Christmas vision 2007

by Larry Morris (from Christmas Vision: CHristmas Poems 1991-2009)

Eight old men

on a

bench

in the mall.

Not

the park,

not

the bar,

but a

bench

in the mall.

Eight old men

speaking

an unknown language

on a bench

in

the mall—

watching

the passersby.

Sometimes

they wave

or nod,

friendly.

Do they meet

here daily

to talk things

over?

No cell phones

for them.

Maybe

they are secret

mall angels

watching

over

things,

wise men

overseers of Grace

in this

manger of excess.

They sit

smile

and nod,

dispensing

some hidden peace

in this frantic place.

Christmas-mall-time

the war drags on

and still

we

shop--

trying

to feel good

in the midst of

our world stage,

no longer

so certain

about things—

The wise men

of the mall

see

some meaning

we

may have missed,

some feeling of freedom

not ending

at the body.

Shopping at Ross

Depressed For Less

lines everywhere

we

want the good deal

ASAP

and

we

don’t want

to wait too long,

to delay

our

gratification seems hard,

we

are not even enlightened.

Can

we

get enlightened

at Ross,

the store of bargains

galore?—

you

try on

a shirt

or skirt

that fits perfectly

(only $3.99)

suddenly the Buddha Mind

is yours!

The wise men

of the mall

remind

our

hearts, in all this chaos

of choices,

we

are not just here

by ourselves.

Even the strangeness

we

feel deep inside

connects

us

to the strange otherness,

the starry mystery,

the great unknown,

what do

we

know anyway—

we

no longer need

separation as

our

companion.

Meshing

with the otherness

of the other,

we

know our mystery

at the center,

ongoing,

never-ending,

so what if there

is death

and

it’s certain and

we

don’t know why

we

are here.

The wise men

of the mall remind

us

our

life is not in

our

hands. When

we

realize this,

things come together,

the pressure

is released,

we

see things connected,

we

are not afraid

to love.

Our

heart

does not resist change,

we

are given eternity

in this moment—

not to be just

ourselves,

gives

us

so much freedom.

No need to help

life along—

what a relief

what release

what Grace

when

we

can stop interrupting

the flow of things,

let them happen,

breathe with them,

let them be.

Agonizing

aloneness of

our

life somehow is healed

even in spite

of ourselves.

We

are left only

this unimagined

Peace.

You

there in your corner

of the world,

heart touches heart,

healing is all

we

want. Don’t turn away

and say another time,

another day.

May these words shake

us

free from

our

dark spots inside.

May

our

hearts meet in Love

beyond judgment—

how different are

we

anyway? Underneath there is

always that

Presence

that knows within

our

hearts all is well.

And all will always

be well.

I

emerge out of

the ashes

of Christmases

Past where nothing

much happened,

but bitter

disappointments—

disconnection--

I

arise to meet

this moment

shining infinite.

I

now see beyond

our

disguises, that

you as you

and

I as I

are not different

and

our

meeting in this time,

this place,

is sacred.

I’m not so

afraid

to call

you

friend. Nothing between us

but Love.

Time/space, Life/death,

erase.

Only this

One.

What a relief.

I’ve

known

you

always,

loved you always,

different shapes, sizes, colors,

but always underneath,

One.

Eight old men

on a

bench

in the mall.

Finally,

I can stop,

just sit,

smile,

wave,

nod.

I

want nothing more

than to

remember this moment

of release from

self.

And we,

we

are thankful.