Laying Low, January 6

The days are still short and rain clouds press low against the oaks on the hillside; a first set of clues. There is one hold-out across the slope: a stand of maples in full fall color, golds and reds, unaware it is January 6th.

It’s time to lay low. Unadvent. Downplay dreams. Keep your light hidden under the bushel.

It’s a season of removal and reversal: ornaments, wrapping paper remnants and salvaged bows, cards from atop the piano, scissors and tape, strings of lights, garlands, wreaths, unique-shaped platters and champagne glasses (a set of three, what happened to the fourth glass?).

It’s the spiritual equivalent of taking that collection of sacred objects, my New Year’s aspirations and ambitions, and gently placing them in the box, like elaborate figurines from a Nativity scene, sequestered for 11 months.

Avoid the front porch and back patio. Today is a day for attic ascent and garage expeditions. Surround us with stepladders! Purge the fridge of leftovers we’ll never get to. Reclaim that corner in the living room.

Now is not the time for grand ideas and resolutions.

No one pays attention to the Revolution as it emerges from hibernation, from beneath the dead, gray, sodden leaves.

No one notices Transformation, as it quietly departs Bethlehem at check-out time: a man, a woman, and infant son, traveling light, on limited means, protected by Infinite obscurity. No one knows who they are, yet.

January is the month for indifference and disregard. What you do not do, will matter, somehow.

The star fades. The Wise Men return home. W-2’s are mailed. Pitchers and catchers report.

The indirect approach works. Miraculously, the neglected ideas and dreams find the effortless channel they require. One day there will be warmth and 14 hours of sunlight. This is not the time.