An old man told me there was an old story that during the winter solstice time stopped. Creation ceased and the world was merged once again with eternity-and conjoining with the infinite verities of timelessness, all things came to a standstill. Then, when the sun passed through the last hour of the night, it began to return to the world and as the first rays that were longer than before were shed, time began once more.
He told me it was an old story because obviously this can’t be true. The earth orbits the sun and seasonal markers such as the solstice and equinox were due to its procession. He told me it was an old story so that I would listen and ponder its meaning instead of writing off as a bunch of nonsense people believed in a less scientifically advanced age. His trick worked-I did think about and thought about it for a long time and often since he told me.
I usually think about it during the holidays that attend the solstice. Slight moments of reflection amid celebrations:; in between feasting and drinking and gifting. While gathered with friends and family. Outside the warmth and merriment, the sky is a sheet of hammered zinc. The trees are naked, revealing as they sleep disrobed all the space that was between them. Bare stones, brown grass. Life has descended into the earth. A thing can be true without being literally so and in fact this lends it a greater and more relevant presence. As shortest day of the year arrives at its final wane and before it begins to fulminate once more, all things meet: what was once before and is remembered exists again, what has yet to be though undecided shows itself in all its myriad potential, and the present exists in the midst of it all but unknowable.Read More