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Dear Reader,

December is here again and, indeed, almost gone.

And the year itself is almost gone as well.

2015 will soon vanish in its entirety, just like all of the individual days, weeks, and months which made it up, and which oblivion has already consumed.

In some future year–2035, let us say, assuming we live that long–we will look back on 2015 and wonder if it really existed, and wonder–an even more pressing inquiry–if we existed within it.

And then we will turn away from these impossible questions, from the baffling tenuousness of both time and self, and attempt to reunite with the present, whatever that is . . .

All we know about the present is that we are incapable of being its contemporaries. And all we know about the past is that it has slipped away beyond reach.

So quick, while we still can, let us celebrate this diminishing, this perishing year! Let us attempt to seize this present we cannot seize before it turns into a past we cannot reach.

There is so little left of this year. Yet more, perhaps, than is left of our lives . . .

For the rest of this week I encourage you to think of this website as a sort of holographic Advent calendar floating somewhere in limitless space. The first twenty-one windows remain closed. What lies behind them can never be known. But as for the last three: the hand of an angelic being has begun to open them today.

C.S.