It seems strange for today to be a holiday.
The reason is simple, if pedantic, when viewed against the current culture’s massed traditions: January 1 will never be the beginning of the “new year” for me, because that started on Dec. 21., when the days began to lengthen again. Our calendar is arbitrary and inaccurate, when it comes to marking actual beginnings and endings. That’s why the time between the winter solstice and “New Year’s” has always seemed like dead air to me. I know, Christmas is in there somewhere, but that’s more or less arbitrary, too, once separated from the cosmic rhythm.
My body knows the cycle started 10 days ago. My eyes see the brighter twilight at 5:00 p.m. that brings me relief and hope. Today, on January 1 (or whenever this is), I already feel the momentum of the orbiting earth bringing this patch of tilted planet closer to the sun.
We don’t need a culture based on human foibles and projections. Everything we really are is written in the stars.
Related posts:
{ 0 comments… add one now }