Winter\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Waning Moon of the Winter Solstice<\/p>\n
Have you ever been touched, brushed by a faint wing as it passes?\u00a0 Perhaps a brief hesitation in an other wise confident progress, or a stutter in your step as you return home?\u00a0 Some of us feel the passing of these birds of pray more than others.\u00a0 We’ve not yet perfected the thickness, a protection against stooping falcons of unrest, leaving our Selves out there, unprotected, waiting for the faintest grazing, perhaps seeking it, knowing the tentativeness is real, life fleeing either before us or behind us, who can tell which?\u00a0 Until it fails us altogether.<\/p>\n
I’ve always been this way, though it got a burnishing after I entered college and studied philosophy, then anthropology.\u00a0 Doubt, skepticism, questions come so naturally to me I have trouble noticing when they take me too far, leave me out there, dangling by myself, a victim of my own questing beast.\u00a0 In my life there is no such thing as certainty.\u00a0 Perhaps I was born post-modern, always aware of the interpreter, always aware of the Self as interpreted, subject to oceans of ideas, rivers of feeling, no life guards on this beach, the tide out, vanishing out to sea.<\/p>\n
It sounds, I don’t know, dark, or at least gray, but I don’t experience it that way.\u00a0 Instead, I take in things anew, fresh, not as expected, but as inspected, weighed, considered, felt.\u00a0 This gives life a newness, a just been seen character that, no matter how exasperating to the other, gives me a world born again with every breath, every step, every sight.<\/p>\n
It also means you can’t count on me to agree with you, can’t trust my perception of things since it’s so idiosyncratic, in fact, I don’t trust the things I perceived a day ago.\u00a0 Perhaps this is true of everyone though I doubt it.\u00a0 It is the fruit, whether rotten or delicious, of trying to know myself.<\/p>\n
When I set foot in Delphi, walked the sacred way up to the temple of Apollo and put myself on the ancientrail of others seeking wisdom from the oracle, I was at my holy of holies.\u00a0 Here you either learned to know yourself as the sign on the door way commanded or risked losing a kingdom.\u00a0 Just ask the shade of Croesus.<\/p>\n
Listen, this new years, for the sound of flight, air moved aside by feathers, softly.\u00a0 It might be a raven who owns the sun, or an albatross who has ceased to follow the Ancient Mariner.\u00a0 If you hear her, go still, watch.\u00a0 Perhaps you can follow toward those caverns measureless to man.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Winter\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Waning Moon of the Winter Solstice Have you ever been touched, brushed by a faint wing as it passes?\u00a0 Perhaps a brief hesitation in an other wise confident progress, or a stutter in your step as you return home?\u00a0 Some of us feel the passing of these birds of pray more than others.\u00a0 We’ve … Continue reading Listen, This New Year’s Night<\/span>