It is just short of the hour I used to celebrate the new year, when I lived in Calif.. It’s three hours since the champagne and toasting here in New York. New Year’s is when we mark our collective birthday; an arbitrary, but important division of one period from another. I don’t really truck with the idea that New Year’s is meaningless, because people are creatures of patter, and the year is cyclic, as time is directional.
This year was quiet, emotionally. Which seems odd; since there are changes brewing. We are planning a wedding for May. I intend to go back to school (this is, sadly, not a new intention). There is spinning to do. In a lot of ways tomorrow seems as if it is just the continuation of today. But I am not who I was.
There is a hashtag on twitter, #sixwordwar, it’s about density, it’s a sort of haiku about the internal things which we can’t share with other people. We all have those, not just those who’ve been in combat zones. We have the faces that we never show. We have the bits and pieces which add up, one grain of sand at a time, to mighty castles; castles made of sand, which we hope the tide won’t rise to wash away.
Ok, I’m tired, I’ve lost the thread of metaphor, and any hope I had this was going to be a coherent rundown of the past year is gone.
Be good to one another. Read “A Christmas Carol”, listen to Marley and become as Scrooge did, one who keeps the Spirit of Christmas in your heart the whole year ’round, and maybe, someday, no one will write that sort of haiku again; at the very least, the world around you will be better for your passing through it.
All the love.