Christmas Eve came and
Turned off the electricity,
This gift delivered
By an old cedar
Falling with exhaustion
Onto a bed of maple leaves,
Power lines, too long stretched taut,
Bowing down in gratitude and
Relaxing along the dirt road,
The hidden gift emerging everywhere
To delight in the silence,
The saturated earth embracing
The cedar’s body, thanking her,
Promising to absorb her completely,
The doe and fawn out from the forest
Onto the road and grazing safely
Upon the thimble berries.
Sitting in the dark or walking
To a window, we strain our eyes
At fading day and wonder what
To do to fill it now.
For a time, the scramble
After candles, flashlights, batteries,
Any source of light or energy.
The screens we hold so dear
Becoming thoroughly embarrassed,
Nonfunctional and purposeless,
Weighty chunks of metal and plastic.
We perform circular rituals outside,
Holding them to sky,
Seeking outage maps or media
To tell us what we already know and see.
We do this for an hour or so.
By then, a couple candles,
Several flashlights, and a smartphone
Reduced to enlightening the bathroom,
The grace of fire in our hearth,
Radiating furiously with
Chunks of cedar, maple,
Alder, and pine, hungry to
Warm the blankets
Enfolding us.
We watch and do not speak
For a long while.
Later on, the wind blows off the rain,
And I get up to find more wood,
And you step outside
And eventually call out to me.
The snapping cold and pitch black dark,
Man-made lights extinguished, then
Stars sing out the spell above to
Make us stay completely still, and
Bring us back to sensing
This, being borne from
Whatever magic energy sustains both
Them and us right now.
And it is getting late,
And we are now absorbed
By fire outside and inside,
But cannot sleep, recalling
Struggles of our ancestors
Who brought us to this very place,
The many families, relatives, then and now
Without fires, stars, or enough to eat,
Despised, reviled, maligned,
Terrified, running, hiding,
Seeking only this same peace
And warmth and ease
That’s ours right here to hold.
It becomes our responsibility
To all who remain left out
To make room
At every in.
You search up the dusty dictionary
To clarify for both of us a manger
Is a trough from which the livestock feed.
And many are still hungry for
Such Great Teachings
Brought by Many the World Over,
Including One Lone Rabbi long ago,
Humbly borne, softly spoken, soon
Co-opted, still commodified, and
As yet ever-skewered
Upon the Cross of Empire
Just for saying:
Tend and feed the poor, the stranger,
Love one another, and make great deeds,
Not words, demonstrate your faith,
And bow down with meekness before
The majesty of Life and Universe
And whatever Awe you may call God,
Knowing You are as much
Created as Creating
And Find This Kingdom Lying Within You.
Then, the loss of power
And the slacking of taut lines
Surrounds us,
And the taking in and loving of the fallen,
And the receiving of the hidden gift
Emerging everywhere
In the delight of silence.
