The Gift of Rebirth

Because of the cycles of the moon and what some Gregorians a whole long time ago determined, a new year starts tomorrow. It's a time for reflection today, resolution tomorrow. Of all the winter holidays, it's my favorite. I don't believe in waiting for the official new year for resolutions, but I like that the whole world takes a breath and thinks about it at least one day of the year. I also don't believe in the traditional sorts of resolutions: lose weight, quit smoking, read more, whatever. Not that those are bad goals, I just believe that any day is a good day to do something you want to do. And we pretty much do what we want to. We may say that we want to do something because we feel like we should, but sometimes our actions speak otherwise. 

What I like about the New Year (besides the need for new calendars! Oh, how I love office supplies!) is the idea of rebirth. Today is an ending point, a milestone. We can put the last 365 days up on the shelf and admire them or lock them away in a box in the garage to sift through later, but tomorrow we get a fresh page. I firmly believe that every day, every moment is a fresh page. But with the official New Year, it's like a crisp new journal, its spine in need of cracking, its pages in need of filling. We go to sleep tonight and are reborn into not only a new day, but a new year tomorrow. Like the Phoenix, we will rise from the ashes of this past year and soar again. 

I wrote this poem last year for a friend who was going through a particularly painful rebirth. We, all of us, have inside us that person who fights for breath, who screams to be heard and who loves us tenderly and fiercely and unconditionally. Sometimes we are cleansed by fire and painful though it may be, it leaves us stronger, new, reborn, revived to begin again. Wishing a happy new year and regeneration and rebirth to you all.


Sparks, crackle
fly, disappear
seductive hissing deep
in its whorling center.
The fire leaps
takes light
takes life.
Roars, she does
and dances.
Oh, she dances.
All merry weightlessness and blue
stomping jangling feet
barely touch the sky.
Arms aloft
every quiver tremor dance
from fingers eyebrows
shoulders hips.
Slipping hipping sweet release
around the crackles sparks hiss.
Moves the very air, she does.
Waver shudder bend.
And heat and joy
and fear and love are one
bound with elemental delight.
Waggling fingers pointed toes
Bend and sway and hair and lips
that curve and sweat
and sweet secret smile.
She's come to dance the fire again.

(poem written January, 2011)

 

 

 

 

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