The Day of Undead

Humans adore celebrations,

An interesting pretext to gather,

To express grateful blessings,

Or to remember something.

The moment we were born

Is usually a fairly good reason

To celebrate the magic of Life,

To be the center of attention.

The moment one is dead,

People also gather together,

Some to cry, some to eat,

Some to celebrate the death.

Each culture has uniqueness

In their perception or beliefs.

They all choose to embrace

Those key moments differently.

But there are other combinations,

The mysterious states in-between:

Not fully born, but already exists,

Already dead, but still fully alive.

Today we celebrate the latter,

We go to church and we gather

To commemorate an interesting day

When a random man became undead.

Why have we chosen this specific man

As if he was the only one to be so clever

To die absurdly and to still come back?

But we still glorify this one in particular.

Maybe it's because we were the ones

To perform this miracle of resuscitation.

Maybe we don't even celebrate the man,

Maybe it's a day to remember ourselves.

There were many beings like him in here,

And before him, and meanwhile and after.

He had learned his magic somewhere,

And he had many masters and students.

He was an ordinary man, like all of us,

Yet he knew how to create impossible.

We had a very simple decision to take:

Become his students or his preachers.

We could see him as inspiring example

To learn how to become divinely human,

Or we can continue believing our lies,

That he is just special, the only holy.

We can see him as the one in power,

Or we can observe, feel, and sense

How he managed to master it wisely.

What was his recipe to be so cool?

What exactly was the power to him?

How was he using it with or on others?

What was his main obsession in life?

What was the essence of his sharings?

He put his entire existence into service,

But in service to whom and to what?

This is a very interesting question

So few have the courage to ask.

That man was very self-dedicated.

He trusted his own illusion like crazy.

His main thing was about the freedom

To be authentic and courageous like hell.

He didn't care about the establishment,

He didn't bother about the traditions.

His policy was very wild and self-based;

He was in love with raw transcendence.

He didn't care about authority or glory,

He certainly didn't want to be our savior.

He tried to explain something deeper:

With true power, there is no more fear.

He was a canvas for our empowerment,

His life philosophy was his main offering,

But we preferred to put him in the heavens

As something we are yet unworthy to be.

Imagine if your young children at school

Were really inspired by their nice teacher.

They loved him so much and so dearly

That they kill him to worship him better.

Would that strategy make sense to you?

Or imagine if your children have told you,

"We will never be enough or worthy

To be as perfectly smart as our teacher."

What would you answer to your kids

If their self-love and self-confidence

Was limited and bound by the image

Of one of their very loved teachers?

Would you encourage them to believe

That their personal potential is lower,

That they will never reach the stage

Of same power or freedom as teacher?

Would you like seeing your kids to preach,

To put icons and posters of the teacher

All around their room and to pray blindly

To ask the teacher to be as smart as he is?

Or would you encourage them to study,

To use the teachings as an inspiration,

As a tool, as a strategy, and as a method

To become even wiser than their teacher?

Think about it for a small moment,

And ask yourself very frankly after:

If you want your kids to outgrow the master,

Why do you think God wants you stupid?

If you are a teacher who has students,

How do you feel inside, are you proud

If they cherish you instead of learning,

If they are your big fans, but don't listen?

How would you feel if your own students

Had decided to build world-class religion

To enslave their own people for centuries

By making your lessons incomprehensible?

Imagine if you were Jesus living today.

You went for a walk and you saw a church.

You notice hungry, poor, and sick next to it.

You go inside, and you see yourself in gold.

You have spent your life and you died

Mainly to fight poverty and injustice,

And here we are, 2000 years later still

People think this is something normal.

They have no money or enough love

To feed the hungry, to warm the frozen,

But they have virtually unlimited budgets

For glorifying the dead man who saved them.

Do you get how little sense you make?

Do you feel how angry Jesus still is?

He literally told you, everything is inside you.

There is no need to keep enriching kings.

And yet you still keep using Jesus himself

As a perfect pretext to overpower others,

As a mystic path to justify your cowardice

Of abusing our shared humanity and nature.

You think Jesus prefers to see open mines

So you can extract more gold for his statues,

Or do you believe he wants to see gardens

Where people can eat in joy and abundance?

Do you think he is happy to see you praying

Knowing you abuse your own human family?

Do you think he is grateful for your money

Knowing you burned the forest to get it?

What do you think Jesus would prefer today:

You loving him or you loving your neighbor?

Where do you think he would invest himself,

Embracing the priest or the normal beings?

Where do you think he preferred to chill?

Bare feet in nature talking to the "unworthy,"

Or in the man-made temples of cold walls

Where the rich do nothing but become richer?

Who was his crew and his best friends?

Who was his king, authority, and power?

Who was dictating him the rules of behavior

To tell him how spirituality must be practiced?

These systems of separation are everywhere—

In churches, governments, and markets alike.

The powerful few controlling the divided many,

All through borders drawn in minds and lands.

The same pattern repeats in endless cycles:

Those who lead, those who fight, those who suffer.

Priests, soldiers, and believers play their parts

In the grand theater of separation we've built.

He was the rebel of all rebels at that time.

He was wild and crazy enough to question

All outdated traditions and all limiting beliefs,

Even if that meant being put alive on a cross.

He transcended his deep fears of death

To the point where his inner truth and dignity

Became more important than anything else,

Where there was none between him and God.

He saw and felt through the illusions of it all.

He experienced the ultimate interconnection,

This melting yet explosive moment of truth.

He knew he is already both God and Nature.

This is the truth that control systems fear the most:

That boundaries between heaven and earth dissolve,

That the "sacred" hierarchy collapses in nothingness,

That we need no priests to reach self-transcendence.

The organized powers thrive on separation—

Between the holy and profane, pure and impure.

Yet he walked through these silly illusory walls,

Showing that divinity lives in shared human soul.

He was known as a multidimensional traveler,

As someone who understood the funny mystery.

His soul was free and wise to transform whatever.

He mastered the realms of undead and unborn.

He never wanted or asked to be special.

He was just looking for more friends like him.

He knew how to make existence amazing,

And he just wanted to share that with others.

He wanted a community, a shared humanity

Where we all experience this divine pleasure

Of still being powerful and yet in true freedom

To be rich, happy, and in love without violence.

The collective celebration of the undead

Might actually be a beautiful invitation

To remind ourselves of who we truly are:

The creators of victims and their saviors.

The church creates both sinners and salvation,

Nations create both enemies and protection,

Markets create both poverty and prosperity—

All reflections of our shattered consciousness.

Each one of us has a multidimensional soul.

They all are fragments of the same whole.

You are the only bully who makes you suffer.

You are victim to be saved by your own self.

Is it not this very division of the soul

That has created our unnecessary suffering?

The endless war between classes of the same whole,

This judgment, resentment, and competition.

We pit order against chaos, forgetting their dance.

We separate man from woman, ignoring their union.

We divide Earth from Heaven, missing their connection.

We split "me" from "other" in perpetual confusion.

We sever humans from the gods within them,

Then spend lifetimes searching for what was always there.

This fracturing of oneness into countless pieces

Has been our most ancient, persistent, strategic fear.

We divide nature from spirit, as if they weren't one.

We separate body from mind, creating inner war.

We split heart from soul in artificial boundaries,

Then wonder why we feel so empty at our core.

We oppose system and community as enemies,

Forgetting one emerges naturally from the other.

The micro and macro remain intimately entangled—

Your cells know secrets your mind has yet to discover.

These divisions appear wherever awareness is absent.

The only difference is your courage to see the truth as is,

Your beautiful madness to include the whole as yourself,

To embrace paradox, contradiction, and mystery fully.

Just as Trinity teaches—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—

You are the source, the vessel, and the flowing force.

The same pattern repeats in all natural structures,

Until we recognize ourselves in every sacred role.

But wait—where is the counterpart to that Trinity?

What divine partner is this entangled with in form?

Everything sacred has its balanced counterpart,

Even God and his Son have their feminine "norm."

Consider then the other wild Trinity still silenced:

Mother of all, Daughter, and the Sacred Mystery—

The nurturing soil to the Father's blazing sun,

The ancient wisdom to balance the Holy ecstasy.

If we truly seek proper energetic coherence,

We must honor both with the same reverence.

No more elevation of one at the cost of other,

No more sacred without respecting the origin.

We live now in the ages of integration,

Not the time to create further separation.

We are uniting in our deepest, wildest essence

To express our authenticity with greater elation.

We taste the bitterness of our own powers,

Getting drunk and wild from our own love.

The masculine seeks the feminine within,

The earth reaches for the heavens above.

This cosmic dance of union and fragmentation,

This eternal game of hiding and of seeking—

Perhaps this is what made Jesus laugh the most:

How seriously we take what's merely playing.

Once you integrate this broken Trinity into your soul,

Once you understand you are all of them already—

The peasant, the warrior, and even the king—

You might realize what true power actually means.

This is the message lost in dogmatic teaching:

You are not just the worshipper, but the raw power.

What institutions divide, truth unites completely—

You are the creator, creation, and sacred bond.

In society, we manufacture rich, criminals, and slaves.

In religion, we create God, evil, and sinful poor humans.

Today, our saviors are smart, dangers are Nature-made,

And we remain "victims" who forgot our innate power.

Yet within each of us lies unlimited potential,

A wellspring of creation waiting to be tapped.

We've forgotten the intimate responsibility

That comes with being authors of our reality.

How much more joyful to live without need of saviors,

To recognize the canvas of existence as our own,

To paint with bold dreams the world we truly desire,

And to claim with courage the life we fully deserve.

The day of undead is not about one dead savior,

But about the resurrection possible in each of us.

Every moment offers the gift of death to false divisions

And rebirth into the wholeness we've always been.

This eternal cycle of separation and reunion

Is the profound heartbeat of existence itself—

The exhale that allows the parts to play wild,

The inhale that returns all to interconnection.

And once your deep consciousness opens

To this kind of majestic beauty in blooming,

You might be dead and undead many times,

Just for laughing too hard at your own self.