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Easter remains the most pagan of all the Christian holidays, unable to fully detach the foundation story of death/rebirth from the natural symbols which mark the Spring: the Hare, the Egg, the Lamb, the Lily. The Stone, rolled away.
Western religious traditions have tried mightily to center the human as god/goddess in this story – be it Jesus or Ēostre – and to suggest, especially in the patriarchal manifestations, that rebirth involves denial of Earth, to float off instead to some far away heaven.
But what if Earth itself is Heaven – what if nothing is truly dead and gone? What if the miracle is Nature herself? Strip away the anthropocentric symbols, and look closely to see the everyday Resurrection, unmediated by human form.
The swamp oak who refuses to drop her leaves until the new buds push them away. The perfect once dead squirrel manifest now as chipmunk. The defiant mushroom sprung from decay. The cats who send successors and ascended masters in their stead — and the long line of red spice tortoise shells who have known you forever. The birds who carry spirits – the Crow Keepers of Stonehenge, the King Cardinal of Central Park, the smallest of sparrows.
This is the essence: Earth always rises – with us/without us – no gods and no masters.
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