Have you noticed that no one ever speaks of being haunted on the Friday night of a three day weekend? Worse, with my luck all the good spirits would already be booked and I’d be stuck with the Ghosts of Sappy, Brain Numbing Christmas Muszak (who I can assure you are not numbered among the Heavenly Host, nor allowed entrance into Heaven’s opposite. Understandably, neither party wanted them – hence their current holiday assignment: perpetually haunting shopping centers.) Alas, after a night of such tender ministrations I’d awaken depressed and suicidal. No wonder I go into holiday shopping denial every year. But never mind that madness.

 

December the 25th: I like it, haunted or not. It’s a beautiful time of year, a time to celebrate something worth celebrating. It’s a day where the cultural imperative actually encourages us to express our gratitude and appreciation for our families, our friends and the person we got stuck with on the office present-pool.

 

I remember the year when my Christmas excitement was so great that it possessed me entirely and forced me out of bed (I wasn’t sleeping anyway) and dragged me down the stairs. I shuffled into the living room where I surprised my dutiful, if tired, parents wrapping up the obligatory last minute packages. I wasn’t trying to sneak a peek, really.

To prove it, I closed all my eyes while I explained to Mom and Dad that the ghosts where to blame. They had possessed me and it was their fault entirely that I was standing there. Moreover, it was their fault my left eye kept fluttering open and letting in kaleidoscopic images of all the good stuff awaiting more legitimate attention a few hours hence.

 

My father put his finger beside his nose, (I swear it; I’m not making this up) and looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. He chuckled, but since his can’t eat much sugar there was no bowl full of jelly. Long, white hairs appeared briefly upon his chin as he gently escorted me back upstairs and re-tied the knots, more carefully this time, of the Christmas Eve restraining system he’d installed on my bed to insure that he and Mom had at least a little peace and joy on Christmas morning.

Speaking of Mom and Dad, I’m excited to call them, and all the rest of my family to catch up and connect a little bit more. I’m afraid that in my monkish lifestyle I’ve isolated myself more that I want too, going forward. There are many people in my life, that I have great appreciation for, that go untold and chief on that list are my own brothers and sister. I love you guys.

 

December the 25th: Others may write about its religious meaning, its historical origins and symbolism, its gifts and giving. My thoughts seem to flow back through my lineage and ancestry, both actual and adopted. I think of all that came before me to shape the magnificent heritage I share and prepare the karmic possibilities that have blessed my life with such wondrous teachings. I feel the connection of these spiritual ties like children dancing around the May Pole with their colorful ribbons streaming. Of course nowadays, kids are connected not by ribbon and pole but rather by cable from console to controller.

 

Still, the presents we pass along are one more reminder that we are all the same, giver and gifted. We are all connected in the grand multi-player game of spirit expressing itself. When we rise above the illusory separation and artificial individuality that we adopt while dancing upon this mortal coil we see not our separation but our togetherness.

We see the oneness that binds us, the connection that creates the mirrors of our relationships. We see the ripples that flow forward and back in the eternal dance of divinity from which we arise and to which we return when our meditations allow us to look with larger eyes and more clearly.

 

When I unwrap presents joyfully given and gratefully received, I’m unveiling more than merely the thoughtfulness and love of the giver – I’m unraveling another layer to reveal an opportunity to see more clearly who I am and who you are – and then to realize that once you take off the pretty papers underneath we are all the same.

 

December the 25th: I like it!

 

 With love, gratitude and aloha,

 

 Holman

Aloha and Good Morning,

 

December the 25th: I like it! It’s a glorious day, a day resplendent with excitement and wonder. (I wonder if Granny realizes that there are more gift-giving options than tighty-whitey-fruit-of-the-looms?)

 

December the 25th: I like it: It’s a good day -- good for everyone save the Christmas goose. You know, the large one hanging in the corner shop window. (Or was it a large Tofurkey in the specialty section of the organic foods market? I get confused on that point.)

December the 25th, perhaps I wax too Dickensian and thereby risk the haunting of three spirits. This is to be avoided. Ghosts typically don’t understand that we have to get up for work the next day -- thank you very much. I find it entirely beside the point if they can do it all in one night: it’s the next morning when the alarm clock laments the awful, early hour that I’m talking about.

Contents © 2008 by  Holman R. Meyerhoffer, LMT—Project Transformation