Life. Brilliantly verdant verve of liveliness.
We are born to life. To be brilliant, verdant, to dance and sing and to bear in our face
the Creator's grace.
I do get the need for humility. Ashes to ashes. We are mortal. We are not god.
But we are told in Scripture, for whatever that means to you, that we are made in the image of God.
When is the day on the calendar that we celebrate that? Just that. No qualifications. No "buts," just blessing.
I want a mark on my forehead -- every day -- that signifies that I am blessed.
It is so easy, too easy to forget. We got the smudge thing down. We know we're shit. But not only. And not first. And not last. That is the interruption.
Let's celebrate who we are. Gold stars are lame. Rainbows, butterflies, all cliche. But can we, after all these eons of life on this planet, find a symbol, a means, a way to make this happen: a day, a way to claim our most primal identity?
Or. Would that be Christmas. Easter.
Just don't make me put a bunny on my face.