Not Christmas.
The last few days have been spent in private, observing the winter solstice. It is Angela’s holiday – although she keeps telling me not to call it that, the word festival doesn’t seem appropriate either. Norman, despite being a childhood Christian, has embraced the spirit of the solstice with his full commitment. Samuel has been too injured to put in a vote for Jesus.
The essence of the holiday is that we give thanks, because we have survived the worst and now the days are getting longer, and the world is getting better. I agree it makes a more appealing celebration than Christmas and gifts under the tree. There’s no selfish element buried in the giving of presents. There’s no gaudiness. We’ve all lost so much this year, it makes sense to concentrate on what we still have rather than miss those who are gone.
It hasn’t been the tinsel, TV specials and turkey I’m used to. Angela has led us in her equivalent to prayer. It was calm and peaceful.
It’s all rubbish though. To base a philosophy of the modern world on the cycle of nature, as though humanity eases its ambitions or devices according to the seasons. As though it doesn’t get colder and darker again after the summer. As though it doesn’t get colder now - in January February the winter is always at its most crippling. As if the death of my father was some world event that has to be commemorated with candlelight. As though Samuel hasn’t just been beaten near to death while we pretend the worst is over.
How are we to know the worst has not just begun?
The essence of the holiday is that we give thanks, because we have survived the worst and now the days are getting longer, and the world is getting better. I agree it makes a more appealing celebration than Christmas and gifts under the tree. There’s no selfish element buried in the giving of presents. There’s no gaudiness. We’ve all lost so much this year, it makes sense to concentrate on what we still have rather than miss those who are gone.
It hasn’t been the tinsel, TV specials and turkey I’m used to. Angela has led us in her equivalent to prayer. It was calm and peaceful.
It’s all rubbish though. To base a philosophy of the modern world on the cycle of nature, as though humanity eases its ambitions or devices according to the seasons. As though it doesn’t get colder and darker again after the summer. As though it doesn’t get colder now - in January February the winter is always at its most crippling. As if the death of my father was some world event that has to be commemorated with candlelight. As though Samuel hasn’t just been beaten near to death while we pretend the worst is over.
How are we to know the worst has not just begun?
posted by The son of Edward Fold at 12:58 am
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