December’s Wonder Joy Awe
Walt Whitman describes the questions I have engaged in all year long:
Queries in my Seventieth Year
Approaching, nearing, curious,
Thou dim, uncertain spectre—bringest thou life or death?
Strength, weakness, blindness, more paralysis and heavier?
Or placid skies and sun? Wilt stir the waters yet?
Or haply cut me short for good? Or leave me here as now,
Dull, parrot-like and old, with crack'd voice harping, screeching?
Come December I get happily hypnotized by the season of darkness, as if snowflakes are falling softly through my body being. The slowing down, listening into silence – delicious. This time of year, beauty is shimmering everywhere, shyly smiling eyes, raindrops, fragrant Lebkuchen, steaming teapots, open palms. And all those who don’t have food, a warm bed, and safe roof over their head – they are included in my awareness.
Simple delights. The simpler the better. Listening to Nicky and her stories of being out on the streets protesting, hand printing silk screen posters, organizing. Her eyes, like mine, tearing up over good and sad things, equally. At some point the tears flow freely. Or to Emma, participating in a sit-in protest, singing, waiting to be arrested, as well as her preparations for a tough HR test to qualify for higher pay at her job. Both in their thirties, imagining and fighting for a different future for the planet, including our human world. Tonight, I will attend a poetry reading with music. Tomorrow, Mozart’s Requiem. Commemorating the dead, honoring, awe, joy, wonder.
Beauty
In December, we remember hard work, carefree summer days, as well as hardship and suffering. How we persevered, prepared well, and hence might survive the cold months. We cherish the foods that will nourish and get us through the winter, the quiet joys that await us in “celebrated” darkness, where sparsely glimmering light turns precious. Darkness and light, both. They belong together. Being at the mercy of marauding mercenaries, or devastating storms – and the heart’s longing for better times when the sun might return. Perhaps old pre-Christian traditions honored these realities by celebrating the so-called opposites. Present are also the devil, protective healer witches on brooms, or a terrifying monster, half human half animal to make us aware that not all is cuddly, safe and holy. And kids know this better than the tamed grown-ups. They delight in being frightened, it prepares and strengthens – enlivens. The cold months could bring famine and death. One had to know to persevere, it was not all sugar. Cold, hunger, war, are still a devastating reality for millions on this globe. Celebration is necessary in dark times. For me it is a prayer for all.
Nothing can be taken for granted. Coming together, sharing baked goods, spiced tea with rum, stories and songs, music and chimes, laughter. By candlelight everything takes on a magic glow, special depth and meaning. At this time, we are invited to practice stillness, silence, slowness, wonder, gratitude. We open our senses, enjoy fragrances, tastes, sounds. In the mornings, adding my quince compote to oatmeal, a little butter, cinnamon and nutmeg. Tea after late lunch on the Kassandra deck, sunset prepares its early spectacle. In the evening a candle or two lit as I enjoy my mushroom medley on basmati rice. A left-over apple from my golden delicious tree. How did the old apple tree do this? The big live oak trees overhanging, and blocking so much of the sun. A rich and refreshing combination of juices and flesh tease the taste buds, awakening childhood memories and how important it is to devour the whole apple, core and seeds, and later use the Stiel (stem) as a brush when painting.
Thanking my ancestors, and all the beings I met along the way, for the strength and gifts they passed on to me so I could make it through life, unscathed so far, ever transforming. Seventy years is a long time. Grateful for so much opportunity to express my spirit and practice my art in many forms. Besides the necessary hardships that fortify and grow us – I am immensely thankful for having been and being welcomed, heard, seen, accepted, included, supported. The finitude of life adds a stern sweetness, heightens the feeling. A quiet inner affair tonight.
Stars exploding in my heart, in the night sky, the cold air, my breath… a moment of eternity…
Once, not so long ago, in this century, I made a pilgrimage to Walt Whitman's house in Camden, NJ. We were late, the house closed. But across the street there was a profusion of banners, hanging over the walls of an unremarkable institutional building. Floating in the air, they declared: 'I love you!' or 'Always and Forever!' or 'Never forget me!' We couldn't understand. We thought maybe they were tributes to Whitman. However, it happened that the building was a prison, and these were the prisoners' public love letters. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, friend and teacher!
ReplyDeleteThank you for the wonderful story :) that's how prisoners' families communicate, creative and desperate – love cannot be stopped by walls....
DeleteDecember Delight this morning: reading Walt Whitman and your own words. Reflecting and awareness comes, slowing my pace, my breath. Rereading Mama Oak from the summer-another delight and looking outward at transformation-from myself and crescendo-ing out into the world. Yes, AWE.
DeleteSince my brother's passing now almost 5 years ago, this season for me has often seemed full of regret and sad loss, bearing family memories that now matter only to me. Thank you for once again reminding me to see the beauty and wonder surrounding us, feel awe and joy, and to be thankful for the eternity of Now.
ReplyDeleteThis is the 4th winter that I have heard you talk about delight, the 1st winter that I have been out of school, and single, living alone, and again so far from family. This year I am learning more how delight is necessary, like you say - a prayer. I still wake up in the middle of the night with mind racing, heart racing, wishing for someone older and sturdier to put a hand on the back of my heart, reassure my nervous system. I put my own palms on my belly and heart and feel their weight. In the morning I am still shaken. I taste my sweet dandelion tea with milk, inhale the jasmine incense, delight in brightly colored fabrics, let Maya Angelou’s words into my heart. I feel warmer, more able to inhabit my body. Writing this I am inspired to create a bedtime ritual - I will oil my feet, will prepare to have soft feet through the night.
ReplyDeleteReading your thoughts and reflections on Age and Winter move me deeply bringing to mind and heart the preciousness of this life that we all share. How easy it is for me and many to overlook this and deny ourselves the fulness and heartbreaking open wonder of it all. The quality of your attention illuminates and brings much needed solace-thank you.
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