ticking toward the new
the sky has sprung a leak here in my corner of the globe this morn. thunder clouds are clapping, rumbling. lightning interrupts the percussive roar with its cymbal crash and sparks.
what had been winter white is now a dreary soggy shade of gray. the branches of the trees drip fat-walled tears. it’s a sad scene out there, like cheeks of little children (or their mamas) after a good long cry.
but perhaps it’s the world’s way of washing out the old, making way for new.
for new is, if you wish hard enough, what the night will bring. the page of the calendar turns, the 12 turns into 1. a new beginning. another chance. fresh start.
an incubator full of hopes and dreams, they’ll hatch if we are blessed, if we do our share. don’t sit back and wait for magic.
that’s not how new happens. that’s only how it is in fairy tales and science fiction.
we make new when we dig down deep, resolve to do it different. be gentle, not harsh. listen, not close the door. go out, not curl up inside.
as the whole globe gathers up the messiness of the year that’s left behind, we get–at least on paper–a chance to try again.
isn’t that the miracle behind the spiraling of time? we come around again to a place we’ve never been? we muster what it takes to climb again? to look more closely this time? to take solid steps? to sit and smell the pine, as we move higher on the mountain?
those are questions, all of them, because we’ve not yet mastered the art of climbing, the simple art of one foot in front of the other.
and so, the benevolence that is yet-another-chance is that we’ve built these constructs that lay before us the illusion, the hope, that this time ‘round we might come closer to getting it right.
that’s what fills our lungs in these hours toward the countdown. we tingle with the possibility that this stint, this shift, might be the one where we put aside the things that hold us back, and reach out and grab the ones that we’ve been promising to ourselves.
i know that i’ve a list. and promises i intend to keep.
i come to this rain-soaked morning on the last day of the year with a prayer card filled for those all around me. i look out into the new year and wonder what will come. i cannot take away the pains that might arrive but i can whisper incantations, beg for words and light and hope, to soften all the blows, to be the wind under wings that falter, start to free-fall from the sky.
here as we tick towards the new i count the ones who’ve suffered, are suffering. i count friends who’ve lost a soulmate, i count the brave soul across the street, the one who lies in hospice. i count the mother of a child who might not get well, and another who won’t (one mother, two children, too much to take, by any measure).
i count a dear dear friend far away who doesn’t cease to struggle.
i love them, each and every one. and their struggles weigh down my heart. i pray for hope in the new year. i pray for light.
i pray that once again we might try to get it right–as we carry on the climb to that holy mountaintop.
what do you hope and pray for as we tick toward the new year?
May I begin with Happy New Year, both by calendar and birth!! I hope it is a lovely and joyful year for you dear Bam and a lovely birthday today.
I have been pulling up at the table all along and cogitating and carrying away those wonderful table crumbs that get me through my day. I have not been writing and I wonder at that, but I guess I have been deep in thought and not feeling thought-full enough to spill over.
It is a new year and from what I have collected and reviewed of my thoughts and feelings from 2010, I have this little story to guide this coming year.
Last year was like many years, filled with joys and sorrows, comings and goings. One of my children, my most dear son, hit some powerful rough spots and it was painful for all who love him so much. Early in December, in a powerful fit of anger, he deliberately smashed a cup of mine. It was a gift of a cup. It was a handmade ceramic cup with a delicate glaze of pale blues and whites. It was my “peaceful” cup that I pulled out when I needed a restful, renewing moment. It looked like a beautiful clear winter sky. It was a loss in so many directions.
Later that afternoon I found him collecting the pieces and trying to glue the cup back together. I said nothing and let him go about his work. He worked at it over a few days and I remained silent. After a few days he came to me and said he was sorry, but that he felt it was useless and it would never hold coffee or tea again so we should just throw it away. I told him that I wanted to keep it and use it in a different way. I would put some good soil in it and a small plant. I will keep it in the window over my kitchen sink. It is not useless.
This is what I will carry into the new year. Life can grow and have beauty in the most broken of places. This is faith, hope and love.
Even though I have been very quietly pulling up to the table in the last months, I have received much…thanks for your time and care Bam and thanks to all of you who generously “spill and crumb” at the table. It is a gift.
Monday, January 3, 2011 – 04:24 PM
love that lamcal….
as always, the story breaks your heart and glues it back together again. xoxox
Monday, January 3, 2011 – 09:53 PM
This past year has been more challenging than most – another son lost and found again, terribly ill and now on the road to recovery. I’ve learned to take each day for what it is – an opportunity, a moment in time, loss, love, sadness, strife and always the chance for a little peace in my heart. Ben’s bithday is just 3 days away so the year always begins with an ache. I count my blessings and keep on my path. Your poetry, for that is what your writing is to me, always touches my heart. Thank you for that. Barb
Wednesday, January 5, 2011 – 04:40 PM