Whipped

Wild wind writhes and howls, hurling debris against house. It reminds me of sheltering in the furnace room, sitting on the cold, damp concrete, waiting to feel a mouse crawl over summer's freckled legs. The image of not being able to control the wind arises, and with it, poor Icarus trying to find a safe landing. Control. Power. Freedom. Peace. Is it too much to ask for it all?

We ended the call and I knew the breaking had begun. Truth leaked out and somebody lied: it's not all light and rainbows.

But it is Love.

And suddenly I saw the Crucifixion in another light. I saw Jesus on the way to his death, tied at the whipping post, losing the flesh of this world in order to reveal Pure Love.

God didn't need Jesus' death to cover any lack or sin on our behalf. God needed us to understand that the body before you is only a shell of the Person in truth.

The wind whips all the dogs in the neighborhood into a barking frenzy. I need headphones to write, to quiet the storm. Pu'erh tea leads to other leaves and a beautiful trip. Mary Magdalene shifts her hips, lets her hair swing back a little as she gives an elegant little wave goodbye.