The Magic of Christmas
Reflections in a Window
It’s strange how nostalgia, or something like it anyway, can sneak up on you, and transport your not only to a different Time, but change your Mood and Outlook as well. At what is the beginning of the final month of this Strange, and taken altogether, mostly difficult year, I find myself reflecting on many things.
The question I am asked most freaquently since the decision was made to close Over the Rainbow after this year, “what will you do now?” firgures largely in my thoughts. But mostly, at the end of a year that has been more about Grief , Sadness and Pain than anything else, that resonates in my mind as one of the most difficult I’ve passed, it seems that Transformation is wishing to occur on every front.
I am sad when I think about closing this shop. It has become Home during the many hours I have passed here, the backdrop to a busy and too often, rather strained life. I have loved this small store well, though, and lavished on it most of my energy and thought that wasn’t occupied with my Sprititual pursuits. I have worried too, about the conflict caused by feeling trapped within this consummerist model when so much needs to change for the Earth, for our Children, and the Future of the Human Race.
I can’t say I will do instantly better without the Brick and Mortar reality, but it will hopefully afford me the opportunity to pusue more creative endeavors , and to devote to my interest in permaculture and regenerative gardening. So, on the whole, I am very much trying to look at this, not as a failure, but as an Opportunity.
Today though, I am thinking about Christmas, and my ongoing relationship with this, to me, most Magical interlude of the year. Something clicked last evening as I watched our small-town parade, and when I went to close the store, looking at my front window display from the chilly porch. It looked so warm and inviting, so cheerfully Christmas, and so… Magical.
Sugarplums Dancing— Long Ago and Far Away
I wonder how many of you remember that Feeling, that special Magic that fills Childhood [if we’re lucky] Christmas’ with joy and wonder and awe? I still remember it very well. I have carried that Feeling, that Magic, with me for all the decades since my sisters and I were small. That was in the 1960s, a simpler time on the surface perhaps, but also one of strife, of racial and sexual bias, hidden abuses, the everpresent threat of war, and monsters that weren’t always under the bed.
Our young family [Dad, Mom and four daughters, the first three not much more than a year each apart] like many in those day, resided at the margins of poverty, not desititute, but living always close to that financial edge. Dad always worked at least two jobs, and Mom was a homemaker when we were small.
Life was often difficult, but Christmas was a Joy in our household. I don’t know how they managed to always have our most special wishes under that tree on Christmas Morning, how the living room could look like Toyland to us, with dolls and trikes, sports gear, art supplies and even a chemistry set for the nerd in the family arrayed around the tree. It always seemed perfect from my small perspective, and unlike many children that cease to believe or care at some point, and only want the gifts, the Magic remained for me throughout childhood and into adulthood.
The existence of Santa Claus remained an unquestioned fact in our household long after our peers had given it up. Like most children, we were sent to bed early on Christmas Eve, so that Santa could have the living room to do his Work. However, we may have went to our beds, but we didn’t sleep. We waited, whispering in hushed voices from time to time, but listening for the Sleigh we Knew would arrive, and sounds from the next room. When that happened and it finally got quiet on the other side of the wal, it was my sister Lisa and my cue to get up and See the Magical transformation of our living room. We didn’t include the younger ones in our nocturnal quest, and for obvious reasons of maintaining the secretive, and necesarily quiet, nature of our Christmas adventure. However, we also didn’t trust one another, despite promises to always awaken the other if one should doze off too soon. We tied our ankles together with shoe strings or some such, and nearly fell out of bed at least once trying to extricate ourselves from the knots.
What she and I did on those Magical mid-watches of the night with no light but the tree, was to do no more than lay beneath it, gazing around at the gifts and the beauty of it all. More times than one, we fell asleep beneath those boughs with the scent of evergreen in our noses, and undoubtedly Sugarplums dancing in our heads. It was our Christmas Magic and we breathed it in, saving up for later years when it seemed that there was little Magic left in the world.
There were times when the Magic didn’t endure. There was a year when one younger sister woke up and broke the silence, questioning our reasons for this reverie when no presents could be touched or opened for hours yet, and awakening our parents. Another year, the youngest greedily tore open a present despite our protests, and we tried to tape it back together before her crime was discovered and our secret vigil revealed.
I don’t remember how long we continued that late night Christmas Custom, but for me, nearly every year that I can remember, I have awakened in the pre-dawn hours and arisen to sit in silent contemplation with no light but that of the Christmas tree. There have been years when it was elusive, or when it was so fleeting I almost missed it, but mostly the Magic has continued for me to this day. I’m not talking about gifts or decorations, or even my still existent belief in Father Christmas, but a quiet sense of Joy, of the Realization of the Magnificence of Creation and Faith that love and generosity still exist in this world. I can’t really describe it adequately. It is a Feeling that emanates from my Heart, and Fills me with Warmth and Comfort, enough to sustain me until next time.
When I was a little girl, I wanted to be Santa Claus when I grew up. Not Santa’s Wife or his Helper, but the Sleigh Driver that got to take that Wild Ride across the World and Wish All a Good Night. And at the end of a difficult year, that Same Spirit [of Christmas] is what will carry me through.
Happy Christmas and Blessings to all, and to all a very good night!
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