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…wait for it –

April 3, 2022

Some places it is still “Mud Season”. In DC, the cherry blossoms have exploded. Here, it is Neither Time. A lingering chill in Nutmeg Land has has been a tight chastity belt on the ecstasy of spring. Sure, there are buds, a sprout or twelve, but no leaves. There are illegitimate, isolated flowers, but no spring.

It snowed last week, but the white coating did not melt – it disappeared. The snow hides and protects dormant plants. Water nourishes them (and us). But sublimation, the direct exchange of ice to air benefits no one.

I think it may be the Season of Sublimation. Before the Sexual Revolution, “sublimation” was the term used to offer athletic dissipation of carnal biology. Unlike Salt Peter that somehow magically ends all sexual thought, sublimation exhausts the body without biological release of hormonal overload.

Now, the culture fully supports expression. Big Pharma has vaccines, endless birth control and protectives against disease transmission and a host of therapies for the consequences of physical expressions. All gleefully presented by healthy young adults in glossy ads, smiling through the endless opportunities for zipless feasting.

No, we cannot force spring on the earth. If it is the Season of Sublimation, we cannot see the near eruption of life, but we know it is there. In fact we cannot escape it.

For some, we call this “Not” time Lent. It is after the Hallmark invention of “the Holidays”, but before the CVS invention of Peeps and chocolate eggs. Incorrectly stated, it is the No Man’s Land of living a spiritual Nothing Burger. The ancients would call it “Neither Fish Nor Fowl.”

But for those who call it Lent, it is going to a window, and looking out at change. No solace here, no depression either. Waiting is doing without action. Listening is not speaking – but hearing changes things.

Perhaps this not the Nothing Burger, Sublimation, “Not”, Neither Time, Nor Fish Nor Fowl season.

Maybe it is just a time of listening.

They called me to the Window, for
” ‘Twas Sunset” — Some one said —
I only saw a Sapphire Farm —
And just a Single Herd —

Of Opal Cattle — feeding far
Upon so vain a Hill —
As even while I looked — dissolved —
Nor Cattle were — nor Soil —

But in their stead — a Sea — displayed —
And Ships — of such a size
As Crew of Mountains — could afford —
And Decks — to seat the skies —

This — too — the Showman rubbed away —
And when I looked again —
Nor Farm — nor Opal Herd — was there —
Nor Mediterranean —

Emily Dickinson

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