It’s the new year according 
          to the calendar, and from all 
                   the well wishes and enthusiasm 
                                     heard from the talking 
                                         heads on the evening of the 
                                           last day of the now old year, 
                                                such sounds sound more 
                                                 desperately optimistic   
                                                 than hopeful. They are 
                                              both good with one running 
                                            more deeply as a stream run-
                                           ning rapidly to the sea — the 
                                       other a veneer with a thinness to 
                                    the raucous guffaws with a hint 
                                of urgency to singing auld lang 
                              syne. Can we get through the 
                       Advent candles and twelve days of 
                    Christmas, the nine candles of Hanukkah, 
                 the seven candles of Kwanzaa, the glowing 
              lanterns of Ramadan all blazing without 
            plunging to the darkness of the bottom 
         of a now dead coral reef of life ex-
       tinguishing such faint light? 
     Can we, with patient hope, live 
    in the thin places between the 
   physical and the spiritual — con-
tent for now -- seeing, touching, 
         tasting the appetizers of the 
              eternity 
                  of it all? 
                             Time 
                                   will 
                                         tell. 

*with appreciation to James Pennington for his comments  
on "thin places."