Announcement

Collapse
No announcement yet.

"That is the Holidays"

Collapse
X
  • Filter
  • Time
  • Show
Clear All
new posts

  • "That is the Holidays"

    With poetry in the background bring spoken, I remember Holidays I've shared.

    Different colors and bleary eyes, weed smoke, book reading. The many places my bed had been over the years, once in the middle where I read the book 11/22/63.

    I drank a bloody mary one year near the holidays, and that warm feeling of being tipsy, if not drunk, fueled my want to make that a tradition. Except the acid in a drink like that is not agreeable with my system any longer.

    I remember ice fingers on frozen bushes, and hanging icicles melting above me into puddles that pooled there. I sincerely wonder at eternity; my words can make more noise, I guess.
    Summed up in a riddle, while I listen to you. Our halls and our souls. Something light moves through. I am not so worried anymore about 'vacuity': empty space does not frighten me.
    I've come to love, and fall in love with silence. I take small sips. It feels like emerging from a deep sleep. I imaging the terrible clarity of being so aware and open listening attuned, the body would be healing all the time, all the passions would be mixed and merged in balance. Silver bubbles would trail from your mouth.
    Little gifts. Children in pajamas running around the house. The light swinging above the roar and stampede of feet. A full house, the beautiful faces caught in each other, looking out windows, sitting at the table.

    Framed by love, by a snake which has to shed its skin. What is the love, is it all your skin?
    What do we celebrate anyway?
    Love beckons from the open doors, should we listen? What else can we do, we reason. Our fingers meet in places where gifts mean less, and we are here. What to accomplish? The swelling walls sweat and stand still. They wait to fall. That is the fatality they submit to; dumb as nails holding us up.

    Beautiful words struggle to reach the body like flowers. I wanted to breathe the love, and taste how it could be better than food.

    I worried into a storm. The rain cooled my brow, and I looked up at you ... all the graves and the eggs, blue cataract'd eyes, the rheumy gaze of milk. I've come, I've come.
    And in the end it will be that I shall ultimately listen as you speak the necessary words. Then I shall be silent.
    That is the Holidays. Lighting the menorah in warmth. Opening my window to let the air in.
    Spending time alone like I always do. Rebuilding and remaking myself out of the world.
    This and much more.

    Loving God enough to know, and be patient with myself. Greeting the white air of beauty coming towards me.

  • #2
    Love this intricately woven interpretation of the holidays. Taking a look at what it’s all about.
    I feel grateful for reading it and grateful for my life and family.

    Comment


    • #3
      Thanks Bobby -- I was pretty negative a few weeks back about the holidays, and decided to prove to myself that Beauty is beautiful because of what we pay attention to. Thanks for reading!

      Comment


      • #4
        You do an amazing job at capturing the “slice of life stuff.” The beauty and pain of each detail. Your engagement. It’s all delicious and difficult, causing one to bear the depth of feelings that surface. Thank you for that.

        Comment

        Working...
        X