I am not a Christian (sometimes I think I might be), but I love the idea of Resurrection and rebirth, I think it is one of the most powerful ideas in all of faith, obscured too often by the fear, obligation and greed that swirl around us. This weekend I intend, though my writing and photography and the love in my life, to celebrate the idea of my own resurrection. More than a decade ago, I bought a cabin on the top of a mountain five or six miles from where I now live, and I lived there for a year and studied the writings of Thomas Merton and wrote “Running To The Mountain.” I was approaching 50, and I wanted to pause and consider my life, especially the rest of my life. Where was I going? What did I wish to be? Who did I wish to be?

This time on the mountain left with with several powerful ideas that were to change my life. One was that a meaningful life without faith was not possible. The other was that crisis and mystery were just around the corner, always. When you consider your life, it is sometimes impossible not to change it. And so I did, in ways I could not have imagined. Someone who was disappointed with me told me recently that I was not the man I used to be, and I wanted to weep for joy when I heard that. I hope not. I have worked hard not to be. I did not foresee the pain and joy of my resurrection, the challenge and change, the process that never ends, the rewards and frustrations, the great depth and power of this experience. It led me away from my life and family, my marriage, my work at the time, my whole idea of self. It led me to Maria, Bedlam Farm, hospice work, a deepening life in nature and with animals, a rebirth of my own soul and spirit. It led me to love and photography, Simon and Rose, Red and Izzy.

Joseph Campbell called it the hero journey, I call it the act of rebirth. I thought about how I wished to spend the rest of my life, and I did not know how difficult or rewarding or meaningful that would be, Izzy and I guiding some wonderful spirits out of this world, mornings on hilltops, walking sheep through the woods with Rose. I wanted love more than anything, I think, and there was no greater affirmation of my own resurrection than living a life with love. To live is not just to be happy and secure, it is to find meaning, to overcome challenge and live with pain and loss too. It is, all of it, a brew. Thoreau was right, you can not live a life in the expectations of others. You must find it in your own heart and spirit and soul. So I come to you reborn this weekend, still in the midst of my own resurrection, my life filled with meaning and faith. This is what I want to write about this Easter weekend, as the new Spring approaches, my garden waits for me.

Crisis and mystery just around the corner, always.