Last morning of 2024 is here, Threaders, Threadheads, and all in between. So is this year’s last morning coffee.
The year in review was never my thing. I like to look forward yet I always find myself looking back. Still not my thing, just something inevitable. Like most of us I would need to go back many a year to find the one gone by a happy one. And I do. The child in me resists. Persists.
“Those were the days”, for me, are the ones I lived without a care in the world. I am fortunate to have those memories and they carry the child in me, allowing it to live, even if by a tomb by the sounding sea. I am lucky to have lived in such a kingdom; to know all we see or seem; to dream. I am also haunted by the memories closest to me and all the things that were meant to be. I try to learn. I hope I do. I endure against all odds and dream still.
Dream of dreams carried on the wings of seraphs the child, a seraphim itself, believes in. Dreams of Heaven and knights in shining armor, piercing through darkness at its thickest. I pity the children for whom night brings other memories and the seemingly everlasting sorrow carried on the broken wings of angels fallen on their watch for theirs are the nightmares we live in but without hope. They know not of kingdoms by the sea or dreams of Annabelle Lee.
So I dream for them in the hopes they may see or seem them one day as the sun comes up. Or at the turning of time each December 31st. As I see it, kindness is the strongest type of resistance and resist we must through actions of love. The glimmer that lives in it will shine through darkness and perhaps remind them of things they have never known and can not dream of. Imagination requires fantasies once true, whether ours or others. It requires knowledge.
Reimagined futures come from dreams the child inside us carries and they are but memories of a fantasy once real. They hide in our muscles and show up when we catch a glimpse of them; the muscle memory of love makes for the best we can reimagine and so many of us lack it all together. They must rely on our fortunate memories to make up for the ones they never knew except briefly, as their lungs were filled with air for the first time in a breath of hope each life brings into this world.
Some are being born today, as dependent on our imagination as always but at the turn of the year. We owe it to them to keep dreaming and using the love embedded in our muscles to make up for dreams they will never know otherwise. We owe it to them to resist in the strongest way possible. To find the exact moment the child within turned dark and search deeper for the light it once knew. Make it shine again. We need that glimmer of hope in our lives.
I thought about poetry and it inevitably found its way into these words. Poe is on my mind as the year comes to its closing and I mean to carry him into the new one. It’s suiting. May the days to come find us reimagining them with love and kindness and each glimmer light the way out of darkness once again. We’ve done it many times before, guided by the dreams winged seraphs bring to those of us whose inner children were fortunate enough to dream them.
There is no going back to that kingdom by the sea some of us knew but we can reimagine it. Keep dreaming knowing this. Each time you wake up in the morning greet the sun back and let it fill you with love. You know it’s there even if the clouds hide it. If you are as fortunate as me, let the child guide you and you can’t go wrong. And if you’re not, find hope in every glimmer you can see and you’ll find yourselves in that place by the sea. Make it happen. Please try.
Happy New Year.
