The stone was not just rolled for one,
But for all things beneath the sun.
Not merely once, in ancient land,
But each time Soul lets go of sand.

Not flesh from tomb, but Self from sleep,
Not death undone, but Life made deep.
The grave we feared was but a veil,
A dream of loss, a ghostly tale.

For Christ is not one man alone,
But Word in breath, in blood, in bone.
The face of God in stranger’s guise,
The spark behind your very eyes.

This rising is not yet-to-be,
It’s now, it’s here, in you, in me!
The cross we bear, the tomb we find,
Are maps for turning mind to Mind.

When ego breaks like temple stone,
And silence sings, “You’re not alone,”
Then dawn is not a time of day,
But now we see: I Am the Way.

We’ve wandered far to find the door,
That stood within us evermore.
Not spared from death by heaven’s Grace,
But shown that Life’s this very place!

And so we rise, not after breath,
But through the little deaths of death.
Through letting go, through being still,
Through Love that softens ego’s will.

No need to wait for skies to rend,
The tomb lies open—look within!
The One who rose was never two,
But always All, as me, as you!