweeping over the waters
Howling with grief and expectation.

Debilitating death incubating a power
Too great to be contained-
An indigo evolution on the threshold
Of a New Way waiting
For the energy to explode
In an iridescent aurora swept in
By The North Wind.

Let there be light.
And there is light.

In the earthquake the angel announces
I am not here.

Go to Galilee.
Go to Galilee.

© rita h kowats 2015

The poem harkens back to the Easter Vigil readings from the Genesis creation story and Matthew and Marks’ passion narratives.

photo credit: N07/16897701962″>Finnish aurora, KP8 via photopin (license)