Samain and the Moon of the (much needed, much anticipated) New Year
Wednesday gratefuls: Easy Entrees. Mary’s gift. Safeway pickup. Boxed wine. Leftover pork chops and potatoes. Breaded tenderloins available at Scooter’s Barbecue. Snow. May it stay through May. Or, at least Christmas. Dr. Timian’s voice yesterday giving Rigel’s CBC results. Perfect. I think this is the last time we need to see her for this. Seeing the kids tonight. Jon, too. Arrival day yesterday. Joe came on a jet plane from faraway Calcutta. Quarantine over for him and for Seoah. Seeing Diane yesterday. Yes. Gratitude. At the core of life. For friends. For family. For self. For the complex web of which we are all part. Yes. 35 days. But, who’s counting? Me. I’m counting.
I wish it was enough for me right now. But, it’s not. The old melancholy has grabbed me again, shaking the foundations. As only it can. I’m edgy. Tired. Down. Feeling pointless and directionless. Needed, yes, that too. But the constant, relentless nature of need. Right now it seems. Too much. Each necessary thing a fingernail across the chalkboard.
I’m old now. Old enough to know that it doesn’t last. That it’s apparent proximate causes are only lightly related to the waters lapping at my soul. Yes. I know all that. Not helpful, or not helpful enough.
These are the moments when I might sit still. Stay in one place, welded there by no good reason to get up. Hunger helps. To get me up.
Yesterday was arrival day for Joe and me. It’s our own private holiday, an anniversary date for his midnight touchdown at Minneapolis/St. Paul International. The day Angel picked me up, towed my VW Beetle back after its engine seized in the -15 weather. Angel, who was the first stranger in our house to see Joseph.
Earlier this year I bought a t-shirt for both of us that commemorates the exact pattern of the planets at that day and time. His t-shirt is on a boat along with other household goods, traveling to Oahu from Singapore. My idea is that each year we take a selfie on December 15th while wearing the t-shirt and send it on. A record of where we were living, how we looked as the years pass. And, of course, a joyful memory for entering each others lives.
The electoral college. Geez, who could have seen that result coming? Not all those damned Republicans. Now McConnell says, hey, Biden won, you know? Trump rants on. Barr is gone. But Trump remains. He will leave potholes and sinkholes all over government. Nasty rule and regulation changes. Expert staff gone, frustrated or fired or just exhausted. 300,000 dead on his bloody hands. A too conservative, too ideological Supreme Court.
A nation, too, with divisions at depths we haven’t known since the Civil War and Reconstruction. We need, so badly, to heal. But, it may take, will take, years. I hope the healing, as I said yesterday, comes from a deep examination of who we are and what we can/need to become. If so, enduring these excruciating years might have been worth it. Might.
Sorry. My holiday spirit has gone missing. Just when I needed it most. The 21st will find me deep in my inner world, in the darkness, hoping to gain some traction again. The Winter Solstice. That’s my hope now. A day to cleanse the barnacles off my psyche, connect with the rhizomes and nutrients that exist only below the surface of my consciousness.
This will pass. I know. Waiting.