Monday, December 26, 2005
Believing In Men Like Santa And God
Picture by me.
This morning the heavens turned into a dark emerald and a bright strike of light escaped from the sun, hiding behind a few clouds. Then hailstones, large as marbles, began to fall in our garden. The light was out of this world and the hailstones sparkled, and it was all so beautiful, almost as if a supernatural being was planning it. We walked outside with our girls, and we began to dance in our garden. We spun in circles, holding hands, bare feet, while the hailstones kept falling, turning the world into a white psychosomatic swamp.
Then we spoke about our friend M. who’s eighteen and dying of cancer. We were just dancing there, raising our arms to the sky, and asking the universe to have compassion for M.
Doubtless we were praying in our own way.
I felt the same kind of happiness and sadness this morning when we were dancing there, which I sometimes experienced when I was a child thinking of life as something enduring. When I still believed in magical men that brought me presents or eternity, like Santa and God.