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Monday, January 01, 2007

On New Year's Day

Nothing can feel quite as fresh as that New Year babe hauled out of the Future’s ripe stomach. –Not crying, but bubbling and squirming with new life. Eyes open to the dawn and limbs stretched to unfathomable possibilities. Every New Year’s time, if not hindered by distracting outside sources, I get a charge of newness, like the snug change of an undershirt after a hot bath on a winter’s day. The T-shirt magnificently white, fit, and fresh with cleanliness never felt again after that first day’s use.

I look at nature now and everything in its winter parade is marching towards its death. The leaves have fallen and the tree logs are decaying. The field is barren and the sun sleeps sooner. Is it not ironic that we have just celebrated the birth of nature’s Artist within the season of this artwork’s own dying? And in a few months, we will celebrate His death while nature springs to life around us. But perhaps the death of nature is the birth of something new, something beyond the natural.

I can’t help but notice how everything is strenuously attempting to recycle itself. How should I admit it that my whole being wants to be recycled? I want to recycle my heart; it is full of inconsistencies. I’d like to recycle my mouth for it only offends (myself, others, AND God). I wish that I could recycle my mind because it works properly only half the time. I’d like to recycle other parts of my body because it wants to work much too properly all the time. (well maybe not all the time; that’s an exaggeration. I had to write that last one just to be witty.)

So, yes, the New Year signifies rebirth and new beginnings. For my New Year’s Resolution, I resolved that I should stop being so lazy and do more. No area would this resolution be more noticeable and perhaps more beneficial than in the area of writing.
But it is Day 1 of 2007 and writing this little bit is about as difficult as…well, it’s too much effort thinking up the appropriate metaphor here. It’s just dastardly difficult and every jot of ink is….dang it! There I go again drawing a blank. Anyways, the very large numbers of 2007 have emerged from the seas of uncertain time and it is in one way, a very fearful encounter, and in another, an exploratory venture.

Hopefully, I shall yawn and stretch and rub my eyes from the lethargic slumbers of my careless youth. Both the world and myself are getting older. My infant nap with its lullaby has long since passed. As one walks, one must keep one’s toes pointed straight ahead towards that horizon and not mind the heel that was bruised by serpents from the past.


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