To connect. To converse. To respond. To listen. To silence.
Through poetry.
It is the eve of a party on the eve of a new year. And another eve has already been and gone.
He is noticing these past few months how frost doesn't seem to come around anymore. And yes, he lives in an urban area. But as little as three years ago or even less, he would have found frost all around on an early morning jog. Not this winter.
The rain still falls at Christmas. For all our singing about white Christmases, the weather he most associates with this time of year is the weather howling around the house as he waits to get ready for the party. Waves of rain interspersed by clear skies punctuated in turn by fleeing clouds.
The party will be one of family. There he will meet people whose presence he has not shared in a long time. "Life outpaces language" writes Major Jackson — and it seems to him that it often outpaces time as well. Even tonight, his eldest daughter won't be joining them. She is working. He knows that this is a good thing in so many ways, particularly for her. It is yet another practical reflection of how she is spreading her own branches from her own trunk, finding her own space in this world. In a season of glad tidings, he is truly glad to be around to for this knowledge.
But in truth, it also hurts a little to accept how this means that she cannot be with them tonight. This is a pivoting season - when cycles are not circular, but more arc-like in their progression. Yes, all this feels familiar - but it feels strange at times too. Like the winterings of so much rain that carry no more frost.
Maybe it is more a pendulaic season than a pivoting one. His thoughts swing from this moment, to a few weeks ago, to January of this year, and then leap ahead to tonight, next week — which is also next year! A joke that tires but hangs around. Like stragglers at a great party.
He will ring his eldest daughter before joining the voice and noise of the party. He could do it at any time — but there is a season for everything. Especially a phone call between a parent and their child. He will ache a little at the thought that things could be otherwise — but probably should not be. Not at that moment.
There will be another time when they go to a family party as one family. Indeed, there should be many such times. And when they do, the daughter will find her own way around the wider family, talk to them in her own way at her own pace. At certain moments, he will catch a sight of her immersed in someone else's eyes. If he is lucky, in one or two of those glances, her glance will meet his. A brief silent ancknowledgement from a distance. And then returning to where each of them are, holding the fading memory to their hearts.
It sounds a little cloying on his inner ear, but maybe such thoughts — akin to memories from the future — should be treated like Christmas chocolates. All different colours and shapes and sizes at first seeing. But the same joy at the heart of each one The same joy threading them all. The same knowledge that while there may be more to come again, those moments we hold now are certain to move on.
Like this period of 365 days which is passing in the coming hours. Like a new year being wished before it is even born. Maybe this is one way to swaddle the knowing sorrow of ever extending joy. Of knowing. how someone you love so much is moving a little further away, day by day. Find the joy that was always there, before — even after it has been. And wish all those who have yet to come the most wonderful of novel years.
Tomás Ó Ruairc 31 December 2023
"…hello to today, to this world, to you." Sifting the Silence #93
"What you truly are has never had an argument with life, you have always been in love with this…" - John Astin
"But that's the thing about having vision. It's not about always being right about the future. It's about constantly learning what's right and striving for it." - Daniel Jonce Evans writing of his wife Rachel Held Evans (d. 2019)
"How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world." Anne Frank
"Our greatest experiences are our quietest moments." Friedrich Nietzsche
I don't speak because I know that something is true. I speak because I hope that conversation between us will unveil a little more truth. Mini-me (Inspired by the writings of Mark Nepo)
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