December 20, 2016 – The light of Christmas

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I am more seriously tempted this morning to “re-run” a post than I have ever been. At this time last year, I wrote one I called, “Being Christmas” that received quite a bit of appreciation. I just re-read it which has me wondering what I can say about Christmas that is any better. I could take it easy today and just re-post it. But I’m not. I’m going to see what is here to say this year – which feels like an entirely different time, in which to celebrate Christmas.

We’ve decorated the house and have put up one of the prettiest trees, I think, than we ever have. We had a Christmas party for Joe’s men’s group this past weekend. Our niece Leigh is here from Brooklyn – it is always so special to get to spend time with her. We will gather with my family for Christmas Eve and host Joe’s family here on Christmas night. I will get in the kitchen this week to make some Christmas goodies to share. All the circumstances of celebrating Christmas are here. But there is something missing for me – something like a kind of purity and innocence that I expressed in last year’s post.

I wrote: For me the magic of Christmas is all of this – it’s light in the darkness – (I especially love colored light), it’s the generosity of life – feasting and making offerings to each other, it’s feeling an open-hearted, joyful spirit and wishing each other goodwill. To me, this is all part of celebrating the birth of the Christ spirit, that lives in all of us – in all of life, really – whether we are “Christian” or not.

There are several people close to me who are navigating extreme challenges: my other mom’s first holiday season without Dad – after 63 years of marriage, the lovely person who keeps our accounting in good order is bravely recovering from major surgery, my Godmother is struggling as she does life while caring for the love of her life as he gets older. In the face of this, what “reason” do I have to have such a heavy heart? But I know I’m not alone. There is a darkness that has been revealed that brings with it enormous uncertainty for what will happen to us all.

When I left the grocery store yesterday evening, I ended up in a conversation with the guy who was ringing the bell for the Salvation Army. He was black and we had a gentle conversation about living lives from inside bodies, with different “complexions,” as he called them. Then the conversation moved to his very dark view of things: money, politics, race, conspiracy. He reads a lot, he told me, and it seems he reads a whole lot about the dark forces that some say are in play in our world. I won’t repeat what he told me – spreading darkness is not what I’m here to do. But I walked to the car shivering with fear, at the possibility that what he says may be true.  I will not indulge my curiosity by investigating the veracity of what he said – and, yet I do acknowledge that darkness exists.

My compulsion to expand my understanding and capacity to hold life’s circumstances as it evolves is alive and well – especially in the past several weeks. I want to have context – to attempt to assign meaning to what is happening. It’s like I can’t survive this fear if I’m untethered to some bigger picture. I keep feeling like human life is on the cusp of a transformation – like the times I’ve lived through – when personal upheaval was the catalyst that led to the next version of me. In these times though, I was completely untethered. There were months and months that I had no idea what the future would hold or how long this would last. Regardless of how much I want to be able to, I don’t think it’s possible to think our way through real transformation. We can’t figure it out. We must sail away from the shoreline of the old version of reality before we reach the shores of the new.

In the face of this I’m living these questions: How do I – as a person born to express with color and light – stay connected, to all that is good in the face of this darkness? Where’s the place between head-in-the sand and lost-in-despair? What does it mean for the feminine to value itself, as I wrote about last week? And what does it mean to celebrate Christmas from this place – which feels more like post-resurrection-Easter Saturday than it does celebrating the advent of the Christ-spirit?

I’ve been thinking about that first Christmas post-divorce when I spent Christmas Eve all alone in my new little house. Dressed in a big baggy sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to my elbows, latex house paint in my hair, I sat on a rolled up piece of carpet in front of a Duraflame log in the fireplace. I feasted on a glass of Chardonnay and a Marie Callendar’s chicken pie. And I was blissfully happy. It was a stripped down celebration. Simple. If that were how I spent every Christmas Eve, it would be sad. And it was what felt right that year. We suffer less if we do what feels congruent to our lives at the time.

This year I have zero motivation to go Christmas shopping. I’ve been cleaning out closets and culling away unused belongings – I’m responding to a feeling that we are drowning in “stuff” in this house. So I can’t imagine gathering more of it for others. I’m even resisting sending out emails to you all reminding you of the ways that you could give gifts of my wares – the art, mugs and calendars – even though they provide light and color to the world.

What I still do want to do is paint – my creative life is my haven – along with a gentle inner-reminder to take tender care of myself. There’s so much harshness; tenderness is in order. I’ve gone to bed before 9:30 twice in the past week. The deep sleep that follows going to bed this early is a miracle for my body and soul. What does feel right to me is to do less, read less, rest more.

On Saturday, I got a call from my dear friend Julia. She called not because she needed anything, not because she had a question or any particular purpose, except to say she was grateful for me in her life and that she loved me. This feels like Christmas to me. As we talked, we found ourselves exploring Christmas spirit – the sparkly magic of Christmas morning – what I feel in wishing someone a “Merry Christmas” that isn’t there in “Happy Holidays” or worse “have a good holiday.” Julia said “Christmas is for everyone.” This kind of Christmas does not require you to believe in anything.

I read once that the time of births of great people – like MLK Jr and Abraham Lincoln aren’t widely celebrated until they’ve grown to live lives that have had enormous impact. It’s a retroactive thing. The real impact of the birth that was the “First Christmas” wasn’t known until that baby grew to show the world what it means to love each other in a revolutionary way. As we witness the darkness, the horrors of refugees, of assassinations of diplomats, of drug-addicted people living in the streets and those who grieve the loss of someone they love, in the face of this we still find it in us to connect and share our love for each other. What comes to me now might sound trite. But things become trite because they are said over and over – which means they must contain truth. I am holding on to this: the light of Christmas is eternal, ever-present human connection – the light of Christmas is love.

Merry Christmas. Love,

Cara