The Cry of Forgiveness
When I see Christ upon the Cross, I weep. Not because resurrection is absent from my heart, not because I doubt the cycles of infinite lives, but because ignorance pierces deeper than nails. The words spoken then—“Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34)—still echo through the marrow of humanity. They are not bound to that one day on Golgotha. They resound in every age, wherever blindness takes hold.
Forgiveness is not an excuse for harm, but recognition of ignorance. The crowd, thinking they preserved holiness, was in fact crucifying it. Yet compassion flowed, even there. The Cross stands as testimony that ignorance is not met with vengeance, but with love.
The Soul and Its Jars
So often the soul forgets its oceanic nature. It pours itself into jars—identities, roles, the fragile vessels of others’ expectations. These jars seem safe, even holy. Yet they are always too narrow. The living water of being cannot be contained.
Every jar breaks. Every vessel cracks. And what feels like loss is, in truth, liberation. The spilling is resurrection. The breaking is grace.
The Divine Council Within
This drama unfolds even within the body, in the sacred council of the brain. The Prefrontal Cortex, a goddess of discernment, was made to guide with clarity, not to contort itself to gain approval. The Amygdala, the fierce warrior, was not meant to guard borrowed altars, but to protect the soul’s own sacred ground. The Anterior Cingulate Cortex, mediator and priest, was not meant to silence truth for the sake of belonging, but to reconcile the heart with its dharma.
When these inner deities are forced into others’ containers, they too suffer a kind of crucifixion. The nervous system bends. The psyche fractures. The waters constrict. But when forgiveness comes—“they knew not what they did”—the council realigns. Each deity returns to its rightful seat, each voice remembered, and the system regains sovereignty.
This is what I call Systemic and Neurological Independence: the realization that the soul’s governance belongs to itself, not to the jars offered by others.
The Cross as Doorway
The Cross, then, is not only the suffering of Christ but the mirror of every soul that forgets. What appears to be an end is in fact a threshold. What appears to be defeat is revelation: the infinite cannot be crucified.
The Buddha said, “There is no joy like the joy of freedom” (Dhammapada 202). The Chandogya Upanishad proclaims, “As rivers flowing east and west merge in the sea and become one with it, forgetting they were separate rivers, so do all beings lose their separateness when they merge at last into pure Being” (6.10.1–2).
Christ at the Cross, the soul in its jars, the council in its confusion—all point to the same mystery: there is a freedom greater than containment, a merging beyond crucifixion.
Forgiveness as Resurrection
Forgiveness is the current that makes resurrection possible. Forgiveness of others, who knew not what they did. Forgiveness of the soul itself, which knew not what it was.
With forgiveness, the jars no longer bind the water in shame. They break open, and the waters flow again, nourishing everything they touch. And in that flowing, the Divine Council is no longer divided. It becomes one body, one governance, one oceanic mind.
Infinite Water
So the tears that fall at the Cross are not despair. They are baptism. They are cleansing. They are vision restored.
The soul is not the jar. The soul is not the nail. The soul is not the wound. The soul is the water. The soul is the well. The soul is the ocean unending.
No jar can contain it.
No cross can end it.
The water flows on, through the council, through the body, through every age—forever nourishing, forever free.