| Cougar Press PO Box 894 Meadview AZ 86444 |
| Resurrection |
At Christmas time we are reminded by bumper stickers that, "Jesus is the reason for the season."
This is not true. It might be more accurate to claim that the season is the reason for Christmas.
Celebration of the Yuletide was going on under many names long before the birth of Jesus Christ.
The point of the celebration is the Winter Solstice. The meaning of the word solstice refers to the
sun's standing still in the sky. Whereas for six months our favorite star has been rising a minute
later and setting a minute earlier every day, it stops doing that on the solstice.
The actual reason that primitive people were flooded with joy at this event was the realization that
the sun was not going away forever. The days were not going to keep getting shorter and shorter
until finally there would be no daylight at all, and night would reign eternal. Spring would return
at least one more time.
It's ironic that, here in the northern hemisphere, this promise of springtime comes at the
beginning of Winter. The coldest months lie just ahead, and yet we know that by late March the
days and nights will have equal duration. The sun will have come back to our side of the equator.
Of course, up in the arctic this comes a little bit too late. Get far enough north of the arctic circle
in the Winter, and the sun doesn't rise at all. Down at the other end of the planet it's all the
opposite. When the sun is not even rising at the north pole, it stays in the sky twenty-four hours a
day at the south pole. Six months later the situation is reversed.
The early leaders of the Christian church, supported by Emperor Constantine's declaration of
Christianity as the official state religion, cleverly placed the celebration of the Savior's birth just
after the Winter Solstice. Before that, theologians were all over the calendar in their guessing as
to when Mother Mary actually gave birth. Putting the event when they did was a classic example
of going with the flow, and it had been done before. The Persians and the Romans had both
located pagan celebrations at this time of the year when people already celebrated, and had done
so for thousands of years. Bringing greenery into the homes and temples, special flames and gift
giving were all ancient practices by that time, which is undoubtedly a big part of the reason why it
all went over so well with the populations of Northern Europe and Asia. Imagine what an uphill
struggle it would be to declare an end to Christmas, or to move it to April or May.
Moving ahead, we come to Easter, the Sunday referred to as the Resurrection. This was the day,
so they tell us, that Christ arose from the dead. While it's easy to be a naysayer about that part
of the story, it's fairly easy to believe that the man from Nazareth really was crucified. The
Romans crucified a lot of people, perhaps hundreds of thousands. Whether Jesus came back to
life following his death on the cross, or not, nobody really knows. It's a matter of faith.
However, there is no scientific proof that he didn't, just as there was no proof that Fulton's
steamship really was a folly. The idea of resurrection is deeply ingrained in human thought. For
thousands of years we have watched plants that had appeared to die in fall or winter come back to
life in the spring. Rebirth is part of the very essence of life. No wonder that the followers of a
beloved teacher and spiritual guide like Jesus of Nazareth would have cherished deep hope that
somehow the crucifixion would not put an end to him, that somehow he would return, that
somehow, despite the whips, thorns, nails, cross and spear, he would still be alive.
It must be said that the deeper, more selfish wish has always been that we ourselves would
somehow survive our deaths, that somehow we each would find our own personal resurrection.
Nobody wants to die. On some profound, philosophical or spiritual level, there may be nothing
wrong with dying. After all, the death of the older generations makes way for the birth of the
new. Without death, without the constant pruning of all species, our lovely Earth would quickly
become so overcrowded by biological entities of every description that life as we know it would be
impossible.
But on the personal, subjective level, we are all programmed to survive if it is at all possible. Just
as an absence of death would lead to an intolerable situation, the lack of any struggle to avoid the
grim reaper would also result in a sterile planet. Even though we are doomed to fail, we have to
try.
Various suggestions have arisen over the ages that might allow us to have our cake and eat it too.
The ancient Hindus and others came up with the idea of reincarnation: yes, you will die, but,
never fear. You will be born again.
The Vikings had Valhalla, the eternal mead hall of the dead where fallen warriors raised toasts
forever to Wotan and Thor. The Jews, Christians and Muslims have their stories of heaven or
paradise where worthy souls go to pass away infinity while praising God (or toying with virgins).
The Christian church took it a step further with the idea of a general resurrection of all of the
blessed souls at the end of time, a reunion of body and soul. This particular theory gives birth to
many questions, most of them unanswered. Specifically, how old is the body with which we are to
rejoin? Are we reborn as infants, mature men and women in the prime of our lives, or as the
aging geezers and crones that we were when life was finally yanked from us?
What about husbands and wives? What about the serial widow who buried seven men before she
herself hit the dirt? Does she get to have all seven mates for eternity? What if some of these guys
had buried earlier wives? Do they get to come along for the ride?
A bigger question would be this: when you experience resurrection of any style, do you know it?
Along with that comes another little riddle: do you remember your previous life? Right off the
bat, the answer to both questions is yes. But saying yes too quickly might only mean that the
alternative answer has not been sufficiently explored.
Imagine yourself up in heaven, for instance. Here you are supposed to have perfect joy and
happiness. Spend your days or eternity praising the almighty. Is there room in this picture for
remembering the pain and sorrow of life on Earth? What about those you left behind? What
kind of cynical joy would you be reveling in if you were aware that loved ones were still back
there suffering from loneliness, accidents, disease and the host of horror that can make life hell?
Suppose, rather, that instead of heaven or Valhalla you have the Eastern kind of resurrection, the
reincarnation of the Hindus and Buddhists. Would that even be realistic if you knew that you
had lived before? Where is the mystery? Where is the adventure? Where is the challenge? How
is life to be fully appreciated if you are consciously aware of ever so many previous hitches?
So, all right, suppose that we don't remember the earlier life. Have we then abandoned our loved
ones to their personal fates? Is all the love, camaraderie, friendship and empathy that we built up
during a life of sharing and sacrifice merely blown away by the winds of death? Was it all in vain?
I do not recommend that the devotee of yoga spend any time pondering these irritating questions.
I only pose them to show how little we really know. But consider...
On another page, I spoke of the infinite curiosity of the divine spirit. God wants to know what it
is to be me, or you, or any of the host of creatures that populate reality. God wants to know what
it is to be a galaxy, a star, a planet or a vacant moon. He wants to know what it is to be a
caterpillar. He, or She if you will, wants to know what it is to feel cold, hungry, tired, afraid and
alone. She wants to experience love. He wants to know how it feels to hate. They want to be, at
least for awhile, angry, innocent, depressed, confused, irritated and wicked.
...and, along with all of this ignorance and pain, God wants to be happy. He wants to laugh and
sing and dance in flowery meadows. She wants to be in love. They want to feast and relish the
flavor, take in deep breaths and explode with energy and joy, lie in the sun and purr with the
warmth, sleep and dream. God wants to explore, discover new things, stand in awe of beautiful
works of art, listen to ethereal music and rock and roll, and gaze at the nighttime sky.
He wants to have it all, and to lose it all. She wants to say hello, and goodbye.
So how is all of this supposed to happen? How are all of these fantasies and desires to be
fulfilled? Where and when is enough time and space for it to happen?
Compared to some of the earlier questions, these are easy. God, after all, made, makes all of the
dimensions. They are part and parcel with creation. The physics of reality, as it has grown to be
over the recent century or so, tell us that all of these dimensions come into existence at the
beginning. Even to say that, the "beginning," conjures inaccuracy. Certainly, in our physical
reality, there was a beginning, some thirteen and a half billion years ago. But since time itself is
one of the dimensions, there really is no beginning in the divine scheme. It's all happening now.
There is a difference between infinite and eternal. Infinite refers to time or distance without end,
but eternity transcends time. Eternity can sometimes be perceived in the instant of sunrise, in a
kiss, in a splash of beauty or in a dream. We actually don't know if infinity really exists at all.
Even the universe itself is supposed to have a finite circumference, and how would we ever know if
time goes on forever? But we do know about eternity. Anyone who has really lived has touched
it, however briefly. We recoil from its endless depths. We cannot go through our practical days
distracted by reality without dimensions, because we need to focus on our current life. Why?
Because of that infinite curiosity. Still, every once in a while, we are treated to a glimpse of
eternity.
At the biological level, our perception of dimensions is very subjective, or perhaps I should say
relative. From here on a starry night the distance between two galaxies may appear to be no more
than a finger breadth, while astronomers tell us that they are so far apart that light, traveling at
186,000 miles per second, takes millions of years to span the gap. Time is also a dimension, and
our perception of it depends very much on the activity of our brain.
The brain operates at different speeds. As we mature from infancy through childhood, faster
brain waves become more prominent. The slow delta waves of the baby are superseded by the
theta waves of the toddler. A few years further alpha waves become the norm, and as we enter
adolescence the quick beta waves take over.
All of these waves are present in the adult brain, but during the waking hours the beta waves are
most active and necessary to deal with the complications and serious demands of grownup life.
When we go to sleep the brain slows down, all the way to delta. Then, following some deep sleep,
the faster rhythms of theta and alpha bring us up into dreamland.
During periods of meditation the brain again can slow down to the alpha level. In a deep trance it
may have slowed all the way to the theta range. If the only waves are delta, the yogi has probably
fallen asleep.
At the other end of the scale, we all have had experiences where, due to extreme danger or
emergency conditions, time seems to slow down. This is because, in response to the urgent
demands of reality, the brain is functioning at high speed. Even though the events we are living
through are happening very fast, it all seems to our conscious awareness to be going in slow
motion.
The traditional way of looking at time involves the past, the present, and the future. So far as
measuring dimensions goes, the future stretches endlessly ahead of us, while the past includes
everything that has ever happened, all the way back to the beginning of time. Squeezed in
between the past and the future is this tiny point without any temporal length at all that we call
the present. One instant back, and we are already in the past. One instant forward brings us into
the realm of the future.
Although this is all true from a formal, mathematical point of view, pragmatic reality offers
another way to look at it.
We operate in the present. The future has not yet arrived, and never will, while the past is gone
and will never return. So how are we to function in a zero dimension? How can we focus on
reality when it is gone as soon as it arrives? How do we achieve any awareness at all?
The remedy is what we might think of as a puddle of time. Our brain stretches the present into
the past and the future to create the brief era that we call now. This gives us enough time to think
and act. This puddle of time includes a bit of the past and a bit of the future, as well as the
evanescent present, but to us it seems like now.
This puddle of time is flexible, depending in important ways on the demands and abilities of the
moment. Going back to the high speed emergency that I mentioned earlier, in such an instance
the puddle of time has shrunk to perhaps a microsecond if we were to measure it against the
objective flow of time. Subjectively, however, from our inner point of view, our puddle of time
appears the same as ever: it's the outside world, the speeding cars, flying fists or whizzing bullets
that are moving in slow motion.
The puddle of time can shrink when we are performing some delicate operation, brain surgery for
instance, or whittling, where extreme concentration is required. We focus on the tiny moment,
and all of our attention, skill and perception converges without distraction on the job at hand.
The rest of the world fades away, and when we raise our heads from the work, we are amazed by
how much real time has gone by.
This way of looking at life can be reversed. We understand that speeding up our brains makes the
rest of the world appear to slow down. The opposite has to be true as well. If true, this would
mean that, as our brain slows down, the world seems to be moving faster. We go to sleep, and
suddenly the alarm clock rings, and eight hours have gone past in a flash. We drift into deep
meditation, and before we know it the time has come to get on with our lives.
This also happens as we get old. While during the first part of our life our brain goes faster and
faster, there comes a point when it begins to slow down. This would explain why, for a conscious,
wide awake adult, life can seem interminably long. Our childhood is so deep in the past that we
can't even remember most of it. The day we are living through seems endless. Later in life this
becomes profoundly different. As our brains start to slow down, the passage of time seems to
pick up the pace. The days, weeks, months and years seem to fly by like telephone poles as we
speed down the highway. As we get even older and slower, these time markers start to pass in a
blur, like pickets in a fence.
But this is not all bad. Our puddle of time is expanding. Where before we were focused on
subjects like jobs and relationships to the exclusion of all else, now we are perceiving life on a
larger scale. Old people begin to remember the events of childhood. We may not remember
where we put our slippers, but we clearly recall how it was, perhaps, to be seven years old, or
three. As we sink into our doddering days we find ourselves reliving the past as if it were
happening now.
Indeed, it is happening now. As our brains slow down and finally come to a stop, our concept of
now will have expanded to include our whole life, or perhaps it will be the whole life of something
larger: the species, biological life, the planet, the solar system, the galaxy or the universe. Who
knows? At the point of death, when we rejoin the cosmos, we see our life just past as merely an
intense and detailed look at one tiny little particle with all of its rhythm, harmony and beauty.
And time being an illusion, merely one of the dimensions that we have established in order to
perceive the wonder of it all, we can go back and relive any part of it as much as we want.
Might that not be resurrection?
This is not true. It might be more accurate to claim that the season is the reason for Christmas.
Celebration of the Yuletide was going on under many names long before the birth of Jesus Christ.
The point of the celebration is the Winter Solstice. The meaning of the word solstice refers to the
sun's standing still in the sky. Whereas for six months our favorite star has been rising a minute
later and setting a minute earlier every day, it stops doing that on the solstice.
The actual reason that primitive people were flooded with joy at this event was the realization that
the sun was not going away forever. The days were not going to keep getting shorter and shorter
until finally there would be no daylight at all, and night would reign eternal. Spring would return
at least one more time.
It's ironic that, here in the northern hemisphere, this promise of springtime comes at the
beginning of Winter. The coldest months lie just ahead, and yet we know that by late March the
days and nights will have equal duration. The sun will have come back to our side of the equator.
Of course, up in the arctic this comes a little bit too late. Get far enough north of the arctic circle
in the Winter, and the sun doesn't rise at all. Down at the other end of the planet it's all the
opposite. When the sun is not even rising at the north pole, it stays in the sky twenty-four hours a
day at the south pole. Six months later the situation is reversed.
The early leaders of the Christian church, supported by Emperor Constantine's declaration of
Christianity as the official state religion, cleverly placed the celebration of the Savior's birth just
after the Winter Solstice. Before that, theologians were all over the calendar in their guessing as
to when Mother Mary actually gave birth. Putting the event when they did was a classic example
of going with the flow, and it had been done before. The Persians and the Romans had both
located pagan celebrations at this time of the year when people already celebrated, and had done
so for thousands of years. Bringing greenery into the homes and temples, special flames and gift
giving were all ancient practices by that time, which is undoubtedly a big part of the reason why it
all went over so well with the populations of Northern Europe and Asia. Imagine what an uphill
struggle it would be to declare an end to Christmas, or to move it to April or May.
Moving ahead, we come to Easter, the Sunday referred to as the Resurrection. This was the day,
so they tell us, that Christ arose from the dead. While it's easy to be a naysayer about that part
of the story, it's fairly easy to believe that the man from Nazareth really was crucified. The
Romans crucified a lot of people, perhaps hundreds of thousands. Whether Jesus came back to
life following his death on the cross, or not, nobody really knows. It's a matter of faith.
However, there is no scientific proof that he didn't, just as there was no proof that Fulton's
steamship really was a folly. The idea of resurrection is deeply ingrained in human thought. For
thousands of years we have watched plants that had appeared to die in fall or winter come back to
life in the spring. Rebirth is part of the very essence of life. No wonder that the followers of a
beloved teacher and spiritual guide like Jesus of Nazareth would have cherished deep hope that
somehow the crucifixion would not put an end to him, that somehow he would return, that
somehow, despite the whips, thorns, nails, cross and spear, he would still be alive.
It must be said that the deeper, more selfish wish has always been that we ourselves would
somehow survive our deaths, that somehow we each would find our own personal resurrection.
Nobody wants to die. On some profound, philosophical or spiritual level, there may be nothing
wrong with dying. After all, the death of the older generations makes way for the birth of the
new. Without death, without the constant pruning of all species, our lovely Earth would quickly
become so overcrowded by biological entities of every description that life as we know it would be
impossible.
But on the personal, subjective level, we are all programmed to survive if it is at all possible. Just
as an absence of death would lead to an intolerable situation, the lack of any struggle to avoid the
grim reaper would also result in a sterile planet. Even though we are doomed to fail, we have to
try.
Various suggestions have arisen over the ages that might allow us to have our cake and eat it too.
The ancient Hindus and others came up with the idea of reincarnation: yes, you will die, but,
never fear. You will be born again.
The Vikings had Valhalla, the eternal mead hall of the dead where fallen warriors raised toasts
forever to Wotan and Thor. The Jews, Christians and Muslims have their stories of heaven or
paradise where worthy souls go to pass away infinity while praising God (or toying with virgins).
The Christian church took it a step further with the idea of a general resurrection of all of the
blessed souls at the end of time, a reunion of body and soul. This particular theory gives birth to
many questions, most of them unanswered. Specifically, how old is the body with which we are to
rejoin? Are we reborn as infants, mature men and women in the prime of our lives, or as the
aging geezers and crones that we were when life was finally yanked from us?
What about husbands and wives? What about the serial widow who buried seven men before she
herself hit the dirt? Does she get to have all seven mates for eternity? What if some of these guys
had buried earlier wives? Do they get to come along for the ride?
A bigger question would be this: when you experience resurrection of any style, do you know it?
Along with that comes another little riddle: do you remember your previous life? Right off the
bat, the answer to both questions is yes. But saying yes too quickly might only mean that the
alternative answer has not been sufficiently explored.
Imagine yourself up in heaven, for instance. Here you are supposed to have perfect joy and
happiness. Spend your days or eternity praising the almighty. Is there room in this picture for
remembering the pain and sorrow of life on Earth? What about those you left behind? What
kind of cynical joy would you be reveling in if you were aware that loved ones were still back
there suffering from loneliness, accidents, disease and the host of horror that can make life hell?
Suppose, rather, that instead of heaven or Valhalla you have the Eastern kind of resurrection, the
reincarnation of the Hindus and Buddhists. Would that even be realistic if you knew that you
had lived before? Where is the mystery? Where is the adventure? Where is the challenge? How
is life to be fully appreciated if you are consciously aware of ever so many previous hitches?
So, all right, suppose that we don't remember the earlier life. Have we then abandoned our loved
ones to their personal fates? Is all the love, camaraderie, friendship and empathy that we built up
during a life of sharing and sacrifice merely blown away by the winds of death? Was it all in vain?
I do not recommend that the devotee of yoga spend any time pondering these irritating questions.
I only pose them to show how little we really know. But consider...
On another page, I spoke of the infinite curiosity of the divine spirit. God wants to know what it
is to be me, or you, or any of the host of creatures that populate reality. God wants to know what
it is to be a galaxy, a star, a planet or a vacant moon. He wants to know what it is to be a
caterpillar. He, or She if you will, wants to know what it is to feel cold, hungry, tired, afraid and
alone. She wants to experience love. He wants to know how it feels to hate. They want to be, at
least for awhile, angry, innocent, depressed, confused, irritated and wicked.
...and, along with all of this ignorance and pain, God wants to be happy. He wants to laugh and
sing and dance in flowery meadows. She wants to be in love. They want to feast and relish the
flavor, take in deep breaths and explode with energy and joy, lie in the sun and purr with the
warmth, sleep and dream. God wants to explore, discover new things, stand in awe of beautiful
works of art, listen to ethereal music and rock and roll, and gaze at the nighttime sky.
He wants to have it all, and to lose it all. She wants to say hello, and goodbye.
So how is all of this supposed to happen? How are all of these fantasies and desires to be
fulfilled? Where and when is enough time and space for it to happen?
Compared to some of the earlier questions, these are easy. God, after all, made, makes all of the
dimensions. They are part and parcel with creation. The physics of reality, as it has grown to be
over the recent century or so, tell us that all of these dimensions come into existence at the
beginning. Even to say that, the "beginning," conjures inaccuracy. Certainly, in our physical
reality, there was a beginning, some thirteen and a half billion years ago. But since time itself is
one of the dimensions, there really is no beginning in the divine scheme. It's all happening now.
There is a difference between infinite and eternal. Infinite refers to time or distance without end,
but eternity transcends time. Eternity can sometimes be perceived in the instant of sunrise, in a
kiss, in a splash of beauty or in a dream. We actually don't know if infinity really exists at all.
Even the universe itself is supposed to have a finite circumference, and how would we ever know if
time goes on forever? But we do know about eternity. Anyone who has really lived has touched
it, however briefly. We recoil from its endless depths. We cannot go through our practical days
distracted by reality without dimensions, because we need to focus on our current life. Why?
Because of that infinite curiosity. Still, every once in a while, we are treated to a glimpse of
eternity.
At the biological level, our perception of dimensions is very subjective, or perhaps I should say
relative. From here on a starry night the distance between two galaxies may appear to be no more
than a finger breadth, while astronomers tell us that they are so far apart that light, traveling at
186,000 miles per second, takes millions of years to span the gap. Time is also a dimension, and
our perception of it depends very much on the activity of our brain.
The brain operates at different speeds. As we mature from infancy through childhood, faster
brain waves become more prominent. The slow delta waves of the baby are superseded by the
theta waves of the toddler. A few years further alpha waves become the norm, and as we enter
adolescence the quick beta waves take over.
All of these waves are present in the adult brain, but during the waking hours the beta waves are
most active and necessary to deal with the complications and serious demands of grownup life.
When we go to sleep the brain slows down, all the way to delta. Then, following some deep sleep,
the faster rhythms of theta and alpha bring us up into dreamland.
During periods of meditation the brain again can slow down to the alpha level. In a deep trance it
may have slowed all the way to the theta range. If the only waves are delta, the yogi has probably
fallen asleep.
At the other end of the scale, we all have had experiences where, due to extreme danger or
emergency conditions, time seems to slow down. This is because, in response to the urgent
demands of reality, the brain is functioning at high speed. Even though the events we are living
through are happening very fast, it all seems to our conscious awareness to be going in slow
motion.
The traditional way of looking at time involves the past, the present, and the future. So far as
measuring dimensions goes, the future stretches endlessly ahead of us, while the past includes
everything that has ever happened, all the way back to the beginning of time. Squeezed in
between the past and the future is this tiny point without any temporal length at all that we call
the present. One instant back, and we are already in the past. One instant forward brings us into
the realm of the future.
Although this is all true from a formal, mathematical point of view, pragmatic reality offers
another way to look at it.
We operate in the present. The future has not yet arrived, and never will, while the past is gone
and will never return. So how are we to function in a zero dimension? How can we focus on
reality when it is gone as soon as it arrives? How do we achieve any awareness at all?
The remedy is what we might think of as a puddle of time. Our brain stretches the present into
the past and the future to create the brief era that we call now. This gives us enough time to think
and act. This puddle of time includes a bit of the past and a bit of the future, as well as the
evanescent present, but to us it seems like now.
This puddle of time is flexible, depending in important ways on the demands and abilities of the
moment. Going back to the high speed emergency that I mentioned earlier, in such an instance
the puddle of time has shrunk to perhaps a microsecond if we were to measure it against the
objective flow of time. Subjectively, however, from our inner point of view, our puddle of time
appears the same as ever: it's the outside world, the speeding cars, flying fists or whizzing bullets
that are moving in slow motion.
The puddle of time can shrink when we are performing some delicate operation, brain surgery for
instance, or whittling, where extreme concentration is required. We focus on the tiny moment,
and all of our attention, skill and perception converges without distraction on the job at hand.
The rest of the world fades away, and when we raise our heads from the work, we are amazed by
how much real time has gone by.
This way of looking at life can be reversed. We understand that speeding up our brains makes the
rest of the world appear to slow down. The opposite has to be true as well. If true, this would
mean that, as our brain slows down, the world seems to be moving faster. We go to sleep, and
suddenly the alarm clock rings, and eight hours have gone past in a flash. We drift into deep
meditation, and before we know it the time has come to get on with our lives.
This also happens as we get old. While during the first part of our life our brain goes faster and
faster, there comes a point when it begins to slow down. This would explain why, for a conscious,
wide awake adult, life can seem interminably long. Our childhood is so deep in the past that we
can't even remember most of it. The day we are living through seems endless. Later in life this
becomes profoundly different. As our brains start to slow down, the passage of time seems to
pick up the pace. The days, weeks, months and years seem to fly by like telephone poles as we
speed down the highway. As we get even older and slower, these time markers start to pass in a
blur, like pickets in a fence.
But this is not all bad. Our puddle of time is expanding. Where before we were focused on
subjects like jobs and relationships to the exclusion of all else, now we are perceiving life on a
larger scale. Old people begin to remember the events of childhood. We may not remember
where we put our slippers, but we clearly recall how it was, perhaps, to be seven years old, or
three. As we sink into our doddering days we find ourselves reliving the past as if it were
happening now.
Indeed, it is happening now. As our brains slow down and finally come to a stop, our concept of
now will have expanded to include our whole life, or perhaps it will be the whole life of something
larger: the species, biological life, the planet, the solar system, the galaxy or the universe. Who
knows? At the point of death, when we rejoin the cosmos, we see our life just past as merely an
intense and detailed look at one tiny little particle with all of its rhythm, harmony and beauty.
And time being an illusion, merely one of the dimensions that we have established in order to
perceive the wonder of it all, we can go back and relive any part of it as much as we want.
Might that not be resurrection?
| Yoga for Carnivores by Jay Dyck |