Easter
is, I suppose, one of those “correspondences,” things on earth as in heaven,
that I mentioned in my recent post on Swedenborg.
My
impulse, after the first surge of delight, is the feeling that this
is way way beyond my power to understand. So much has been written
and said about the Easter mysteries. You sense right away that the
celebration of new life goes way back in the human heart. This is
very old, and yet it is immediately now, all together.
I
can't help thinking of Thoreau's observation that a child plucks its
first flower with more insight into its significance than the
subsequent botanist. And, yet, every day that passes bringing me
closer to my death brings me to a deeper, fuller, appreciation.
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