A Christmas Muse
There is nothing more regular in its coming around than Christmas time and nothing less regular in its celebration its expression in my personal ways and all the other ways upon the world’s stage, this annual holiday I reflect as I grow up and out of its glamour its fading nostalgic memory. I resist now its effect on me the melancholy of Christmas past my Christmas muse. I still love you.
There was a happy Christmas-time boy that was me, but I don’t remember why he was so pleased. Only using his ghostly image does he visit me this time of year, annually, not a word does he say to me but speaks powerfully, the way a long lost love song chokes your heart and snakes its way around your throat to the beat of the melody. I feel it pulsing in my gut spreading to the whole body, and I want to break free.
Those feelings the boy has had, saved up for me from all those Christmas times past, stuffed into a big red Christmas sock, full of hard, bittersweets, he whops me over the head with it again and again. He pleads with me, “I will stop if you follow me.” He wants me to go back with him to that time he has felt so strongly about. He knows that feeling and wants me to feel it again. Of course, I refuse him, telling him, “I’m not a boy anymore. I’m not you. I’m now a man. I’ve grown up. Please go away!”
To celebrate Christmas this year, we were invited to an 8-hour meditation day at a local community, Polestar. This event was admittedly, by the founder, Michael, an unusual way to spend a whole day so close to Christmas. He went on to express the importance of investing in the spirit of the season our spirit and the spirit of others by opening the heart, showing love and healing to everyone. We sat in silence together in commune with each other’s higher nature, sending out positive vibrations. That was our intention. And it worked. During these 8 hours as I sent out blessings from the heart, I sat crosslegged and observed my sensations my thoughts and noticed the gaps between the thoughts grow longer. I became more peaceful more loving in those gaps, everyone did. I found that when there were no thoughts there was peace and when there was peace there was an openness and expansiveness to the chest and love could flow out and in through the heart space. There were no thoughts of Christmas past from my childhood memories during this meditation.
Later that night, however, the boy that was me paid another visit, singing “Silent night, holy night!
All is calm, all is bright.” I said, “That’s one of my favorites.”
The boy responds, “I know. Christmas was your favorite time of year too. Didn’t you tell grandma the same?”
I replied “Yes, it was and still is special, but I cannot go back with you to that time with my loved ones. Some of them are gone. I miss them. I must carry on, forward.” Then the boy changed tactics, “Do you remember that movie we always watched at that time?” Though it was before my time, it was always on TV during the holidays; It’s a Wonderful Life. This was yet another temptation into the nostalgia that I resisted, and instead, today I resolved only to read. I would not watch any video whatsoever. I read a novella by Charles Dickens called The Chimes instead.
Then the boy said, ”Why don’t you have a boy like me? Then, surely, he could come back together with me, he would be young, you are too old to go back, I see that now.”
“This indeed does come close, to live vicariously through my son and enjoy what he enjoys, what I enjoyed, giving him what I was given at Christmas time. Yes, I thought like that before, and sometimes I feel regret that we never did have a child but I say to you boy, it still would not be as you say. I cannot feel that way ever again, thank you boy, anyway. Now go away!”
Christmas does not change, but I do. I feel melancholy around this time of year. Though I have never reported this feeling honestly to anyone, not even me. This is the first time I have revealed this, though I have expressed indirectly, these feelings, to those who suffered the same as me, attacking the associated emotion of guilty nostalgia, never facing the true feeling head-on, I try to crush it, forget it, and wash it clean with something sacred. And this eventually worked.
I did tell my grandmother truthfully that Christmas was my favorite time of year, for a good reason, it was when I was a child as is with many privileged children around the world, our family gathered together, gave each other gifts, and loved each other at least for this one day. This is the way it happens today and will forever be this way in keeping with the tradition that has been placed on society to treat and celebrate this season with a particular kind of cheer.
I found the real feeling behind the nostalgia, that sweet nostalgia. For me it was that innocence I felt, bundled together with all those accumulated memories seen through the bright eyes of a boy.
The cure for this sickness called nostalgia is to feel the sacred moment of gratitude for all that I have all that I am and all that I love. I am innocent.