POETRY

A re-told story of Christmas birth

December 23, 2016

A​​ re-told story of​​ birth

Christmas 2016

 

The​​ city was dark​​ 

with only the stars and the moon

creating a deep purple hue

that overlaid everything;

no one was out and the​​ 

entire world seemed to be asleep

comfortably unaware

of any change that might be

happening right around the corner

from them.

My walk through advent had been

long and tiring; mostly disappointing

but not without anticipation.

I turned a corner and​​ 

there was a glow that​​ came from

a simple​​ well-worn​​ barn and a voice

inside my head invited,

no,

urged​​ me to open the door.

No, I replied,​​ I’ll just look in​​ 

through the window, I’m

fine with that,​​ I’ll​​ 

be OK here.

No, the voice replied,

it is true that​​ you can see the light

through​​ the window but if​​ 

you want​​ take part​​ in​​ this

you will need to open the door​​ 

yourself; ​​ you will need to

make a choice to​​ go inside.

And so I​​ reluctantly, quietly

ever so​​ tentatively​​ lifted the latch

and pushed the door

ajar.

 

Nothing.

 

Nothing at all.

 

So, I​​ shoved the door a bit​​ more

and stepped across

the threshold and​​ 

it hit me​​ like the wind​​ 

of a 1000 deserts and the

purr of a kitten.

A vision exploded in my head​​ as

the light shone​​ from​​ the room

so bright that I was blinded.

It burst​​ out through the door

and​​ encircled the dark;

or was it that the dark​​ became

the center of the light?

 

the​​ open​​ door to the world

freed the light but the light

did not​​ dispel the darkness​​ 

as​​ much as give it form

and shape so that​​ 

the two fit together

in a type of​​ puzzling​​ mosaic

allowing me to walk

in and out of both​​ 

and I saw that it was​​ 

possible, even preferable

for them both to exist

and darkness and light

were not opposite

each other.

 

But the vision blasted

on without hesitation​​ 

determined to​​ 

fully show itself

 

in that vision I saw

a ​​ new way​​ born from

the highest ideals

in the lowliest of places

I saw that the spirits of the heavens

had come to earth in the form

of​​ promise

in place of despair.

 

I saw​​ Matthew​​ run​​ laughing​​ from the fence post

I​​ heard​​ Emmitt​​ whistling​​ his little​​ tune

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ and James was unchained from the truck

I saw worshipers at Mother Emanuel​​ praying

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ and I saw Dylan getting the help he needed

I saw the men of Pulse dancing

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ with joy and freedom

and I saw​​ the children of Alleppo

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ sitting down to read​​ beside their parents

I saw​​ Zaevion​​ smiling with open arms

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ and I saw the children​​ of Sandy Hook running

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ as free as the​​ winds​​ of​​ summer

I saw the suffering

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ refugees crawling out of

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ the sea and into warm​​ dry beds

and then came Muslims

arm in arm with Christians

and Jews with Palestinians

and​​ Hindus​​ with Buddhists

and on and on

and I saw that it was good

and that it was right.

 

But​​ I was exhausted

 

I wanted no more

and wished to shut the door

when​​ a hand on my shoulder;

the​​ hand of a fellow traveler

asked only to be steadied

in the wind​​ and so I reached​​ 

out to them​​ and we stayed

in the wind and blinding light

and it was as it​​ 

should be

in the city of promise

when we​​ open

the door for​​ light

to engage our darkness.

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