The Renaissance is dead; long live the Renaissance!
Tuesday, November 3, 2009 by the BCth
If anyone's been wondering why I chose “New Renaissance” as the defining term for my recent series of posts on influential personalities, the answer is simple.
It's an unoriginal, pretentious, forced-sounding name that borders on the ironic, and yet, in a very deep sense, it does capture the essence of what I see beginning to happen. And yes, I did pretty much just pull it out of my ass. So much the better!
Because of something I caught wind of today (the 2nd of November as I write) concerning an upcoming significant date in (one or more of) the Mayan calendar(s), I checked my pitifully meager offline resource to see what, if anything, it had to say about this. As I expected, there was nothing specifically about November 8, 2009 – but there was a short piece on the Sixth Day of the Galactic Underworld, which just so happens to be ending right about now. And wouldn't you know it, the Sixth Day is also called the “Renaissance.” Synch!
Those doggone Mayan calendars keep cropping up; I find them impossible to ignore. Not to mention that their way of structuring and assigning meaning to time actually makes much more sense to me than this arbitrary Gregorian calendar we seem to be stuck with.
The 260-day Tzolk'in, for instance, gave me a whole new insight into who I am and what I'm all about in this particular lifetime. My Gregorian birth date translates as 13 Cimi. Thirteen is the sacred number of ascension and the completion of all things. Cimi is Death, the Transformer, which is big on transitions. Both are highly appropriate to my sense of purpose and my life experience thus far; taken together, they do as neat a job of summing me up as such a simple system could ever do.
To me, Death implies Rebirth. Rebirth = Renaissance. We are witnessing the steady and sure Death of everything that is out of resonance with what's coming. Some things will not survive at all; others must evolve or suffer the same fate. This is good. We don't want to bring the nasty baggage with us, and not only do we not want to, we can't. Those who insist on trying will find out just how futile that is. At the same time, seeds that have been lying dormant for as long as our “modern” dark age has existed are now sprouting. In the end, those seeds will spring up luxuriantly and exuberantly through the mulch of decay, bringing about the hard-won, glorious Rebirth of humanity.
You might be asking how I can state those things with such seeming certainty. My friend, these things are written. They are written in ancient heirloom teachings from eras past. They are written deep in humankind's genetic, racial memory. They are written in the movements of the heavenly spheres. They are written in the phenomena of the nature around us, if we but stop to observe and to ponder them. And from where I'm standing, these things are pretty much written on the wall. Not to mention in my heart, in the place that never, never knew a lie.
(At the same time, I don't want to pretend I'm totally free of any doubts about this thing. But those doubts come from a lower place. They're there to keep me on my toes and remind me how much work I still have to do on myself.)
I can't hope to convince anyone. I'm not equipped for that. But I can point you to some of the folks who might be able to help you convince yourself, if you're open to that.
I know, and I want to emphasize this, that everyone has their own truth, their own unique path to follow. This isn't about me trying to herd people onto my path. God forbid. Hell, I barely know what my path is. And I could be wrong about anything. The wise ones tell me to always be aware and to keep reminding myself of the eternal fact that I just... don't... know. The minute I forget that, I'm setting myself up for a fall. And falling hurts. But it's OK. Because everything is OK. We live and learn.
Now that I and my writing have once again come down to the level of a child, I think I shall call it a night.
P.S. The Dog Poet is rescheduled for tomorrow. Suspense getting to you? You know, you could just google it, find his stuff, and never glance at my blog again. (grin)
P.P.S. Children are amazing teachers. Seems like the younger and simpler they are, the more profoundly that holds true. ^^
It's an unoriginal, pretentious, forced-sounding name that borders on the ironic, and yet, in a very deep sense, it does capture the essence of what I see beginning to happen. And yes, I did pretty much just pull it out of my ass. So much the better!
Because of something I caught wind of today (the 2nd of November as I write) concerning an upcoming significant date in (one or more of) the Mayan calendar(s), I checked my pitifully meager offline resource to see what, if anything, it had to say about this. As I expected, there was nothing specifically about November 8, 2009 – but there was a short piece on the Sixth Day of the Galactic Underworld, which just so happens to be ending right about now. And wouldn't you know it, the Sixth Day is also called the “Renaissance.” Synch!
Those doggone Mayan calendars keep cropping up; I find them impossible to ignore. Not to mention that their way of structuring and assigning meaning to time actually makes much more sense to me than this arbitrary Gregorian calendar we seem to be stuck with.
The 260-day Tzolk'in, for instance, gave me a whole new insight into who I am and what I'm all about in this particular lifetime. My Gregorian birth date translates as 13 Cimi. Thirteen is the sacred number of ascension and the completion of all things. Cimi is Death, the Transformer, which is big on transitions. Both are highly appropriate to my sense of purpose and my life experience thus far; taken together, they do as neat a job of summing me up as such a simple system could ever do.
To me, Death implies Rebirth. Rebirth = Renaissance. We are witnessing the steady and sure Death of everything that is out of resonance with what's coming. Some things will not survive at all; others must evolve or suffer the same fate. This is good. We don't want to bring the nasty baggage with us, and not only do we not want to, we can't. Those who insist on trying will find out just how futile that is. At the same time, seeds that have been lying dormant for as long as our “modern” dark age has existed are now sprouting. In the end, those seeds will spring up luxuriantly and exuberantly through the mulch of decay, bringing about the hard-won, glorious Rebirth of humanity.
You might be asking how I can state those things with such seeming certainty. My friend, these things are written. They are written in ancient heirloom teachings from eras past. They are written deep in humankind's genetic, racial memory. They are written in the movements of the heavenly spheres. They are written in the phenomena of the nature around us, if we but stop to observe and to ponder them. And from where I'm standing, these things are pretty much written on the wall. Not to mention in my heart, in the place that never, never knew a lie.
(At the same time, I don't want to pretend I'm totally free of any doubts about this thing. But those doubts come from a lower place. They're there to keep me on my toes and remind me how much work I still have to do on myself.)
I can't hope to convince anyone. I'm not equipped for that. But I can point you to some of the folks who might be able to help you convince yourself, if you're open to that.
I know, and I want to emphasize this, that everyone has their own truth, their own unique path to follow. This isn't about me trying to herd people onto my path. God forbid. Hell, I barely know what my path is. And I could be wrong about anything. The wise ones tell me to always be aware and to keep reminding myself of the eternal fact that I just... don't... know. The minute I forget that, I'm setting myself up for a fall. And falling hurts. But it's OK. Because everything is OK. We live and learn.
Now that I and my writing have once again come down to the level of a child, I think I shall call it a night.
P.S. The Dog Poet is rescheduled for tomorrow. Suspense getting to you? You know, you could just google it, find his stuff, and never glance at my blog again. (grin)
P.P.S. Children are amazing teachers. Seems like the younger and simpler they are, the more profoundly that holds true. ^^
