01/06/12
The New Year is still so fresh upon us, that it lay--like some faint dusting of snow--waiting to be brushed from the shoulders of our coats, and winter shoes; and yet--as though viewed through the wrong end of the telescope, it brings with it the promise of Spring, and of renewal, and, of course, unanswered hope; will it be better than the last ? Will it be worse ? As yet, no one knows.
In often scrambling our desires and wants, and means, we rub our eyes, and dimly look ahead.
For children, it is but the resumption of school, a sigh, a yawn, a common thing. For those that have been ill, there is a wish for better health; for those steeped in poverty, there is the thought of gain, somehow, a mumbled prayer to an otherwise forgotten Deity, for ' just one' Lotto win.
While others--in between--seek desperately to keep their homes and cars, and, maybe, keep their families safe and fed.
For some, the New Year represents a time for enforced resolution, for others, who do not in general keep calendar year, it does not mean much at all.
In year's passed, perhaps it was a time of harvest planting, and, for them, the 'Almanac' kept ancient time and legend as a given.
For those who are--perhaps--older, the passing into a New Year means so many things; a time to measure progress and prosperity and gain, or others, who find of it an increasing time of looking backwards, through past times, and past decades, and in realizing that more time has passed than WILL pass, it is a time of lost memory, clouded with the haziness of age, for whom the future is as darkened glass, hiding all, thus making one afraid of all those things that--unseeable--lurk as hidden threats; for, depending, often upon a mere coin's toss, the darkness of the Future holds fully as many monsters as it does angels...perhaps, more.
When Do we understand that each New Year's arrival means one year less ? One less year to be better, more kind and loving ? More reasonable, cautious, or simply, more tolerant ?
In the--as yet mined--substrata of a New Year, just beneath the surface, can old hatreds still percolate with bubbled evil ? Are there still wounds not ever healed ? Why is 'foregiveness' yet so frail, while purest vitriol wells forth at slightest chance?
After much engaged and futile thought, the obvious remains: for while we have incontestably grown older, we have not changed.
Such sorrows, slights, and inconsolable pain and illness as they come, corrupts, and jades our youth, and lines our faces with their history; it should serve as a map of conscience; even accumulated injuries made happenstance weigh down upon us with their collective woe, until our eyes are blind in helpless cavilling, until what path does remain before us leads--not to contrition, nor piety, nor forgiveness--but rather to a twin tendency to remorse or rage.
Should not these later years be marked by some redeeming peace ?
Or, do we in stark, and restless weariness, seek not that which is Divine, but to resist with every, ragged breath, that unavoidable last exhalation ? Will we, in that changling'd moment seek to find a rest in Beauty and in Truth, or shall we continue such self-deception--even then--fly towards some dark and dismal fate: and a cold quietude of thought and Being ?
Although the 'Quest' remains, do we but claim the stars we choose to follow ?
Each and every New Year should be one of most careful introspection, and decision, for there lies a clear mandate to wisely choose what shape we shall become, and with what garments we shall gather about ourselves, for it is in this way that we are perceived...and judged. For we can--while yet infirm--choose the light, and, with our dwindling power yet abjure the coming night.
Charles/'Zahc'
The New Year is still so fresh upon us, that it lay--like some faint dusting of snow--waiting to be brushed from the shoulders of our coats, and winter shoes; and yet--as though viewed through the wrong end of the telescope, it brings with it the promise of Spring, and of renewal, and, of course, unanswered hope; will it be better than the last ? Will it be worse ? As yet, no one knows.
In often scrambling our desires and wants, and means, we rub our eyes, and dimly look ahead.
For children, it is but the resumption of school, a sigh, a yawn, a common thing. For those that have been ill, there is a wish for better health; for those steeped in poverty, there is the thought of gain, somehow, a mumbled prayer to an otherwise forgotten Deity, for ' just one' Lotto win.
While others--in between--seek desperately to keep their homes and cars, and, maybe, keep their families safe and fed.
For some, the New Year represents a time for enforced resolution, for others, who do not in general keep calendar year, it does not mean much at all.
In year's passed, perhaps it was a time of harvest planting, and, for them, the 'Almanac' kept ancient time and legend as a given.
For those who are--perhaps--older, the passing into a New Year means so many things; a time to measure progress and prosperity and gain, or others, who find of it an increasing time of looking backwards, through past times, and past decades, and in realizing that more time has passed than WILL pass, it is a time of lost memory, clouded with the haziness of age, for whom the future is as darkened glass, hiding all, thus making one afraid of all those things that--unseeable--lurk as hidden threats; for, depending, often upon a mere coin's toss, the darkness of the Future holds fully as many monsters as it does angels...perhaps, more.
When Do we understand that each New Year's arrival means one year less ? One less year to be better, more kind and loving ? More reasonable, cautious, or simply, more tolerant ?
In the--as yet mined--substrata of a New Year, just beneath the surface, can old hatreds still percolate with bubbled evil ? Are there still wounds not ever healed ? Why is 'foregiveness' yet so frail, while purest vitriol wells forth at slightest chance?
After much engaged and futile thought, the obvious remains: for while we have incontestably grown older, we have not changed.
Such sorrows, slights, and inconsolable pain and illness as they come, corrupts, and jades our youth, and lines our faces with their history; it should serve as a map of conscience; even accumulated injuries made happenstance weigh down upon us with their collective woe, until our eyes are blind in helpless cavilling, until what path does remain before us leads--not to contrition, nor piety, nor forgiveness--but rather to a twin tendency to remorse or rage.
Should not these later years be marked by some redeeming peace ?
Or, do we in stark, and restless weariness, seek not that which is Divine, but to resist with every, ragged breath, that unavoidable last exhalation ? Will we, in that changling'd moment seek to find a rest in Beauty and in Truth, or shall we continue such self-deception--even then--fly towards some dark and dismal fate: and a cold quietude of thought and Being ?
Although the 'Quest' remains, do we but claim the stars we choose to follow ?
Each and every New Year should be one of most careful introspection, and decision, for there lies a clear mandate to wisely choose what shape we shall become, and with what garments we shall gather about ourselves, for it is in this way that we are perceived...and judged. For we can--while yet infirm--choose the light, and, with our dwindling power yet abjure the coming night.
Charles/'Zahc'
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