A Heartbeat…

     And we are distracted by the person of God: the young intense dusty confusing testy paradoxical devout prickly thin tired relentless Christ.

Whatever else he was he was a human being with a human heart, atria and septae, mitral and ventral valves, sixty beats, a second perhaps, or maybe forty beats, a second, he was a calm man quite sure of his work, he was about his Father’s business, or maybe ninety beats a second, he was terrified of what was to be, he lost his temper in the temple, he wept with fear in the garden at night, knowing he would be pierced and lanced, knowing he would be speared in his heart as he hung struggling to breathe, sour wine on his lips, the afternoon brooding and lowering over Golgotha, the Place of Sculls.

He too was once a fertilized egg doubling and redoubling itself, forming endocardial heart tubes, myocardium and epicardium, the cells of what would be his heart miraculously migrating and fusing and dividing into the genius engineering of the four magic chambers, his amazing new heart beating beneath his amazing mother’s amazing heart after eight weeks, his mother the extraordinary teenage girl who said yes yes yes, as all mothers do, all their lives; and then mere moments later he his crying Eloi! Eloi! as he dies, he breathes his las, he yields up his spirit, his heart sludges to a halt on a cross on a bitter bleak afternoon; and then, three days later, in the oceanic black silence of the tomb in the garden, the tomb where non one had yet been laid, the tomb with the seal on the stone, the tomb redolent with myrrh and aloe and linen and spice, suddenly

there’s a heartbeat,
and another,
and another,
and another…

{Brian Doyle. from the wet engine}

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