A Christmas Carol-
So randomly,
Quite arbitrarily
Pandora-played.
The memory that alights in a held-breath moment.
A ruffling of feathers
The trembling thought made black against fading light.
Listening to the tune
I sit on the couch
(an exhausted adult, with a sore back)
My mind a diffusion of reds and blues.
The pain of remembered happiness
Cold cheeks in December
Running home from the fields.
I had laid there in a bed of soft grass
Watched Texas clouds
They were vivid hued
Painted by a tired sun
Dipped its brush into a dark well
An early night that rapidly ensued.
Uncharted hopes sailed overhead
Dreams towered in waning light
Elegant castles that waited to be built.
I could have stayed there forever,
But I remembered it was time to put up the tree
Dress it with ornaments and string the lights.
I ran home-
There was a smell of something good
And the sound of a record on the player,
"Walkin' in a Winter Wonderland."
I could not savor it then,
But sitting in my quiet living room,
After wandering my kitchen at eleven P.M.
Drinking a cup of coffee black
Closing all the cabinet doors
That everyone forgets to shut
I paused,
Looked out the kitchen window
Watched the play of Christmas lights on melting snow.
Pandora plays where you last left off,
My quiet reading time with Vlatko Vedral stopped
When Christmas Eve's music came on.
I remembered,
So clearly,
I remembered!
That evening in December
Lying in my bed of soft grass
Watching the sky and clouds and the setting sun
The hopes and dreams of a ten year old.
Had my Nina, Pinta, and little Santa Maria gotten lost?
Or might they still find a home?
I sat for a awhile,
Then I turned to another station,
The orchestra pieces of Philip Glass.
I took a breath,
Drank some coffee
And then I wrote this poem.
I want to emphasize that despite our pleasant circumstances, we are never TRULY happy in this life, no matter how good things are going or positive the prognosis. I don't want this poem to be interpreted as a product of post-Christmas blues.
I believe it captures a universal message.
How can we truly be happy, mortal transients that we are. My chain of reasoning is, my kids are making these memories now, just as I made mine then. I could not remember or even guess exactly what I was thinking that evening long ago, just that I had a strong feeling of infinite possibilities. It crossed my mind, quite distinctly in fact, that there were others who I know right now who might be experiencing what I did many years ago, and only just now recalled; I felt a great need to capture this and catalogue it. How can I explain this some day, or at least empathize with my children someday if/when they achieve this realization and I have not mentally excavated it for myself. Yeah. Tough one.
I think part of the melancholy of growing older in our lives comes from the diminishing returns of this infinite possibility into a more narrow approach. Most of us I think, if not all, are born with GREAT hearts. Hearts that wish to move with rhythms larger than ourselves- we all wish we could be part of something passionate and heroic and beautiful. Whether man or woman, part of us yearns for something more, a greater vision. It is more than adventure, it is the intrinsic longing that C.S. Lewis and many others talked about, the cold and clear dawn of our souls from a great height overlooking a shining sea: Sehnsucht.
Then, when we reach a certain age, our backs hurt, we are more tired, and we just look at the next mile, the next corner. This is middle age, an age where we have secured an identity, but still do not have the wisdom of a long perspective. We are capable but still enmeshed. We know a great deal of what to expect from the future. It is often a lot of work, and usually largely predictable. We feel the weight of the mundane, and do not yet have the satisfaction of a perspective found only in old age, when we can look back and see that these years of slow sluggish walking were actually the gradually formation of an unparalleled pearl.
Yet, when we are young, we saw only possibility without the reality and worry of a parent and spouse. We do not have the motivation of invested time and effort nor the luxury of observing the second and third order effects of our labors. Life is a Tabula Rasa and we have a pen full of ink hungry for white space.
Especially in this age, each generation seems to outdistance the last geometrically. From many centuries, this was not the case, and sons saw what their father's fathers had seen, and did what their great grandfather's did. There was a changeless-ness to some degree in society. Today, we seem to have every possible path in front of us. Yet, it is almost a terrible lie, for we find ourselves forsaking our dreams to meet our responsibilities. This is not an ignoble thing, for it is better survive with honor than savor the thriving of our art in shame. However, this does not discount our inner angst, nor diminish our feeling of sehnsucht. In the words of the urban seer, Tyler Durden:
Man, I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.
Well said, my good schizo-friend... but let's forego the pissed-off ear-punching and find a bodhi tree instead.
So, in the midnight hour, drinking my coffee while I sit on the couch,I realize how beautiful some of my childhood moments were and how important it is to give my children beautiful moments.
I realize that I have more than work to do. Of course, I still need to meet my obligations. I have to survive this house of cards life, and that takes a measure of compromise. But not COMPLETE compromise. There are territories that are sacred to me. I will not surrender the central Keep.
When faced with our waning mortality, we can sit on the couch and feel it for a moment. But, it should never end there. We need to take a drink of coffee, and then struggle to understand it.
We owe it to ourselves, and we owe it to our children.
Thirty is young yet.
There is still a lot to do.
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