I went somewhere
And I learned something…
I read somewhere that tonight, the sixteenth of April 2022, is a full moon. Another rabbit hole along the initial thought was that this full moon was also referred to as a ‘pink moon’.
The seat of my soul expanded as I thought along these lines.
I learned about the peculiar moon a few hours ago – 7:23pm, to be exact. And so, by 10:30pm, nothing else mattered. I knew what I had to do.
I took a walk.
It is an incredible night. A cloudy sky; most of them were whitened by the moon. There is a soft, cool breeze outside. There is a hint of moisture in the air like it is raining elsewhere or will rain later.
Dogs are barking intermittently. It is Easter. It is a public holiday, so vehicular movement is at its barest. The humans are scarce too. It is also Ramadan; Muslims worldwide are smack in the middle of a month-long fast. Consequently, the usual night markets contain about a dozen exhausted-looking people.
I had the path to myself and the sidewalk also.
The said full moon was slightly overhead.
Which was inconvenient. I had hoped it would be at a better angle; I had, after all, come out to pay it homage.
A kilometre into my solitary trek, I came upon a crossroad.
As I mentioned earlier, there was little traffic; there were no cars, motorcycles, trucks, tricycles, tankers or people to consider. It was convenient and prudent to simply walk across without recourse to the traffic lights.
There was no danger.
And so it struck me as odd that a woman was standing by the zebra crossing looking slightly lost.
I was honestly just going to walk past her and be on my sojourn. But as I came alongside her, she turned to me and asked if I could help her across the street.
I had on black-coloured noise cancellation earbuds. So the lady did not know I could not hear her because she did not see any wires running down my ears.
I was listening to some music via BlueTooth earbuds as I strolled. But I could read the woman’s lips; I could tell that she was speaking to me in English.
I nodded and did as she requested.
I bade her farewell at the other end of the zebra crossing as she offered gratitude for my gentlemanliness. And for the first time, I really looked at her.
Have you ever seen a woman so beautiful you are suddenly wary?
It struck me even harder in that instant that her presence here and now was quite odd.
It was about eleven pm, and it was dark. It was not the kind of neighbourhood given to crime, but it was not the best place for women that looked like her to be stranded.
I consider myself quite capable of self-defence, yet I walked with complete environmental awareness. That aside, I was wearing Shaka – my brass knuckleduster.
I powered off my earbuds and introduced myself. the woman said her name was Easter. Or maybe it was Esther? In any case, it sounded like Easter.
At this point, my ears were ringing. Not the shrill uncomfortable sort; it was the sort that was dull and distant. That was another reason I took out the buds; they seemed to be the cause. Plus, a lady required my attention; what can I say? My mum raised a gentleman.
The more I looked at her, the more apparent it became that I was where I had to be.
She was so dark-skinned that I found it difficult not to stare. The whites of her eyes, like her teeth, were a startling white in comparison to her skin.
She was about five foot five inches tall, more than a foot shorter than me. She was wearing a pretty yellow dress that stopped at her thighs. She had on yellow and black polka-dotted leggings under the dress. Her slim feet were supported by flip-flops.
She was full-bodied and radiated sensuality.
The confusion for me came from her demeanour. I apologize; she is hard to describe, and I am still processing everything. She gave off vibes of a playboy playmate, but her sparkling eyes and words were like those of Mother Theresa.
And, Ms Easter and I walked past the crossroads along my path.
I asked where she was headed, and she said she was going to an establishment just ahead. She said something about a mix-up between GPS, her Uber driver and an alleged incomplete destination address.
When she asked, I replied that I lived close by. That I was an avid moon gazer and a writer.
She asked what I was working on, and I told her I was searching.
“Happy Easter.” We chorused in unison and then burst out laughing.
As we walked on, I lamented the blandness of the Easter celebrations this year.
And she said,
“Everything is about perspective, place anything in its proper context, and it becomes clear to such a seer.
My birthday is about a concept. It is about a shift in the way you think. It is a lovely story that a good man died and, after three days, was resurrected. And levitated out of sight, leaving the world with an example that will stand the test of time.
But what if it is all an allegory? What if there is a perspective we have overlooked?
Imagine that Easter is simply the death of a type of thought and a resurrection to a better thought?
The man who died symbolizes a state of what you do not want; disease…, lack.
After three days, the man who rose represents the opposite of the states of individual lack or disease or both.
The three days you may interpret literally as seventy-two hours or symbolically as a state of unification. A place where your spirit, soul and body are in concert with the place you actually want to dwell in. The three days are a state in which your thoughts, speech, and action harmonies with the state in life you would prefer to enjoy. Make it more potent by setting an intention; make it a purpose you really want. Think of nothing else, say nothing else and do nothing else outside the fulfilment of that intention for seventy-two hours.
At the end of your literal seventy-two hours or symbolic three days, you will have died to the unwanted physical condition and resurrected bodily into your preferred physical circumstance.
Your burden is to arrest all thought, speech and action contrary to what you really want. Your task is to focus ONLY on the outcome you honestly prefer.
That is what Easter is really about; a mental death of what you don’t want and resurrecting as the person you DO want to be,
Easter happens every day. Observing Easter is a project that is present continuous.
Every calamity, every failure, and all types of pain is a Good Friday.
Easter Sunday is awakening to the tangible reality of your sustained mental objective.”
“Oh look, there is your moon!” she exclaimed, startling me and interrupting herself.
My head whipped upwards, and as always happens to me on a full moon, my heart beat faster. A full moon is beautiful indeed.
I looked back to earth to reaffirm the moon’s beauty to my fellow traveller, but I was alone.
I spun around, and as indeed as today is Easter Sunday, I was now standing by myself.
She could not have run away. The paths around were flat and plain; I would have seen her retreating form. Ms Easter was gone.
On my way back, I mulled over her words. I imagined someone somewhere recovering from surgery; Good Friday is the post-surgical pain and inconvenience. That is the mental state that must die to the patient’s thoughts, words and actions.
Sustaining a new mental thought of healing, health and vitality successfully will, without doubt, be experienced in the patient’s body.
I understand that the more concentrated and sustained the thoughts of healing, health and vitality are, the quicker the ‘3 days’ would be over.
At least that’s what I learned.
I urge you to try it; what have you to lose? If it does not work, no one will know.
But If it works, please write to me and tell me about it. Then please say to another person your story.
I am rooting for you.