Easter Morning 

He sat looking out of his window on Easter morning. “Holy”days had began to come and go without notice and time had passed. He was older now, much older, spending the years trying to live a life worth living. Fighting, striving, pursuing, reaching, attaining and moving on to the next goal.After all these years of being unplugged, a small part of him ached for he old way. The show, the concert, the participants. Even if it was all it was, a show. 

Too late for that now.

The rain fell, meeting the ground below him. Raindrops occasionally having their trajectory changed by the wind met his windowpane with gentle taps. The house was quiet save for the rain.

He thought on death, as he found himself doing at least weekly.

“Is this all there really is?” 
“Is there more?”

He had acknowledged years before that, despite what faith he had, he could not see past his own death. Some, maybe more “faithful” than he, would say that they could see heaven or some other nonsense. But he couldn’t. It was just black.

Blackness.

Not of hell or torment. Just black.

Like a wall, barring him from seeing the other side.

He accepted this as it is. Mortals do not get to see beyond that wall. It defeats the purpose. You must accept death as inevitable and move ever closer to that wall day after day.

But what of The Man? His thoughts would always drift there. The Friend, The One. His heart could not let go of Him no matter how much he faced. This one that had so long ago broken back through the wall. Or at least that’s what the tales said.

That is what his heart had accepted long ago.

And that was his only link. His only lifeline that reconciled whatever was beyond the wall to his life now.

Most times he felt like that lifeline was as frail as a child’s kite string. But it held. Was he holding on to it, or was it fastened tight to him? He couldn’t tell. But it was the only thing anchoring him to The Friend. But it was there, as always. No matter where his thoughts and actions took him, the line was always there.

“Is it still true?”

The man bowed his head and spoke from deep within his heart, words barely audible. There was no great vision, no angels, no light from heaven. Just the rain and the words to his Friend.

He breathed in deep and let out a sigh as he stood from his chair and walked into his kitchen for a few moments. Coming back, he kneeled before the window and looked out at the beauty of the morning. In his right hand was a piece of bread, torn from a pre sliced loaf in his fridge. In his left was a cup of water.

In the quiet of the morning, before the rest of the household woke up. He kneeled there with his Friend and acknowledged Him once again.

“this is Your body, that was broken for me, I take this and remember You… This is your blood that was spilled for me, I take this and remember you…”

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