time
micropoetry & art story
Cyclical time. Pen on paper. February 6, 2021
A conversation with a friend caused me to remember this phrase and concept from a poem I wrote in 2022 for solstice.
‘In this world, we’re just passing through. Likely to be soon forgotten by future generations.’
It made me think, in 100 years, will anyone remember me? In 100 years, will anything I’ve done matter?
And then, I slowly read the rest of the poem. And remembered, the rest of the story.
The Future is Invisible
When you travel
Between the worlds
You come to know
That you are time
And time is you
In this world
We’re just passing through
Likely
To be soon forgotten
By future generations
And yet
Just as the stories
Of our ancestors
Are written in our marrow
So will our stories
Be written in the marrow
Of those who follow
In this season
Of the longest night
The darkest night
When the sun seems
To cease its march across the sky
We come to our still point
[pause]
Do you remember?
Life,
Like time,
Is a spiral
There is no death
Not the way
We think of death as an ending
Death is only
A returning
To the tapestry of spirit
Reborn
Into the rhythm
And flow
Of our ever-changing life
Our ever-changing love
[pause]
In this season
Of the longest
Darkest
Night
We see the sun’s rebirth
Fire and light
Life
From death
Reminding us
That hope
Is a living thing
And the future
Is invisible
Until we create it
@maryjoburkhard
ps, if you’re in the Columbus, Ohio region, I’ll be reading a new poem, for Solstice 2024 at The Reiki Center on Saturday, December 21, 6:30-8:30pm.
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