A Purpose for the Holidays

I woke up from a nap today at about six, and it was dark outside, and I was the only person at home. No lights were on, no sounds came through except the leaves rattling in the wind. It felt like The Lathe of Heaven, and I was George Orr, changing the world into my nightmares.

Today my Thanksgiving gratitude post on facebook was about living with people. I need people around me. So when my friend posted that he was feeling bitter about the onset of the Christmas season, I responded very passionately, with all of my sad, Romantic soul (read: Wordsworth and Shelley, not Twilight and Harlequin).

I love Christmas because of Germany. It transforms the world, in Germany. Here, though, Christmas has its own uses.

Usually, the argument about Christmas boils down to how much Jesus should be in it. but I don't like that argument. Jesus the Christ is sacred, and his name is sacred, and too much of him will only dilute the meaning: spread hallowness too thin. So my arguments will be for the season, and not the reason.

Christmas brings the coziness of the dark. It's like being wrapped in chilled velvet, and snuggling with stars, especially when the lights go up. Christmas means that everything chocolate comes with peppermint or orange flavors, two of my favorite. Peppermint in the hot milk, chocolate oranges, and steam on the windows all mean Christmastime. 

Christmas means snow soon, if not already. I love snow. I love walking outside in it, all bundled in my warmest clothes, and the way it glows, as if lit from underneath. I love the way it looks like all those antique Christmas cards, which were meant to look like snow. . . *sigh* it's like the world goes retro. I love the orange and navy sky above it, as if something as cold as snow only makes the sky warmer.

I love the music - bells, trumpets, brilliant performances that warm your soul: clear tones that echo between the mountains and stone buildings.

But in all the cold and dark, what warms me most is people. I love long hugs, when your breath puffs out like cotton candy. I love singing by firelight (in all seasons), and the smell of my mother's seasonal cinnamon fixation. I love choirs, and wooden pews, and stained glass where we all crowd inside and breathe music. I love watching couples pass under streetlights, as if they only exist for those few steps. I love watching children suck on candy. And drop it. Or stick it onto somebody, and then wipe their hands on something suede.

We spin, you and I, in the darkness and coldness of space. Our little planet spins, held in place, we think, by the weakest force known to us. But beyond our atmosphere is a vastness of extremes - of fire and ice - and mindbreaking loneliness. We cling together on the skin of our mother earth while the season reminds us, and allows us to remind each-other of how much we are loved.

Even in America, there's more to Christmas than jingles and shopping; Christmas means light in the darkness, and warmth in the cold. I urge you to see it this year, and give some, if you can.