Resurrection Esoterica

What happens when the mysteries dry up?

The questions you had

When it began



Watching the cars go by

Metal birds without song

What do they sound like

To the robin soaring above?

To him

Below are quarries and mines

Hot pavement

Metals stones glass and heat

Specks of seed, trees and meat

Loss dots this world

Like flowers in a field

Constant in its attempts

To crack through

To claim

To conquer

To forget

Everything is reborn

That the robin can see

The nature of everything

Twists deforms destroys dies and denies

That its time is over

Or at least the question it posed

Is answered

To some

Resurrection is the birth

Of questions without answers

The placement of layers

Around the core


For when the blank slate of inquiry

Begins it again

Gene G. McLaughlin 2017

The Hill



I haven’t a clue what went down at Calvary

Centuries ago

You can put the things in a giant endless box

That I don’t know

I do know much of narratives

The stories we tell ourselves

There are true things in stories

That we create for ourselves

If you tell me Romans might have feared

What they didn’t understand

If you tell me Judas might have betrayed

Someone he loved and respected as man

If you tell me that 3 men were crucified

On crosses plunged deep into the land

If you tell me those that had love for them cried

As the the blood dripped from their nail struck hands

I’d believe you for the most part

I know these stories to be mostly true

I’d believe you at least in part

Because from experience these thing are true to you

People have ever been sacrificed

People have ever been betrayed

Maybe one was named Jesus Christ

Maybe he died today

No narrative sustains

That isn’t one that compels

No stories remain over centuries

That aren’t written in our cells

I’m somber not from a leap of faith

That is not my road

I’m somber for the parts I know are true

Those lying deep within our code

Sacrifice, love, and loss

Things which are often represented

By a lonely hill once bearing a cross

Which many hold when their sins are repented

Gene G. McLaughlin 2014


Spring 2005

The rain the sun

The bud the pollen

The flower the leaf

The fruit the seed

Spring undeniable

Again in its glory

Winter’s toll taken

The fallen both recalled

And unremembered

Now is the time of


And new responsibility

Awakening comes slow

Then sudden

Like the flood of the

Mountain stream

White and cold with

Anger and breakneck

Speed, ice no longer

Controlling and slowing

Its pace, What did I

Believe yesterday?

It seems so distant

I am who I was, but

There is the reckoning

That maybe I was wrong

Believing the cycle broken

And the world to be colder

Than it once was

Winter is nothing if not

A capable illusionist

Claiming things broken and

The cycle stopped

Yet it comes again

The rain

The sun

The bud

The pollen

The flower

The leaf

The fruit

The seed


Just in time

Gene G. McLaughlin 2005