Somehow, I forgot to post yesterday, so today is a two-fer. Yesterday there was a reading about meanings of colours to various American tribes, and I noticed what seemed a contradiction of an earlier one, that white was for the North. Here, it was instead for the south, but I don’t know the exact context, and I’m willing to accept that there can be such opposites in beliefs. It brought to mind childhood, and the way our stories change as we get older.
The world turned upside down
when as I read white for south
blue replacing it in the north.
How often do we spin, lose direction,
find our compasses no longer find
true North? As children, we knew things:
Santa came at Christmas, there were fairies
and Peter Pan, we had to step over cracks in the
sidewalk so Mother’s back remained unbroken,
parents lived forever. The first broken promise?
The one about Santa, then fairies.
We didn’t stay young forever.
CAS Jan. 12, 2015
Why did I expect to live forever? Every autumn
evidence of impermanence. Flowers die,
the earth’s face ages into cold white, the obits
that sadden hearts every December. The mirror
has been telling me for years, but somehow
I’ve always looked right past the signs. Harder
now to ignore, but I am still looking away.
I keep hearing “It could be worse. Consider
the alternative.” And I try, but the words are
in a foreign tongue.
CAS Jan. 13, 2015
I particularly like the 1/12 poem. You’ve evoked so well the tug between this old beliefs and the reality of adulthood and beyond.
Thanks, Barb. Something that is on my mind a lot during the winter months, since retiring.