“The space between
Your heart and mine
Is the space we’ll fill with time
The space between…”
Dave Matthews Band
The week between Christmas and the new year is a wondrous time, a state of limbo and a nebulous preamble.
There are memories of things done and left undone, places visited, goals reached and projects unfinished. Loves gained and loves lost.
There are regrets about things that might have been. Could have. Should have. Would have. Might have. Needed to. Wanted to.
There is bright hot anticipation, reflected in the two thousand six hundred eighty eight triangular Waterford crystals of a ball not yet dropped, one that in its slow, inexorable perpendicular slide to Times Square defines the space between one year and the next, one dashed hope and a myriad waiting dreams. At the top, three hundred sixty five days seem endless. At the bottom, with the tic of the first second of the first minute of the first hour of the infant year, we know that we will be doomed to meet here again, God willing, to bask in the reflected light of hope once more, one year hence.
Modern day Illuminati we are, striving to write something that we will never be able to read, build a structure that we will never inhabit and control a universe that will never bend to our collective will.
And yet, we are excited. We are hopeful. We make plans. We set goals. We dare to dream. While feeling wistful about the last grains of sand slipping into the bottom of the hourglass, we feel buoyed by the infinite possibilities of a new year.
2018 will be the next in a long progression of blank canvasses ready to be transformed.
We have only to pick up the pencil, the pen, the brush, the knife to craft words that incite, art that transforms, music that fills the soul.
We have only to connect, to form a bond, to fill that infinitesimal but incalculable space between hearts with something that will transcend time.
We have, only, to perfect the pristine new year by soiling it with life’s messy palette.