NOTES for Luk 2:1-20
La Vielle de Noël
Nothing has begun yet. Everything has already passed.
From end to end, a gentle haze has veiled the light.
The mist drips with moisture—now rain, now snow.
Neither valleys nor mountains, lakes nor rivers can be discerned.
Stealing up without a sound, from end to end
a single veil hides every distant view,
A whitish shroud without image, color, or boundary.
Nothing can be seen two steps away, and in the thawing snow
the tracks sink out of sight
Of this unknown couple, for whom
there is no room at the inn.
Once more darkness lies upon the face of the deep, as it did
before the beginning of time.
All droops into the languor of nonbeing, into mist and sleep.
Like a fir tree beneath the snow, like a beast in its den, the will slumbers
and reason is silent.
Perhaps the heart of love keeps watch, yet love itself
sleeps on and on.
Quiet and still, hour after hour, the eye is clouded
and the mind is blind—
Until the watchful midnight distinguishes an infant’s cry.
(S. S. Averintsev, Geneva, December 24, 1994)
La Vielle de Noël—Christmas Eve (Fr.)