Occasionally it occurs to me what a strange thing this life is--for some reason we naturally think that others are feeling and thinking the same things we are.

And then reality hits.

Here I sit, in the (for once) fairly clean living room of The Beat, recently awakened from a nap but still strongly feeling the strangely expectant, quiet, mournful-yet-not spirit of this Great and Holy Saturday, imbued in me by the hours of intense liturgical worship in which I have been blessed to take part over the past week--my belly is empty and my heart is full of strangeness, of wonder, of expectation and at least some small part of the awed, silent worship which should be present on such a day. I have not felt so well for months. The Hour of the Resurrection is near. Awake, you that sleep!

One friend is sitting upstairs surfing the web and laughing at earthy jokes. Still another just left for a pig roast. Two more just came in with Oakley! subs, about to watch a movie. And the neighbors next door are drinking it up, shouting at passing cars and attracting loud honking in response.

None of which is bad. But today? This strange day when all Creation is silent and waiting for the wonder of the approaching Dawn? How can there be such noise today, of all days?

And the Synaxarion reading still echoes in my mind.

Awake, you that sleep! Your King is come!

I do not understand.