This last week before Christmas feels different.
Whether activities are secular or sacred, the sense of time becomes more acute. For some this holiday creates stress; for others, heightened anticipation.
Whether it is Santa or the Three Wisemen bearing gifts (or Amazon or FedEx), there is a belief bigger than the presents themselves.
In this time of awakening, my posts will be more reflective. Why does this annual holiday season seem to matter so much, year after year?
Robert Frost’a poem, The Aim Was Song, is about our effort to understand nature and ourselves. Poetry is the “song” which he composes.
Before man came to blow it right
The wind once blew itself untaught,
And did its loudest day and night
In any rough place where it caught.
Man came to tell it what was wrong:
It hadn’t found the place to blow;
It blew too hard—the aim was song.
And listen—how it ought to go!
He took a little in his mouth,
And held it long enough for north
To be converted into south,
And then by measure blew it forth.
By measure. It was word and note,
The wind the wind had meant to be—
A little through the lips and throat.
The aim was song—the wind could see.