The Christmas of Meaning

Merry Christmas, to and for you, first of all.

Like a kid (albeit one in an affluent industrialized sometimes-dysfunctional democratic republic), I awoke a couple of hours ago on Christmas morning. But, unlike that kid, it was not in eager anticipation of gifts under the tree/what did Santa bring?/when can we open?/ooh look there is snow on the ground still/and on and on. It wasn’t in anticipation, although there may be some of that, and it was not in expectation, although there is more to come; it was instead simply because I did. I stopped sleeping and had a smile knowing that I have it, that gift, that one gift already.

And there is more to come, but it is more of the same. Different, deeper, divinely delightful, this gift, and I have it. There are no adequate words to write about it and none are needed, so just be about the business of appropriating what you can, apropos of everything.

Oh, and in full disclosure, I did rise early in order to cook a couple of turkeys which some friends will later use to feed the homeless, but I would have been awake already, with that smile.

This Christmas, for me, is one for the ages. Formerly, I have immersed myself in all of the splendors of the season and spent much time, money, effort, and energy doing it, baptizing myself. But not this Christmas. This Christmas it has all come to me, and I share it with you.

There has been no time for the usual going after it. No time for that. And by that I mean many things: USPS has kept me focused during the holiday frenzy (you can read much about that in post after post after post after post on WaughPaper}; I have obligations to a group of friends who meet in our apartment each week; I teach every week (actually, I just allow things to become learned, if that makes sense); and there is much on my heart, soul, mind, and strength that requires nothing of me, but I give it nonetheless; and then at times, there has been no time. It had/has ceased (at times). So, no time for the usual.

Therefore, it has all come to me, those many splendors, as a gift. And that gift is unutterably unique and has become present by not being present and has become present as a present, a gift. In the present. And once present, it becomes past and future.

So, there is much to be said for watching and waiting. And wondering and wandering. And looking and listening. And lavishing in loving arms like a little lamb held by the Shepherd holy. And for praying the hell out of everything.

And, sure there are some gifts over there by that little lighted fir tree that is adorably apartment-ally appropriately noble.

But, for now, I am going to sit here in this chair that was my father’s. I am in it with a smile and a cup of really good coffee and glorious music coming from the little speakers on my laptop (not an occasion for headphones, no noise to cancel) and snow on the ground outside, and in my head and heart a precious gift.

And I wish for you a very Merry Christmas . . .