These are the days we sit between Light and Dark. In the world around us the season is turning from bright to dark with all hope that on the other side it turns from dark to bright. It is a threshold this moment. Same as any and every moment, so do we turn to go inside or turn to step out? Who stands at our door to come in? Who leaves us standing here? Life and Death, in the eyes of those made wise, are two sides of a swinging door. The living and the dead pass each other in the coming and going of this time; it’s a crowded thoroughfare, a lonely spot, with footprints fading under the press of ever more footprints. The earth now seems pounded, hard, and indifferent or is she dreaming, barely bothered by the footfalls above? In her time she sleeps, awakens; the living and the dead are all the same to her, all one in her turning, eternal embrace. Who says good-morning to whom? Who says good-night? Walking in this slanting Autumn light, itself like a door held ajar, with possibilities now adamantly foreclosed, shut off forever, yet still with others held open, desultory and begging attention. Who walks by silent on the journey? Who sings to those passing on? Who stands with a shaky hand held out? And who in such fear heavy times still finds courage to take hold?
A happy Day of the Dead to Everyone, living and dead!
(Gracias a Tino por el uso de la imagen de su cuadro fabuloso.)
Aníbal Mejía: Out from the Storm Cloud 