EPhoto by Daoudi Aissa on Unsplash

Good Friday, always cloudy as Jesus hangs dying on the cross.
I wonder now if tomorrow never came, would he still rise on Sunday?
Would there be a second coming if the human species disappeared
behind the clouds (except for the survival of the fittest, the survival of the richest)?

But if the species were to vanish with the virus into ether, what  would have been the reason to have any memories at all, or thoughts or the ability to create only to have it all destroyed?
Would this be the final death of the species –
the first occurring when your physical body dies the second when there’s no one left to remember you or to speak your name?

This Good Friday, I’m alive to say His name, to honor and remember
others who’ve gone before me — alive because I remember them.
Alive because I read their works. I remember their words.
But think about it. For those survivors of the fittest,
they’ll have our words, our stories, our poetry in the iClouds.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God,
and the Word was God.”
In the end, we are the words, and the words are with God
and the words are God. We are the words in the iClouds.
Oh, I really don’t know clouds at all.

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