(un)manufactured moments

Here we go, here we go, here we go now. Another spin around the sun, shall we? That's what a year is right? A spin around the sun? I never remember these things. These things one learns in primary school or from your geek(ish) father who delights in helping you make your replica of the solar system. A day, I think, is an earth's spin on its own axle. Or is that axis? Either way, we turn. We are also floating in space.

Do you Realize? Do. You. Realize. That you have. The most. Beautiful face. (borrowed from the Flaming Lips). I'm more curious about the 'face I had before the world was made' (thank you Yeats). These are the things that I think of on a sunny morning in Spain, as I sit and drink my tea amidst the pine trees. Pine not palm. Who knew?

Somehow I want there to be a 'moment.' A gentle reckoning of what this past year was (a blur? a blob?) and what I want this new year to be (different?). There is nothing there. Willing it squashes the inception of any desired state of being. Is it enough to just stare at the blackbirds?

Last night, a few minutes to midnight, the rest of the household in bed from sickness or to bed early by happy choice, I took my tipsy self outside. I wanted to hear it turn to the new year. To listen to the tiny village and its inhabitants, sing out in hope and joy as their earth imperceptibly spun. Instead, my new neighbour blasted Death Metal. I heard nothing but distorted music and screaming men. I don't mean to judge. But I do. Don't get me wrong, there is a time and place for this perhaps. I can see how this kind of music can be helpful to get your frustrated demons out as you ricochet around the room, flailing and punching the air. I can even see how you might use this to fire up your cells and neurons in an attempt to bench press your own body weight. What I cannot see so clearly is how you play this music while you are hosting a party. How can you even hear your friends?

I noticed that my new year was about to be greeted by my own poisonous thoughts, rage starting to bubble beneath my surface, "Who in their right mind blasts this shit outside at midnight?!" and not by hearing distant and faint peeps from the Whos down in my Whoville. Instead, I stopped. Laughed lightly at my own self for expecting things to be just as I wanted them, and turned to go back into the house, accepting of the lack of any manufactured moment.

Yes. Maybe it is enough to just stare at the blackbirds.

Here's to another year.

Thanks be to God.