Easter Sunday

It is not hard to believe in a resurrection when my perspective of such is allowed to include all my dead relatives who fly over my head every day of the week I chance to remember to LOOK UP, LISTEN INTENTLY AND INTERNALLY and admit that they are all still here inside me. I come from a family of bird lovers. Each of my dead relatives comes to mind when I see or hear the presence of the birds that surround me. Angels they are, flying by and chirping out the good news about life and death, pretty much the same thing. And, every now and then, I spy one of them watching me intently from a camouflaged position, sitting on a fence post, or nestled amongst the green leaves. There is nothing dead about any of my dead relatives. In fact, they are more mobile now than they use to be when I invisioned them living in a particular spot on this planet. Now, they fly all over the world and wind up anywhere and everywhere I go when I decide to remember them. Easter is a good time to remind us to remember, but I don't remember them because of Easter, in fact, I tend to avoid what most people do with Easter, having turned it into a massive consumer culture for buying new clothes and showing up once a year and regurgitating other peoples myths. I wake up with the birds every morning and hear my supposedly dead father tell me to distance myself in order to see the bigger picture, my supposedly dead grandmother worbles: 'This too shall pass' and my supposedly dead grandfather reminds me to do everything I have to do with a smile because I have to do it anyway. With all that at the beginning of every day I never have an excuse to mark a single day as special because they all are, just like us.