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Have you ever had a holiday season like this one?
If you have, you are the only person I know who has answered, “Yes.”
Generally, by this time, I am in the thick of the “Glad Tidings.” My calendar is full of parties, performances, and preparations. Of course, I have my “outfits planned,” my house perfectly presentable with all the “pears in the partridge tree,” so to speak. My dog Bonnie Buttercup is groomed, my hair coiffed, and my nails streaked with scarlet. Oh, and there are goodies galore stashed in cupboards. An appointment is scheduled with the car service center to ensure no problems dashing through the snow and mountain passes to see precious grandchildren.
This year none of this is happening. Guess what? My world is quiet and peaceful and beautiful.
Now, I see so much magnificence. I wonder about the beauty of it all – the dark skies, the glittering stars, the brightness of planets, the crisp air, the bareness of branches, birds bathing and drinking the warm water I have provided them, their flight from afar to arrive outside my kitchen window. What a joy it is to see a little babe and the wrinkly faces and kind eyes of the elderly when I stroll down the lane.
Wise words of author Melody Beattie from her book, “More Language of Letting Go,” appear in my head. “Relax. Savor this moment, too. Stop trying to fill it up. You’re in the void, that magical place from which all creation arises….Help me relax in this space and garner energy for the journey ahead.”
So much has been lost this year. Visions of better times and new experiences are not easy to conjure.
The new neighbors across the street from me have blown up a Santa Claus balloon as tall as their two-story house, and the people next to me have on their front lawn an inflated cactus donning a cowboy hat. Both houses drip with LED colored lights on all of the eaves. I chuckle when I see big Santa starring at me in my front door fan window, and I chuckle again when I see the cactus as I venture to my mailbox.
I go to the back of my house many nights and enter the passive solar sunroom, which used to be my patio. Bonnie follows me, and our cat, Katie, comes, too, because it is completely closed off to the outside world and any fox or coyote roaming the yard. Both animals settle down next to the Adirondack chair I have eased into. I think about burning a log in my fire pit. Instead, I gaze at the large locust tree that stands guard in my backyard, staring at the stars, and music from long ago plays in my head.
“Hello darkness, my old friend
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
‘Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp,
When my eyes were stabbed by
The flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence
“Fools”, said I, “You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you”
But my words, like silent raindrops, fell
And echoed in the wells of silence
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said:
“The words of the prophets are
Written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the sound of silence.”
Simon and Garfunkel
Copyright – Elizabeth J. Wheeler, December 8, 2020
