Knowing the Answer. Or making it up.
365
Sam Christian
This year. I find that thinking about 2024 as one year is difficult. I break it up into centuries.
January-March: The throws of preparation. Preparation for Spring and new ideas. Shedding of dead skin. Shedding of dead thoughts. Preparation for my own resurrection. Not like Jesus, just like me. I know the new cycle is on the way but I have to mourn the old one to even appreciate new one. Black-eyed peas and collard greens to call in the blessings. Making room for my new self. Laying old self to rest. Thanking them and placing coins over their eyes. Sitting up all night with the old me. On the cooling board. Flowers strewn and prepared dishes in the other room. Feast day has come. Soft crying. Then the band begins to play a somber tune that lightens as the morning comes. Like joy has come to dwell in the horn section. To stretch out its wings across the whole room and there is no time to be sad any more.
April-June: Eyes open. Donning the crown of the May queen. Some days still bitter cold but the band is still playing. No more rich food. Light fare and more limb stretching. Joy has made itself at home. Comes and goes as it pleases. Joy is not tidy now. It spreads onto everything. Bathes the room in laughter and bids you rest among its tresses as it tells of beautiful futures. Rain comes but does not stay. Only comes to call on the flowers and chase away the last of Winter’s worry.
July-September: Heat and gold dust brush against my cheeks now. Wishes. For rain. For winter’s heavy hand. We’re jumping now. In anticipation, in harvest song and watermelon. In the long day and the cool night. We delight in ice when we can get it. The world is an ember, just on the cusp of combustion. Just on the brink of heat stroke and just before we fall into the sun, exhale. The wind has changed. Cooled. Sister Autumn has come to visit. Or has she?
October-December: The benediction. Hospice. Home going. I hear the horns in the distance. Won’t be here for a little while. Preparing the dishes. Feast day is coming. Hugs linger. We keep the candle burning just a little longer and brew an extra pot of coffee. We know that time is short. Night long and soon we’ll be preparing once again.
Here we go again.
Coming up on a new year and another chance to hold ourselves and our people. I won’t even pretend to know what this next year will bring but I’m excited to see it with my community and loved ones and kind strangers I meet in the park. I have to look at the next year as a piece of possibility. No glasses , full or empty. Honestly, I’m not sure there is a glass at all. Imagine we’re all just standing in circles cupping water in our hands. No one seems phased by it. Just drinks and laughs. The cups are somewhere but we can’t be torn from our conversations to go look for them. That’s how I see the next year. Community and holding each other and protecting each other and fighting for each other. And, let’s be honest, fighting with each other. Sometimes. The road to job and love and community is not all agreement. There’s some arguments to have too. Some tears to shed and checking in. Making a pan of cornbread and solving the world’s problems with a crumbs in the corner of your mouth. All this to say…take care of each other. Take care of yourself.
I’ve been thinking of how I want to take care of myself this next year. Go places that really let me rest. Be more serious about my work but not let it overtake me. Be whole in my talents. I think I’ve come to the conclusion that all I can do is lift myself up and keep the stairs clean and clear for others. Build a ramp for my disabled family. Listen when someone has a better idea and speak up when I have one. Seems so easy but so hard in the moment.
Either way, I’ve got to try.
In other news, I added some of my works onto my website!
Been saying I would for a few millennia but I finally did it! You can go straight to my new works tab with this button:
Thank you for listening and more photos to come in the feed! I’m gonna try my best to keep up with this community but chiiiii….i’m not making promises lol.
In Joy,
Sam Lee Christian