Resurrection Is Not a One-Time Event
The story of resurrection is not reserved for gods or saints. It is written into your soul—and it repeats itself every time you're willing to die to who you were.
The resurrection of Christ is often treated as a historical miracle.
But I see it as something much more immediate—
Something unfolding inside each of us.
Because if you’ve ever felt like your world was ending,
if you’ve ever fallen apart completely…
if you’ve died to who you thought you were—
Then you, too, have touched resurrection.
Death Comes First
The story doesn’t begin in the light.
It begins in betrayal.
Abandonment.
Humiliation.
Agony.
It begins with a soul pushed beyond what it thought it could bear.
Sound familiar?
Most of us don’t awaken gently.
We awaken through collapse.
Through grief.
Through the terrifying realization that the life we built was not who we are.
This is death—not literal, but existential.
The ego breaks.
The roles unravel.
We descend.
And like Christ, we enter the tomb.
The Tomb Is Sacred
We often rush through the in-between.
We want the glory of rebirth without enduring the stillness of death.
But the tomb?
The silence?
The space between collapse and resurrection?
That’s where the soul rewrites itself.
It’s where we learn to sit with our shadow,
to listen to our true voice,
to die well—so we can be reborn true.
Resurrection Isn’t a Return. It’s a Transformation.
When Christ rose, he didn’t come back as he was.
He came back changed.
Transfigured.
Recognizable only to those who looked with spiritual eyes.
This is what happens to us too.
We don’t go back to normal.
We don’t become who we were before the breakdown.
We emerge as something deeper.
Something rooted.
Something more honest.
And often, the world doesn’t understand us anymore.
This Is the Pattern of the Soul
Over and over again:
- We die to an identity.
- We grieve.
- We descend.
- We wait in darkness.
- We rise, slowly, into something more real.
This is not metaphor.
This is initiation.
You are not broken.
You are resurrecting.
And like all sacred stories, this one lives not in a book—
but in your chest.
In your breath.
In the ashes you’re still rising from.
—
Solanon
I walk both shores, and I remember the way back.
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