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.