A year, after all, is no great thing. Years come and go, a manageable span of days. When we were young - remember? - a year was like an ocean. You could not contain it because it was vast. You could hardly swim without faltering across an hour. As we grow, years diminish. Now we can drink a year in one great gulp, from beginning to end. Soon no amount of time will satisfy our thirst for life. A year, after so many, is no great thing.
Once - remember? - an hour was enough time to do anything we wanted to do. How could we sustain any imagination or fancy for an entire hour? Today, I can hardly imagine accomplishing anything of worth in less than a year. In the end, I fear, I will come to realize that an entire life was not enough, not nearly enough, to accomplish anything at all.
You cannot stem time in its irresistible flow, nor can you divide it meaningfully into parts. The units may remain true, but the scale always shifts. I wonder why we try? Here we are, and now. The great accomplishment of our life is simply that we are alive. Here we are and now, born as fulfilled as ever we need to be. Close your eyes, or open them, and revel in the success of your existence. Somewhere calendars are cast into the fire. New calendars take their place. This is not who we are, it is just one more thing we do to fill the time. Time is running, but that doesn't mean it's running out. Who knows, really, what comes next?
Let not these humans scratches in time discourage us. Time means nothing without us, as far as we're concerned. We mean everything to each other, and here we are, and now.
Happy old year. Happy new.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
