April 4, 2004
Always I've cried at communion.
I've clung tightly to the experience of Chritianity as ego death, I've leaned heavily into that piece, the suffering in it.
Easy enough to do - crosses everywhere.
I hung them in my soul.    Rather, I hung my soul on them.
It's not about death but life, and communion a time of beauty - pain to be sure but followed by new life, deeper, richer, verdant.
No tears this day.    I drank deeply the cup, and joy in it, exhilaration.
"Pick up your cross and follow me."     To new life.
A reorganization, simple but profound.