Wonder Not So Simple

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  One of many wonders I ignore unless it is not working right.

• We just are.  We wake up as reality surrounds us, dispelling the intricate mythology of our dreams.  We wander a world that mostly makes sense, solid and predictable in all kinds of little ways, mostly beautiful when we bother to examine it, intricate beyond reason, flowing into futures fully unseen.  Because of what we are, we usually take all these marvels for granted.  Nevertheless, as curious monkeys we keep asking “why?”
• God or gods _ supernatural beings, some conscious _ were the easiest explanation for how all this came to be, and how it is eternally maintained.  Prayer is part of our mental evolution, whether as mantra, placebo, or true incantation _ it does seem to work for most.  The simplicity of “just so” is blinding.  A tree is a tree because it is a tree.  Why?  It was made that way.  Why are our lives as they are?  Fate so wills.  Having a leading part in some cosmic narrative, having some important place in the universe, having some justification for everything that occurs is essential to our egos.  Any link to wider purpose soothes our spirit.
• Science offered another option.  In the last thousand years, especially the last few centuries, written knowledge and scientific inquiry dominated our logical framework.  Knowing cause, we manipulate effect.  First, we became masters of the universe.  Discouragingly, then, we discovered that everything is infinitely more intricate than it appears.  Once it seemed we were eternal homunculi, or a bag of chemicals to be activated by an electric charge, or inanimate dust animated by divine spirit.  Now biologists marvel at trillions of cells working together, each doing innumerable tasks in unmeasurable time, just to keep me animate.  Chemists stare into complex chemicals formed by atoms which are almost empty space.  Physicists compose mathematical sonnets to weird components of such atoms. Yet with all that powerful knowledge, the scientific answer to “why?” remains little more than “because.”

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  There is no scene like this anywhere else in the universe, and there never will be.

• Ask again, “Why are we here?”  The easy answer is the gods have their reasons.  The scientific answer, more and more, looks like we result from a gambler’s run of cosmic accidents.  If not for the precise collision that gave us the moon or unlikely combinations of events that led to a water atmosphere and oxygenation from a chance bacterial creation of photosynthesis _ there would be no life as we know it.  Without plate tectonics and snowball Earth _ possibly no vertebrates.  Without other extinctions_ perhaps no animals as we know them.  Without a lucky asteroid of just the right size, velocity, and vector, dinosaurs would still rule the planet _ and no, they would not be intelligent.  Or everything would have gone extinct.  Without the inexplicable ice ages mammalian intelligence focusing into humans would never have occurred.  Increasingly it appears that we must accept that we are alone in time and space, the tail end of a string of devious improbabilities.  And “why?” has become a pretty scary question indeed.
• As for humans _ miracles do not apply _ we are way beyond miracles.  The glory of senses, the incredible existence of memory, the magnificence of logical trains of thought, the infinite range of imagination _ all are literally incomprehensible.  Even those, however, pale when compared to your supernatural consciousness.  Each of us unique, each of our moments unique.  Our outlook has cycled back towards a person being the height of creation.  We are immersed in a sea of awe.
• Sure, bad things happen.  I often fear that we are, or will have been, those fabled giants of old, heroes of a golden age once upon a time, vanished gods with awesome powers.  As in ancient stories, we are flawed by wrath, stupidity, and trivial pursuits.  Each of us endures more or less terrible twists of fate, although in overcoming such problems we may become glorious.   We admire beauty and are entranced by the multiple facets of life _ but happiness is complicated.  Some guys have all the luck, others do not, and life is definitely not fair. 

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  Finding joy in the “ordinary” is one core secret of happiness.

• Good or bad, I know that I take too much for granted.  I often pay little attention to the fact I can see, hear, taste, feel, rest, do, or think.  I worry too much about mistakes in the past and plans for the future and miss the reality of each moment.  I am part of a social framework that delivers knowledge and support and enjoyment and _ well, I simply assume that is normal.  None of it is normal.  As the saying goes, we don’t know what we’ve got ‘til it’s gone.
• I try to arise each morning overwhelmed by the gift of being me.  I try to pull myself back into that state whenever I am becoming too bored or complacent or anxious.  Perhaps it is shallow and foolish to do so, a modern Pollyanna Pangloss.  I don’t care.  I finally realize how little I comprehend, how much I experience, and I rest content.

Frozen

About the only freeze we’ve had, ice almost as rare as in Georgia.

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  Usually mid-February is a frozen wasteland.  Dirty snow piles are everywhere, refrozen puddles mottle roads and parking lots.  Salt spray creeps up cars.  In an obscure town lot, giant mountains of white are filled with trash and decorated with cinders.  Often not even a hint of brown grass peeks through crusted layers of ice on lawns.  Bitter raw cold discourages even minor strolls into desolation.
• This year _ not so much.  It is fashionable, and probably true, to blame global warming.  Almost no snow, and that melted almost immediately.  Exposed grass more or less green.  Roads clear.  Even the skim of ice that often forms on ponds and puddles overnight has been hard to find.  Rain and fog, mist and mildness and wind, and a lot more green everywhere than what used to be normal.

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  Too early flowers, like too early ideas, can be blasted by a return to normal conditions.

• It seems the freeze has migrated _ metaphorically _ to politics.  Rarely have I encountered people, including myself, so set in their view.  Upon a time, people could at least argue.  Now, it seems, we are internally opinionated statues.  For this, against that, policies or people.  Each of us fanatically certain and each equally certain that others are wrong.  Even remedies are cast in flawed bronze _ utopian visions from Marxian dawn, or technocratic fantasies of fifties science fiction, or nostalgic senile remembrances of childhood when the world was all bright and shiny.  Compromise or reevaluation taking into account the contradictory complexity of our existence is considered the worst moral turpitude.
• Frozen February defeated by global warming is a harbinger.  Frozen politics handled by slippery politicians is a contradiction.  Lately, ignorant solipsistic leaders who casually lie tend to win.  Money is hardly an issue _ like ancient Roman Consuls, each candidate knows that you cannot spend too much to win an office that will repay, legally or not, hundreds to one.  A truly amoral vindictive candidate has the added bonus that almost all prudent patricians will contribute to its (sic) campaign simply for self-protection.

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   Rhododendron leaves curl into little cigar shapes as the temperature drops into teens.

• February is filled with local misery _ the cold, the snow, cabin fever, boring days and nights following one another in short daylight.  Similarly, politics is filled with local grievances _ every citizen seemingly certain that someone else is to blame for anything that goes wrong in life, and equally certain that any other citizen deserves whatever they have got, for good or bad.  What should be our happiest era filled with social harmony is rapidly devolving into pure idiotic envy based on ridiculous comparisons of perceived wealth.
• Just as the big picture seems irrelevant to those dealing with immediate weather, it seems that we are all missing other big pictures.  The old saying “the more things change the more they stay the same” is no longer applicable.  Big changes have indeed happened, more big changes are coming, and, just like climate itself, things will never again be the same.

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  Fog also presents a relevant metaphor about what we think may occur.

• Although we are aware of constant variation in our situation and environment, we take an awful lot for granted.  Days follow nights, air is breathable, supermarkets have food, our home will be there when we return.  Sometime soon that may no longer true.  A so-called “tipping point” sneaks up on us _ we are suddenly old and unable to walk easily, for example, after years of limping along more and more painfully.  This February feels filled with such tipping points in nature, politics, personal life, society.  I honestly do not have a clue what to expect next February, and more and more I find the only rational response is to suppress such thoughts.  The future is definitely not frozen into the patterns of the past.
• For now, it is rain and wind and more rain and more wind.  Better than deep freeze and snow, I tell myself.  But there is a little nagging worry in my soul that maybe our universes would be better off a little more solidified and frozen and “normal”, at least for a while.

Heart

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  Perennial snowdrops bloom in welcome defiance of normal calendar expectations.

• February was named for an obscure Roman purification ritual, and was also the last month of their calendar.  That doesn’t matter at all, but a traditional way for any student to begin an essay is with either a definition or an etymological detail.  Any word is a nonsense sound until language assigns an agreed meaning _ although each of us assigns implicit personal connotations which vary from explicit dictionary entries.   My “February” is not necessarily yours.
• I guess most people dislike such a blah month _ not really to hate so much as to endure.  Mostly it is true entry to the new year, a firm footstep into all that is to come.  Its predecessor is much too slippery and burdened with fresh memories to provide that springboard.  February firmly faces forward.
• Trees are jagged and bare, grass brown and muddy even if visible through dirty snow, cold settles in, birdcalls are muffled.  An act of will is required to bundle up and walk around.  The rewards of doing so are a little harder to find than in other seasons.  We are told to indulge in an hour of sunlight a day to reset our circadian rhythm _ good luck in finding any patch of open sky. 
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  Witch hazel is strange _ what could possibly pollinate flowers so out of synch?

• Even at the beginning of the month, there may be hopeful signs.  Some waterfowl begin mating rituals, swans for example flapping lustily off the water in brief showy flights.  White snowdrops have opened at the end of our driveway, and other bulb shoots are beginning to show.  A nearby witch hazel tree is in full golden bloom.  On milder days, birdsong tentatively echoes over the silence.  Blue Jays and squirrels are becoming frisky.  Close examination will show a bud or two on bushes swelling noticeably as days creep by.
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  Even the flowers of witch hazel are a little weird, but easy to enjoy when nothing else shows.

• Symbols for hearts are everywhere, displayed as money-making guilt-markers by restaurants, romantic venues, gift shoppes, and just about anyone who can invent a hook.  Exotic cut flowers become ubiquitous, flown up from summertime growth in the southern hemisphere _ prices doubling as Valentine’s day nears. 
• In my youth, we sometimes had Washington’s birthday off, but now it is common for schools to go into “winter break,” a custom which has caught on with parents and random employees.  A great migration to warmer places for a week or so fills the coffers of the airlines, and empties our town (already a bit thinned from the exodus of snowbirds after Christmas.)  The remaining population dreams of spring travel or summer excursions.
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  Joan maintains a small shrine to the love of her life _ a loyal Pomeranian.

• On dark mornings, I often wake up in a meditative mood.  Well, why not?  No rush to get outdoors _ yard chores are out of the question, woods are almost uninviting, weather is often wet and raw.  I’ve visited most local indoor refuges, and had my fill of eating out.  I remember our lives, and try not to evaluate the past too severely.  I plan and try not to worry/hope too excessively about the future.  I relax and enjoy the mere fact that I can relax in such security and luxury.
• February is a quiet time, a great time to just snuggle in for those of us who can do so.  As one of those fortunate folks, my task is simply to recognize that this short interlude is a genuine gift 
• as the rest of life rushes by.

Fond Farewell, January

Has been a “good” winter with mild temperatures and almost no snow.

• In New York, February is by far the hardest month to endure.  Frequent snow and ice lingers mercilessly in cycles of unfreeze and freeze, accumulating soot and garbage, creating potholes.  Even ski resort operators worry because the quality and quantity of necessary white stuff is uncertain, and many folks simply head elsewhere for higher mountains and more perfect conditions.  A few early bulbs may be tricked into blossoming, only to be blasted by an unexpected “polar vortex.”  And yet, for all that, I might still cast a vote for January as my least favorite month, to which I am always happy to bid farewell.
• One of the problems is simple letdown:  Holiday Hangover.  After the bacchanalia of New Year’s and Christmas, the feasts of Thanksgiving, and increasingly fabulous Halloween, January offers very little in the way of excitement.  People go back to their normal, often dull, sometimes glum lives.  All hope resides in the future _ winter or spring breaks, upcoming summer vacation.  It’s as if all the good times have packed up and gone away for an interminable stretch of weeks.
• In a “good” January, temperatures hover around forty degrees during the day, and precipitation falls as rain.  A “bad” January, on the other hand, is filled with afternoons rarely getting above thirty, and several heavy snowfalls that never melt.  The rays of the sun are too oblique to do much; ice remains forever.  Adding insult to injury, daylight grows longer, but the average temperature continues to plunge.  Grey skies, in any case, are usual.
• And then, there are those resolutions.  Almost everyone plans to improve their lives, engage in better things, erase bad habits.  By the middle of the month all that remains is residual guilt at all that is not going very well.  Thankfully, with the arrival of February, even vague unease has departed and vows are gratefully stowed away until the next winter solstice.

A proper attitude enjoys infinite shades of brown and pastel skies, but a proper attitude is sometimes hard to maintain in winter.

• Welcome sunshine is surprisingly too bright.  Glare from low rays blinds us morning and night, giving way to the glare of headlights in mid-afternoon twilight.  If there is snow cover, sunglasses are required.  Yet this brilliance is a tease, which looks welcoming warm from inside, but quickly disabuses anyone who steps out.  Those lovely beams seem to put all their energy into the visible spectrum and leave the warmth in outer space.

Long stretches of marshland calm the eyes and soul in all seasons.

• For a lot of us, there is too much time to think.  Janus was famously the god of past and future, looking both ways at the same time.  Curled up on our couches during spare time, our own minds wander equally, regretting what has happened and worried about what will come.  The lethargy of the season assures that we marinate in such useless apathy for a long time rather than jump up and engage in the always fruitful present.
• Goodbye and good riddance, January.  Happily, I have survived you yet again.  Admittedly, this has been one of the “good” winters so far.  Enduring the upcoming shortest month of the year may not be so bad after all.