“The mountains are calling, and I must go.” – John Muir

From “The Human Condition: A User’s Manual,” by Arnold Kunst

24 December 2017

Christmas is, outwardly at least, a season of happiness and warmth, of joy and abundance, of Jingle Bells and Silent Nights. But not very far below the surface lurks a distinct, abiding sense of malaise. Always we’re consumed by … a something. We may not be able to identify it effectively, but it’s there for sure, as evidenced by the ever-tapping toe, the incessant drumming fingers. It’s as if receiving all the gifts in the world, destined as they are to sink below the surface of some bottomless abyss, would never even register. There is something in all of us of the alcoholic for whom 20 cases of Jack Daniels will never slake.

Nature isn’t like that.

Seen small, take your dog for a walk and he’ll happily show you: there are too many fire hydrants that need meticulous sniffing, too many bushes that need minute irrigating.

Seen large, stars are content to just be there, as the poet says, singing their very own music, the music of the spheres.

In this season you and I are sure to be tempted to stomp our feet at the microwave and blurt out, “Hurry up – I haven’t got all minute!” The trouble is, when we do that we will, of necessity, forget that tranquility and delight are as much our heritage as it is of your dog, or my stars.

Peace, my friend!