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The Third Day: The Soul’s Resurrection

The Rise of the New Human

By THE HONED CRONEPublished 2 months ago 2 min read

Day One:

The soul descended.

It agreed to forget, to fracture, to bleed.

To walk among the sleeping and call that living.

It learned the language of hunger —

the need to be seen, the ache to be loved,

the terror of being nothing at all.

It learned how silence could be a weapon,

how love could vanish into shadows,

how the body could betray the mind

and the mind betray the heart.

And God watched from within the marrow,

silent but not absent,

whispering through pain: keep going.

Even when every step felt broken,

even when the eyes could not hold light,

the whisper persisted.

Day Two:

The illusion began to rot.

Pleasure turned to poison,

truth twisted into theatre,

and every promise rang hollow.

The sacred feminine was burned for beauty,

the sacred masculine for power,

and the children of earth forgot the language of the heart.

The soul tried everything:

addiction, devotion, denial, salvation,

searching every mirror for the face of God.

Every reflection fractured,

shards of light and shadow scattered across the floor,

but still the whisper said: keep going.

It learned how to walk through fire

and not be consumed,

how to drink bitterness as water

and not lose the taste of sweetness.

Day Three:

The soul survived the binge of pain.

It drank illusion to the dregs

and found no nourishment there.

It lay in the wreckage of what once glittered,

and for a long time it could not tell dream from death,

self from shadow,

hope from hollow.

But on the third day, the silence changed.

A single breath of light entered the chamber,

gentle as wind through a cathedral.

The body stirred — not yet whole,

but remembering.

Every cell began to hum the old language of truth.

Every pulse spoke of ancient rhythm and fire.

The heart whispered to the spine,

and the spine whispered to the soul: rise.

This is the hour between worlds,

when the spirit, still trembling, chooses to rise.

It does not need certainty.

It only needs willingness.

The soul survived the binge of pain,

and now the light begins to feed it.

What was lost becomes luminous,

what was buried becomes holy.

Shadows bend toward illumination,

and the echoes of suffering are tempered into wisdom.

Beyond the Third Day:

The soul begins again — but different.

No longer chasing heaven,

it carries heaven in its bloodstream.

No longer seeking God,

it breathes as God in motion.

It walks the earth with new eyes,

seeing beauty even in bruises,

hearing music in the machinery of sorrow.

It speaks gently to its past,

forgiving what could not yet love itself.

It teaches without words,

heals without ceremony,

shines without demand.

This is the resurrection not of one,

but of the many —

the rise of the radiant human,

born from shadow and flame,

crowned in compassion,

armed with clarity,

and carrying a heart that is both tender and fierce.

And so it is:

Day Three becomes Forever.

The soul walks in gold.

The body is a temple,

the mind a mirror,

the spirit a torch.

The new world begins within.

The fire is alive.

The light is unbroken.

The soul remembers itself — complete, sovereign, eternal.

arthumanity

About the Creator

THE HONED CRONE

Sacred survivor, mythic storyteller, and prophet of the risen feminine. I turn grief, rage, and trauma into art, ritual, and words that ignite courage, truth, and divine power in others.

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