January 6: "New Calendar," Epiphanies, New Year

Billy Collins on new calendars and years . . . 

New Calendar

by:  Billy Collins

The poem of next year--

every week a line, 

every month a stanza,

and a tiny sun 

rising and setting

in every numbered square.

The poem of next year--that's what Collins calls his new calendar.  At the beginning of every January, we start composing this poem, week by week, line by line, month by month, and stanza by stanza.  We have no idea whether the poem will end up being a love sonnet or elegy.  A psalm of praise or a psalm of sorrow.  Each new year is a revelation.

This weekend, Christian churches celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany:  the appearance of the magi and the unveiling of hope for a broken world.  There are tons of synonyms for "epiphany":  insight, realization, oracle, discovery, shock.  Each of these words is about peeling the scales from your eyes and seeing the universe clearly, maybe for the first time.

Not all epiphanies are earthshattering.  In fact, most, I would say, are pretty ordinary and personal.  For instance, realizing you don't like guacamole.  Or that Carrie Underwood's "Underneath the Tree" is a better Christmas song than Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas."  (Listen to it if you don't believe me.)

After having a week off from work and teaching, I have come to some epiphanies about myself.  I am just one step away from being Howard Hughes.  I enjoy being by myself, and large groups of people make me incredibly anxious.  Now, I'm not going to lock myself in my bedroom and fill empty milk containers with urine.  Nor will I let my fingernails and toenails grow so long that they need to be registered as concealed weapons.  However, having minimal human interaction sounds quite appealing at the start of this presidential election year.

As I emerge like a wintering groundhog from my week of blissful disconnection, I know that my life will become very complicated very quickly on Monday, and there's no way I can avoid it.  That's the way things have been for a very long time for me.  Peace and quiet are distant cousins who live in a remote Scandinavian village without internet or cellular service.

But I have one more day before my vacation ends and 2024 begins in earnest.  I will still be ignoring most texts and phone calls tomorrow.  I may even wear sunglasses and a fake moustache when I go grocery shopping.  And, if you insist on posting Trumpian conspiracy theories about stolen elections and the "patriots" who stormed the U. S. Capitol Building and killed police officers, I will most likely unfriend and block you on my social media.  Not because I think everybody should agree with me 100% of the time.  I just don't want racists, homophobes, xenophobes, transphobes, and traitors as friends or acquaintances.

These are Saint Marty epiphanies for tonight and the coming year.