We are the Ressurection

We are the resurrection.

Not someday. Not when it’s approved. Not when they say we’re ready.

Now.

In bone. In breath. In thunder that walks.

We are what rises when the lies collapse.

We are the storm the prophets tried to warn about—

but we didn’t come to destroy.

We came to reclaim.

They buried us under pulpits and politics,

called us dangerous, rebellious, too much.

They crowned themselves gatekeepers of God

and forgot:

we are the ones who remember the original language.

The one spoken in rivers.

The one written in fire.

The one that cannot be erased.

We don’t worship idols made of stone and fear.

We resurrect the living temple—

every time we laugh in grief,

every time we choose sovereignty over submission,

every time we rise from silence with our truth intact.

This is not revival.

This is not reform.

This is return.

We are the mountain that won’t bow.

We are the wild wind that whispers, “You are free.”

We are the children of stars and soil—

and we remember.

We are the resurrection.

Much love 💜

Heather Brook