Merry Christmas

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Well, this is the part of Christmas when you get to relax and God knows I am overdue for relaxing. I did get to relax at the beach but there was a lot of cooking yesterday and today. We baked pies. Today we had the turkey and the pies, there was feasting and drinking. Someone passed out. Two Vietnam photographers were arguing over camera angles. We ate the turkey, and there was much cleaning and then much dessert.

We talked with Steve in Australia. He said he’s been working out and camping. It all sounded very fun. He was in good spirits. He was glad we were all here. His dad is here too, so we all go to talk with him.

Tomorrow I am going to run off some of the turkey and pie. There are big conversations that take place over the holidays. Conversations about who you are, who you want to be, what your story is.

And over the holidays, you get to rewrite the story. Are you the youngest child who was rejected? Are you the troublemaker? What family are you a a part of? What story are you a part of?

The story is always in flux. The story moves around you like mist only you can reach out and reshape the mist. Those of us who are writers are always watching for ways we can write a story that is true. Not our own story, not a story we have heard, but a true story, the story of dirt and coffee and fingernails with dirt and coffee under them. The story of the tiger that stepped through the windshield of your dreams. The story of the car surrounded by luminous jelly, the story of the birth of a child foretold by shepherds, how do shepherds know about these things? It’s a myth, but a good myth and a bad myth at the same time. A good myth in that people love while they are inside this myth and a bad myth because people have done great evil in the name of this myth. Christ was not born on December 25th. He did not come to save the world. If there is any salvation, it is we who save each other over and over again. It is we who must save ourselves, each other and the world. Salvation isn’t a big thing, it’s a personal thing, it’s a story that encompasses all of us. The house that falls through time, that is the story. The yellow brick road, the monkeys, that’s the beginning of America. We all wanted something very simple, a yellow brick road and at the end of it, a big made up story, told by a man behind a curtain. It’ all the man behind the curtain unless you’re a writer and then you are the man behind the curtain. Or a woman behind the curtain. You keep making things up. You keep telling stories that shape the air around your head like the curtains billowing out and the air becoming a new day.

Published in: on December 25, 2013 at 10:11 pm  Comments (1)  

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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. Merry Christmas from a Buddhist. A newly hatched one. Namaste.

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