Good Friday

Loss... whether it's expected or sudden, it still upends me and leaves me reeling. Death, whether I knew it was coming or not, still overwhelms me and turns me inside out. I "function well under pressure" I've been told. What that means is I go on auto-pilot. I am an adequate doing machine, but I have submerged my being... to keep it safe.

I imagine Mary Magdalene as more authentic in her being than I. I imagine her keening at the tomb, helpless and lost. In this image I made for Holy Week she holds the crown of thorns on her knee. It is still flecked with Jesus' blood from where she had to pry it from his head. The thorns press through the material of her robe and her blood mingles with his, but she can't feel any of it. She clutches the cloth she used to wipe his face before she had to leave... leave him inside that dark place.