decrescendo a niente, shadow of green man.


today is the first day i feel the quiet resonance of yuletide this year- winter solstice in my heart.  may be ive been too busy and insensitive. may be life has been too full of momentum. perhaps i needed the maddening active energy to realize the diametric opposite- energy in its most complete potential state.  could it be that i needed the busy bright, artificial bustle of the 'christmas holiday seasons cheer' to realize the existence of the yuletide- the time of midwinter silence?

yuletide is a very special time for me- the cusp of life and death. in midst of quiet silence, where frozen earth no longer gives us her bounties- her breasts bare and dry, she cradles the seeds and hopes of tomorrow. the little seeds, dreaming of life.  little wee lambs in mom's womb, just speckles, yet real, quietly growing in the trance of life.  what lives shall die. what dies shall let the new life inherit the earth.  janus, the mighty green man, is only a thought in the depth of the earth- oh how he will rule the earth with bursting virility by the spring equinox!


i am en route to the hills in 22 long and short days.

days will be different.
nights will be different.


away from long blurred day-night of bustling city of 24 hours lit brightly with artificial sun, i will retreat to a small basket in the nook of the gentle hills, where true darkness do exists, and the night silence will be broken only by the quiet, steady running trains, coming and going, as they always have, and they always will.

away from the instant convenience of light switches and elevators that takes me to 32nd floor, i will be watching the glowing amber of the fireplace die out, perched on resonating heat from coals and wood- lives that has long passed, telling the stories of their lives, gone, true and ancient.

yuletide promises us a christian gift of innocent man. a man who is earmarked for death, not of his sins, but of a bizarre contract to save us all.  a king of man who must die in shame, the diametrical opposite of heroes.  from the beginning, a child of a virgin, he wears the mark of indiginity.  how quaint and eloquent.  he, also is only a small idea in the virgin womb.  mess of flesh, bones and undefined bits of life.

somehow, for no apparent reason, all these thoughts pierces my heart. a cold-hot thought, much like the anaesthetic needles of the dentist office- enough for me to stop in mid-step, to let out an audible sigh, a grunt.  it hurts. however, i am lucky that that life can be so rich.  from nothing in particular. from the gift of times that goes beyond my own life. of tradition, of lives told and untold, of humbleness, silence and of the meek- with hope of towering power and torrent of life force, though quiet, at this moment. dream, a seed of a green man.

bidding you a beautiful night, everyone.
wishing you the time and space, so that you may see the beauty of the times coming, of sacrifice, death and stasis- only to allow continuation of this weird flow of time, life.

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