The Name of Emptiness
As much as we try to understand things in life, it comes a point where we're confronted with pointless. Pointless loss of job, pointless accident, pointless death...
Life has meaning, but in front of meaningless, what can we do?
Pointless and meaningless things express the unknown, and that affects us. The unknown. The only way to overcome the loss of sense and meaning is... others.
Without others, friends, family, even enemies, the unknown may consume us and lead to recessive spiral where only through others we can overcome. So, living our most questionable, difficult, pointless and meaningless times with others is the best way to find again the sense and meaning in life.
What if that other, most trustworthy, and closer to ourselves is... gone?
The emptiness.
The void left by absence consumes our mind.
The silence where once there was a voice is noisy.
Experiencing this is hard. Everyone may say something to help us, but only emptiness fills our need of silence in front of this void. It seems living negativity, but instead we find comfort. We cry. We question. Why?
It is a mystical presence. A discrete presence of the One who personified emptiness, void and ultimate silence. Who?
The One who at the most painful moment ever lived in the history of mankind, screamed the unthinkable and paradoxical.
Screamed... "My God, my God why have you forsaken me?"
Isn't that the deepest experience of the unknown? A sense of forsakenness? A God who experiences forsakenness from Himself? Can you imagine a greater paradox? A greater challenge to existence?
The best way to overcome the most difficult moments in life is to embrace them. But embracing emptiness, void, meaningless, silence is what?
Nothing without a name.
But for 2000 years we have one.
Jesus Forsaken.
The name of emptiness.
Embrace him and you'll see. Love him and you'll find all the answers you seek. Every wrong in this world is his image. So, why is it so important to experience Jesus Forsaken in the darkest moments of our life?
Resurrection.
