In ancient Winter, Ostara rises –
deep, mysterious, veiled – iced in Death,
then suddenly brightening! springing forth,
her fecund forces fertilizing barren land.
Dust and ashes swirl in freshly shafted sunlight,
bidding Winter a deluded farewell,
heralding a new and swiftly dying dawn.
In this dawn, Ostara begins to perish –
she cannot suffer the truth of her light.
Doomed she is to wrestle Erebus
again and again and ever again.
How then does Ostara contend with Christ,
a pagan herald oppose the Child’s ascent?
No! Hades forbid it! Ostara foreruns,
nearly finishing, then Christ rejoins the race –
where she wanes, he waxes –
gathering the changeling seasons in his wake.
What Ostara begins she cannot end –
she dances hard in Death’s embrace,
her work valiant but incomplete.
Christ’s contention is superior:
he authors and finishes, creates and ends,
concatenates and cleaves.
He rises! He rises ever – never again to descend!
Thus pagan song does not offend –
it cannot end. It dies to be resung.
Ostara! Ēostre, Ishtar! In Christ, relearn
Persephone’s march to the beat of new drums.
Goddesses, full in birth! Join a goddess
filled full with Birth – join the dance of Christus Victor!
Find new embrace, an undying Dawn, and a little death –
a little death of ancient Winter now unveiled –
a little death, springing forth, reborn to life.
Happy Easter!