What’s new year except in your calendars and calculated measurements? For me, there are only the cyclical motions. When I complete one revolution round the sun you call it a year. Is there really a beginning and an end in a cyclical motion?
Have you ever watched a child drawing a circle with a compass? He begins somewhere, a random point, comes back to it and continues a little more to make sure that the beginning is not seen. Even the child knows that a circle doesn’t have a beginning. Nor an end. Like eternity. Eternity is a cycle. Have you ever thought of that?
This is an endless motion for me, my life. Your scientists have given it a beginning and calculated its likely end too. Billions of years. But what do years mean to me? Mine is a cyclical motion round the sun. The sun holds me to itself. Yet I can’t ever get closer to it. This distance between it and me is what makes my journey delightful. There’s longing in this journey. To get closer. Occasionally I imagine myself as a lover. There are moments in my elliptical path when I do get closer. However, even the closeness has its distances.
If only you people knew to maintain those necessary distances, life would have been much more delightful for you. Instead you go around grabbing what belongs to the neighbour and the stranger. Your hunger is endless. Mine has its sacred rules.
You straitjacket those rules into neat calendars. You need calendars and calculations. You need new years to turn over new leaves. So let me wish you a happy new year.
I know that the pages of the calendar turn. Like cycles.