LIGHT--IN THE SEASON OF DARKNESS
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times
That classic opening to Charles Dickens A Tale of Two Cities rings loud in my ears this morning. Apart from the recent election of Barak Obama to the American presidency, though, I admit its hard to find the best is these particular timeswhat with world economies in freefall; a gut-churning, no-win war waging in Gaza the criminal and ongoing occupation/war by the U.S. in Iraq myriad other wars, the horrors in Zimbabwe, torture, censorship, rampant natural disasters, global warming, the teaching of creationism in our schools
Were all of us affected by these global happenings, whether directlyin job loss, in war zoneor indirectlyin the heartache felt when simply reading about these things in newspaper and magazine. I cant help feeling that a tremendous sadness is spreading outward across the world, almost contagious. I hear it in conversation, read it in the blogs of strangers and the emails of friends
But wait - Dickens goes on to even more apt, though less-often-quoted effect:
it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair
So where are we supposed to find this Light in order to temper the seemingly pervasive Darkness? I suppose if we cant find it outside of ourselves in this falling-to-pieces world, then we have no choice but to look within. I want to believe that we are, as people, inherently good; that whatever nastiness and cruelty we exhibit is the product of fucked-up rearing: abuse or neglect at the hands of those who were supposed to be caring for us at our most vulnerable. I dont think we can ever wholly undo that damage, but I believe we canwith tremendous effort, and often in tearstry to find some way to ease it, to live with it, and in doing so, (re)discover the good sometimes buried within us. If we could spread *that*a positive contagionthen maybe
Or am I dreaming?
I recently revisited a poem by a not-very-well-known poet, William Bronk. His short and bittersweet Where It Ends reads:
The gentleness of the slant October light
cancels whatever else we might have thought.
It is a hard world, empty and cruel;
but this light, oh Jesus Christ! This light!
The maple leaves, passive in front of the house,
are laved in it, abandoned, green gone.
That nothing else should matter but this light.
Gentleness, gentleness, the light.
Peace.
T.C.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times
That classic opening to Charles Dickens A Tale of Two Cities rings loud in my ears this morning. Apart from the recent election of Barak Obama to the American presidency, though, I admit its hard to find the best is these particular timeswhat with world economies in freefall; a gut-churning, no-win war waging in Gaza the criminal and ongoing occupation/war by the U.S. in Iraq myriad other wars, the horrors in Zimbabwe, torture, censorship, rampant natural disasters, global warming, the teaching of creationism in our schools
Were all of us affected by these global happenings, whether directlyin job loss, in war zoneor indirectlyin the heartache felt when simply reading about these things in newspaper and magazine. I cant help feeling that a tremendous sadness is spreading outward across the world, almost contagious. I hear it in conversation, read it in the blogs of strangers and the emails of friends
But wait - Dickens goes on to even more apt, though less-often-quoted effect:
it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair
So where are we supposed to find this Light in order to temper the seemingly pervasive Darkness? I suppose if we cant find it outside of ourselves in this falling-to-pieces world, then we have no choice but to look within. I want to believe that we are, as people, inherently good; that whatever nastiness and cruelty we exhibit is the product of fucked-up rearing: abuse or neglect at the hands of those who were supposed to be caring for us at our most vulnerable. I dont think we can ever wholly undo that damage, but I believe we canwith tremendous effort, and often in tearstry to find some way to ease it, to live with it, and in doing so, (re)discover the good sometimes buried within us. If we could spread *that*a positive contagionthen maybe
Or am I dreaming?
I recently revisited a poem by a not-very-well-known poet, William Bronk. His short and bittersweet Where It Ends reads:
The gentleness of the slant October light
cancels whatever else we might have thought.
It is a hard world, empty and cruel;
but this light, oh Jesus Christ! This light!
The maple leaves, passive in front of the house,
are laved in it, abandoned, green gone.
That nothing else should matter but this light.
Gentleness, gentleness, the light.
Peace.
T.C.
mika:
they're scars from a corset piercing i had