When I was a child my mother had a calendar hanging on the kitchen wall by the door. Made of cloth, with a wooden dowel run through top and bottom, it showed all twelve months of the year. Which year, I don't recall... it had just always been there. I would sit at the kitchen table and stare at those blocks of numbers with undying fascination. And to this day I still envision the year in a sort of quantum-dimensional form of this calendar. January is at the top; the year descends from there, wandering back and forth a bit through spring and summer, into autumn, then burrowing down into the darkest days of early winter. By the end of December I always feel as though I am deep, deep under all those months stacked above me, in a place that is dark, close, and lit by candles and firelight.
The quantum dimension comes into play in the connection between the last day of December and the first day of the new year. Somehow, on that last night as I sleep, I am catapulted up to the top of the year once again - a leap which is at once a great distance and no distance at all... a straight line which is also a circle, an exhilarating leap to a summit of light. For me, New Year's Day is fresh air, brightness and looking forward. I take down all the soft furry greens and lights of Christmas and solstice, in favor of the clarity of open space. I start to eat lighter; dinner is likely to take on a Mexican or Asian flair, as my body's biological clock tunes to the increasing daylight. I revel in the crisp crystal whiteness of snow and snowflakes and the sparkle of winter air. I look forward: to sledding, skating and hiking in a winter wonderland, to February when the temperature will be warmer, the air crystal clear and moist, cleansing the lungs. The secret to enjoying weather and snow is to get out and play in it - a secret that's no secret to children. The beauty of individual flakes and of the whiteness against the rich evergreen of pines and firs, crisper than a laser photo, helps mitigate the troubles of winter.
I listen to the whispers of springtime and green growing things.
I suppose most of us have a pretty straight-line perception of the passage of time. But on my mother's calendar I could envision myself perched in July and being able to smile and wave to my future self on its way up from December to January. (I always made the journey up on the RIGHT side of the calendar, by the way - that's important. I now know that counterclockwise represents rising or flying upwards; body into spirit, expansion of consciousness from inner core to the cosmic, rebirth, growth, awareness, journeying, wisdom, fulfillment of intent.) And my future self would wave back, watching the aerial view of the year past as it flashed by. I didn't realize at the time how this childhood vision would change the passage of time for me to a non-linear thing, would open windows of seeing that would stay with me for the rest of my life. It's a thing I want to share, because if the future is now, if you can see it and wave at it, maybe you're more likely to take care of it - because what happens to it is what happens to you.
As I prepare for this year's catapult into the light, I marvel at the mysteries of space, time and dimensions... and how one small calendar on a wall can shape a lifelong vision of existence.
RESOLUTION, n. 1. the act or process of resolving something or breaking it up into its constituent parts or elements; the result of this. 2. a resolving, or determining; deciding; the thing determined upon; decision as to a future action; resolve. 3. a resolute quality of mind. 4. a solving, as of a puzzle, or answering, as of a question; solution. 5. that part of a play, novel, etc. in which the plot is explained or made clear. 6. medieval: the disappearance of swelling, fever, or other manifestation of disease. 7. music: the passing of a dissonant chord or tone to a consonant chord or tone; a chord or tone to which such passing occurs. 8. physics: the capability of an optical or imaging system of making clear and distinguishable the separate parts or components of an object.
