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The tree is shiny, reflecting the rainbow of rotating light. The stockings are slightly swaying over the gas logs which flicker two eerie horns of nearly invisible flame. The multiple advent calendars, caught in the rumpled bed clothes of 2007, have yet to move past an infamous day. The holiday bulls-eyes are up on the doors. The poinsettias are thriving- I thought they would be dead by now. The Christmas music tries cheerfully to push out any thoughts of doubt and fear, whispering between lyrics, "No despair as we look towards a new year." The trash cans are full of Puffs Plus. The mugs are warm with hot cocoa or tea. The star lights glow in the plastic garlands on the mantel and the blessed stair railing on the second floor which keeps the youngsters from quick, painful trips down to the first floor.
The house is cozy except when there is a breeze outside. When it rains we have a river in the basement and a beautiful fountain which trickles from above the dining room picture window - soft tears that play a delicate melancholy rhythm on the sill. There are dust bunnies of flokati and cotton balls from nativity craft lambs- small shearlings scattered on the floor, blowing like fluffy-white tumble weeds, leading us to the small Christ child hiding in the corner. We wait for Jesus to come this year as every year, but somehow it is different. Somewhere something got lost or perhaps found. Is it because I believe it? Is it because I only want to believe? Do I wait only to celebrate his birth? Am I no longer impatient for his speedy return? Eager to raise my glass at his table? That cup for which he has been waiting so long to drink? Do I even believe in that table? Do I long too much to stay in this world, with my tv, wii, and children? Many days I wish to run away, but where would I go?
Perhaps, I could hide in the outhouse until the season passes and there are no reminders left of all my questions until everyone starts pulling out their bunnies and eggs.
As I recently walked the realm most call "Reality" I realized I had lost something of myself.
Somewhere between here and the tangible world, I misplaced my ability to reason. Now that I am attempting a return to my head- I am finding these doors as locked to me as the physical doors of my house to which I can never again return. St. Elmo has sent me on my way, drifting down my stream of consciousness. He waves near the shore and bids me, "Khada hafiz, Aloha, Adios, Vaya Con Dios, Bon Voyage, and God Speed you anywhere but back here!"
In this ocean of words swimming on a virtual page- I seem to have lost my imagination. I have gotten the whole thing mixed up. I left reason in here and imagination out there. But even in here, on the glowing page of this book- my lap warmer, my reasoning is shoddy at best.
I feel no depth below this vessel, like I am about to scrape bottom, but I suppose that means I will be landing soon. And now I have to ask, "Where am I? And who’s the skinny guy in the red shirt and floppy white hat? And how does he keep his shoes so clean?"
The house is cozy except when there is a breeze outside. When it rains we have a river in the basement and a beautiful fountain which trickles from above the dining room picture window - soft tears that play a delicate melancholy rhythm on the sill. There are dust bunnies of flokati and cotton balls from nativity craft lambs- small shearlings scattered on the floor, blowing like fluffy-white tumble weeds, leading us to the small Christ child hiding in the corner. We wait for Jesus to come this year as every year, but somehow it is different. Somewhere something got lost or perhaps found. Is it because I believe it? Is it because I only want to believe? Do I wait only to celebrate his birth? Am I no longer impatient for his speedy return? Eager to raise my glass at his table? That cup for which he has been waiting so long to drink? Do I even believe in that table? Do I long too much to stay in this world, with my tv, wii, and children? Many days I wish to run away, but where would I go?
