There is a definite spacio-temporal aura about the thing — nothing overly metaphysic — the very early-quiet morning, the women moving together wordlessly, the absence of so very many perhaps-expected others — the misty Mediterranean-like light.
And yet there is also a definitive recherche quality to the scene, the women standing in a half-dark with spices, present-uncomprehendingly, struck bewildered before a very empty tomb.
And then there is the interiority of it all — hidden and yet nonetheless real — the barrier falling softly through the floor of their reality, the new door opening for them on an entirely different existence, life picking up its feet, a new lift in its step, the world’s sociopathic intellect brightening, shy justice moving towards the front of the room, demure beauty blushing and touching her dark hair — and old, stupid, splenetic, soporific death falling over backward.
And therein is the laugh, the guffaw, the fall-out-of-your chair hilarity — the butt-kicking, power-excising, humility-making new order of all things.
This — this word-worthy, surd-sonant, ineffable-voluble totality, to me — this is knock-you-over delicious! This is flutter your heart gorgeous. This is nonpareil evocative. This is incipient reviviscence. This is our God, re-initiating life on earth.
This is nothing less than the resurrection of God from the dead!
Take that!
Thrive! 