The
sun is sailing across the sky at that familiar angle. The smells of giving
thanks have returned to our homes. Gold and silver are briefly turned away to
enjoy others. Some may be excited; some may dread the crisp air outside
announcing old man winter’s reminder that our top half of this great spaceship
needs a rest. And if my calendar reads correct it’s nearing the eleventh month’s
end. Her Latin mother named her “Novem,” the Romans selected the ninth spot in
their day planner, but then the Catholics felt she needed to book end autumn on
the eleventh page. Even though the marketing executives have hijacked the
spotlight for their pilgrimage of consumer, the fourth Thursday in November will
always be Thanksgiving Day. And less important to humanity, this day ushers in
another installment of The Chronicles of
a Lost Southerner.
As
good news ceases to be salient in our multi-layered anxiety cake, there is
comfort in knowledge that life is relatively long and things change. However, stretch
out eternity’s ribbon in both directions and view existence without an alpha or
omega, our little patch of probation is a few stitches of the master’s loom. I’m
grateful for the patterns on the fabric of man’s recent past revealing how the pursuit
of calm trumps chaos. Some people attempt to tattoo bygone mistakes on those in
the now. Nothing good comes by staining our walls with those past flaws. What
happened to context? Even though context is amoral, it is malleable. And if
left in the wrong hands in this age of fire and ice it can become deadly
daggers or folly’s pillow. I can never guarantee my words will play well
together, but I know with surety light always defeats darkness. One can only
exist in the absence of the other. Never reciprocal.
In
this season of life I fully accept my actions to be the ghost of my children’s
future. Because life is terminal, and no one gets out alive, these lines are
ultimately for my linage just over the distant future’s horizon. Hopefully these
words will ensure that I exist in the written form beyond a brief mortal sojourn.
May my posterity find understanding in what I believed and can gain insight to
help them stand on their choices. Pause! Choices have escape routes;
consequences do not. I have anchored my life to that statement. May you gain strength
from seeking out knowledge that choice; and more importantly agency, did not
begin at the cutting of the umbilical cord. Disputation on the road to personal enlightenment
is healthy. Strive for cultivating assurance by listening to counter points.
Yet, skill in one school does not translate as a lock stock and barrel orator
on the substance of things hoped for, while denouncing the evidence of things
not proven. Be mindful of rhetoric as it is the fool’s white stone propagating the
appearance of knowledge. It will condemn those who self-inflect ignorance.
There is no valiance in thoughtless stupor or just marking time before the end. That is waste. And waste is simply sin.
To
all my friends and family, have a safe and happy Thanksgiving. And until the
next revolution around our neighborhood star.
Color
is perception. Behavior is perspective.
Jarvis
