’twas the night before Christmas …

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Oh! What an idyll.

For many there is plenty stirring on the night before Christmas. And many more could only hope they had the energy or the freedom to be stirred – or to stir.

The paedestrian necessity of one word following another prevents adequacy in describing garbled, mixed up feelings, mish- mashed thinking, and contrary spirit – all happening at the very same moment.

Sacred gratitudes and burning guilt get delivered with overwhelming good fortune, abundant and sublime beauty presses joyful tears, innocence & naivety raise hopes & spirits.

Deep, disturbing sorrow follows fathomless want & need, seething anger lit by treachery.

I cannot limit myself to 140 characters – that seems more inadequate than being restricted by a chronology, though it may well be far more effective. (It does seem something of an anachronism to be “tweeting” a Christmas message.)

I cannot issue a blanket “season greetings” or “Merry Christmas” to cover all my friends, family, and contacts. I just can’t. Each one of you is unique, special, requiring of a singular thought, even if only  a sigh of satisfaction and a breath of thanks – for you have changed my world in some precious way.

And there are many in the world, the many who none of us have met, the many who make up the majority, the many for whom being special and unique is dominated by cruel and unrelenting suffering.

How is it that I can be the host of such contradiction –  elevated & blessed, damned & despairing. Maybe we are all carriers and contradiction truly is the motor of history.

In a few hours time it will be Christmas Day. It is now – the night before Christmas when all through my house, I hope something is stirring.

For me … I hope it is forgiveness that is stirring.

What about you?

Merry Christmas, friends.

My Birthday – thank you for (just) another day!!

It’s only another day … isn’t it?

Well, like the Merle Travis song says:

Another day older, and deeper in debt.

It is just another day but the implication is significant, even pivotal. Like any moment that levers our lives,  it is a catalyst for reflection and contemplation.

Even more so in an era when lost connections are so easily re-ignited. Like one of my old mates said to me when we re-connected through Facebook – “it is like putting the old band back together!”

Those adventures of yesteryear, the talents we showed and developed (or not), the dreams we had and claimed (or not), the hurdles and disappointments we were yet to face, and the unexpected joys of a future unravelling … all of it, and more, falls back into context and relevance.

The arrow of time is relentless, travels at high speed, and points always and inexorably towards higher levels of entropy.

Reflection is not about being absorbed by what the arrow has passed, it is about being moved by its path.

Reflection is an action for valuing the trajectory that your arrow has followed – the moments it has punctured, the colour created & released, the bubbles burst, the insights it crafted, the serendipity and the crossroads encountered, the chaos wrought,  the minutiae transformed to the momentous, and chains unlocked.

Another day older and deeper in debt.

It  sounds like a moment of financial despair but …

My debt is to all who have touched the flight of my arrow, deflected it, sharpened it, enabled its continuity – perhaps even picked it up, re-loaded it and with a twang! fired it off again, giving new momentum to a terminated flight. And sometimes, often, those owed the debt do so unknowingly – a fact that does not dimish either the quality or the quantum of appreciation.

It is somehow an uplifting debt.  Inspiring! It allows for standing in the dole queue while reaching for, and basking in the light of, the stars.

With all the wishes sent to me yesterday, once more, I am reminded of, and humbled by, the importance each of the authors – and those who author silent and hidden wishes.

Without you my moment, all my moments, would not be a moment(s) all – there would be no moment(um), there would be no path, no trajectory, my arrow would not sing or zing, it would come to rest and begin the inevitable process of decaying into dust.

Instead, while the physique may be limping along, slowing down and needing a zimmer frame – the spirit kicks and clicks its heels in joyful celebration of the way you each make my arrow sing.

The Ages – Body & Mind (or is it delusion?)