Doubt

Nov 29 2019

Above the Arctic Circle

in the months of perpetual night

they have plans to celebrate

the return of the sun.

The ancients

were never so sure

it would ever come again,

contending with fickle gods

their own inconsequence

the mysteries of the cosmos.

But we understand its clockwork

down to the second.

And even though we are Copernicans

still believe ourselves

to occupy the centre,

that the sun

will be there for us.

A thin line of light.

Then the curve

of that great eternal sphere,

like some sleek marine mammal

just breaking the surface

of some calm water-world.

Not quite enough for shadows,

but a softening of the murk

before it seamlessly slips under.

While atheists

surely do not doubt,

do the God-fearing tremble

before His stern judgment?

Concerned

that this hard winter may never end,

the dark infernal reckoning

of the apocalypse begin?

Meanwhile, the ground squirrels and foxes

are well-prepared.

They need no metaphysics

no telescope or dogma

to carry on.

They will celebrate

by living one more day,

scavenging the dead

or in deep hibernation.

As they did the day before

as they will do the next.

Unaware

of their slowly turning coats,

the first stirrings

of wakefulness.

How, like small children

animals dumbly accept,

grateful for the warmth

of the newly risen sun;

however brief

however unexpected.

I was surfing the TV late last night, and stopped for a couple of minutes on a replay of an old Rick Mercer Report, in which he visited Inuvik for their celebration of the return of the sun (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pqbk13yiQV8). There were kids in brightly coloured parkas on parents' shoulders, as at any downtown parade. But there was also a great bonfire, reminiscent of some pagan festival. I almost expected to see a human offering consigned to the flames. So what struck me was the intersection of science with superstition and ritual: the astronomical certainty of sunrise, contrasted with the slight unease implied by watchful waiting, as if – just in case – there might arise some atavistic need to appease the gods and the fates.

I think this poem is about over-thinking things, which is what we humans do: searching for meaning; suffering with existential angst; constructing belief systems in order to both comfort and explain. And, with our characteristic lack of humility, insisting on putting ourselves at the centre of an indifferent universe.

I guess I'm the atheist and confirmed Copernican of this poem. No religion or metaphysics for me. I'm content with science as explanation for everything, and humble enough to admit my insignificance.

I think this is the 3^rd poem in a row I wrote directly on the computer. Previously, I had always felt more comfortable composing by hand, pen on paper; then editing by means of the keyboard. I have no idea if my style has changed with the change in process. However, I know this poem and the last one seemed more compressed and distilled from the start, with fewer words and therefore closer to the final version. And seemed to come more quickly, as well.