Good Friday - He did not go the way of clouds

Live from our prayer room: A spontaneous session with a poem by Claude AI. With Lena and Karsten. He did not go the way of clouds, not in the light that spares the eye. He walked through dust, climbed the hill, through the place where sheep are slaughtered and no one watches. What we call love we usually mean something warmer a hand on the shoulder, a lamp left on. But he meant something older. He meant the seed that goes down into the dark and does not know if it's dying or becoming.