Christmas. Anticipation for all that can be thought of as good, noble, benevolent, satisfying, gut level appreciation for many things brushed aside through the year. An awakening of spirit and soul for some, an awakening of merriment, warmth, and contentment for others. No matter what ones life is like, Christmas allows a marked pleasurable difference for most in their being.
For most people, the true meaning of Christmas gives way to the experiences we had, and learned from as children. A happy, innocent time. We model our present participation in Christmas based on our childhood. We remember, and try to duplicate, or make better what was. Most people, not all.
I watched a lady on Christmas eve. She walked about the town slowly, hands in pockets, frequently pausing to look at a house, a tree, a passing car, a squirrel etc. Everything and nothing. She frequently stepped aside when others wanted to pass, acknowledging them with a smile and a nod, and would watch them as they went on their way until they were out of sight.
Now and then she would look up at the stars, then back to earth, slowly looking in all directions, hands in pockets. She knew this would be her last Christmas. There was no joy left, unless it was a distorted joy in remembrance of her childhood, and things that were.
She went home and sat in her chair looking through misty eyes at her Christmas tree, sparsely decorated, and with one present under it. A present to herself, from herself. She had no family, no pets, very few fair-weather friends. The present under the tree was nothing more than a letter, and it was meant for whoever found it, to know who she was. This would be her last Christmas.
The next morning she awoke as usual on Christmas morning. She disposed of the letter as usual on Christmas morning, and began to cry as usual on Christmas morning. This has been going on for 20 years, as usual.
The most human thing we can do at Christmas, is learn to recognize this woman, and do our part to help her understand Christmas is more than a letter under a tree.
Original article by Yuray.
For most people, the true meaning of Christmas gives way to the experiences we had, and learned from as children. A happy, innocent time. We model our present participation in Christmas based on our childhood. We remember, and try to duplicate, or make better what was. Most people, not all.
I watched a lady on Christmas eve. She walked about the town slowly, hands in pockets, frequently pausing to look at a house, a tree, a passing car, a squirrel etc. Everything and nothing. She frequently stepped aside when others wanted to pass, acknowledging them with a smile and a nod, and would watch them as they went on their way until they were out of sight.
Now and then she would look up at the stars, then back to earth, slowly looking in all directions, hands in pockets. She knew this would be her last Christmas. There was no joy left, unless it was a distorted joy in remembrance of her childhood, and things that were.
She went home and sat in her chair looking through misty eyes at her Christmas tree, sparsely decorated, and with one present under it. A present to herself, from herself. She had no family, no pets, very few fair-weather friends. The present under the tree was nothing more than a letter, and it was meant for whoever found it, to know who she was. This would be her last Christmas.
The next morning she awoke as usual on Christmas morning. She disposed of the letter as usual on Christmas morning, and began to cry as usual on Christmas morning. This has been going on for 20 years, as usual.
The most human thing we can do at Christmas, is learn to recognize this woman, and do our part to help her understand Christmas is more than a letter under a tree.
Original article by Yuray.
