New Year’s Day for me was not 1 January; it was 6 January. I consider New Year’s Day a movable feast. It’s the day after the turn of the year on which in the morning I can get out to one of the places I like to hike and there to imagine the world. While walking in the beauty of a sun-lit field I reflect on the past year and ponder the future. I imagine the future as a world with clear skies and balance.
When I imagine the future, I see it as an expanding microcosm with me at the center. Why am I at the center? It is not an over-blown ego, rather it is because I am the actor; I am the person, the entity, that has the power of imagining my place in the future and then taking steps to make it happen. I do not have power over nature or over other people, only some over myself. Perhaps I might have some influence on others. I can ask the most important question of all, “How can I help?” As the world moves to a population of Eight Billion, it will be in motion. There will be more migrant caravans, there will be changes in patterns of weather and wildlife, there will be changes to the average temperature, and the harvest and the sea will change. There may be multiple causes, but all will drive the movement of the burgeoning world populations as they seek safety and food and a meaningful life. How can I help?
A hawk rose from the stubble of the mown field and slowly flew to the distant trees. It perched high to catch the warming rays of the rising sun. I saw a quick flight in the tall grass and then a burst of energy to the high branches of a nearby tree. Eastern Bluebirds were searching for insects in the grass and then flew to the tops of trees where the morning sun was energizing creeping and flying insects that are around this time of year. Even though it was just after the turn of the year, it was like summer. The weather was cold, below freezing. But as the sun came up, it brought light to infuse everything with a brightness, causing the sky and the morning frost to sparkle.
A flock of blue Jays, oddly silent, flew around the chestnut trees, racing each other from tree to tree. They would drop to the ground to investigate something and then return to the lower branches to watch me and the hawk and the Bluebirds. A balance of movement and light and quietness.
This is why I come to these places. I come to see what the world is doing. I come to reflect on my place in the world and in the family of humanity. I come to think on what I can do/should do to help improve what I can, and try to improve even what I can’t. Reinhold Niebuhr spoke to knowing the difference between what a person can accomplish and what they can’t. There is serenity in that, and wisdom, but to fulfill my place I need to act, even when I know that I may not reach my goal. Today the sky was clear and bright; tomorrow it may be cloudy. But the purpose on which I act is a constant source of light. I need to rise to it.
I see one of the Bluebirds fly up and settle in the branches near the top of a china berry tree. The little bird’s red breast is turned to the morning sun. It sits quietly and perhaps reflects on its own purpose. And perhaps it has a knowledge of whether it is possible. It suddenly launches and flies to another tree.
The serenity prayer by Reinhold Niebuhr can be found at https://www.beliefnet.com/prayers/protestant/addiction/serenity-prayer.aspx
The picture of the child is based on a photograph at wallpaperbetter.com.