When I found this little ceramic Christmas tree from the 70’s — that had no star?
Just a table-top tree with translucent multi-colored bulbs, up on the upper shelf of a piled and tilting thrift store?
Yeah, I rescued a sting of childhood memories and brought that chipped star-less tree home.
Because it’s December the 1st, and the hype ends now, like someone, thank God Almighty, duct-taped all the grating noise and made a sacred space of sane stillness.
These are loud and wounding days of right reckoning. News streams are a torrent of pain. A lady yells at me on the way home with this blister of 40 tongue-lashings.
And I’m telling you: When we dash one person’s light — we dash a world of light, because we tend to pass on our pain, instead of passing the peace.
Maybe when we are most disillusioned with each other, is when most need to be blaze illumination for each other.
Published on December 01, 2017 15:59