all i want for christmas

christmas, christmas tree, christmas lights, e e cummings“and looking up at our beautiful tree

we’ll dance and sing

‘Noel Noel’

I am reusing a photo of our Christmas lights from last year, and the piece of poem that attached itself to them.   This is fitting, I think, as so very much the heart of the holidays lives in those things that stay the same, year after year.

Anticipation is a beautiful thing.

Fulfilment, a comfort.

Twinkling lights in the dark living room, breathing magic into the home, they will always call to me, draw me in.  I can barely make myself leave at bedtime, longing to stay and sleep right there by the light and the fire.  Like a beacon, these lights.  They fill me me up and all I want to do is somehow wrap up all that is good in this world, the seemingly perfect love I imagine that these lights represent, and pour it into the hearts of everyone, everywhere.

Instead, feeling both hope and loss, I content myself with my own bathing in the light, on each of these December nights, until I know, soon, I will burst.

Yes, into song of the Christmas type.  Into jolly, silly dancing with my children.  Making merry, yes!  I have a magic tree with magic, twinkling lights, what else can I do?

But in the quiet evenings, I can’t help but also feel full to bursting with wonder at this–the dark side of being alive, the hurting and the sorrow?

It feels wildly unfair, and such a holiday of wild abandon reminds me of this all the more.  If only the fairy tale were true, I think.  If only, the babe really were a miracle.

If only peace on earth, goodwill toward men were the gift blanketed on us all this December 25th, I would gladly give up my sweet holiday traditions.

I would never ask for another Christmas tree again.

Together, we will make magic.

My oldest son has recently become interested in reading his mama’s words.  It is a strange experience for me because I know that when the farmer reads them or other adults read them, they have a wide base of context to bring with them to the reading.  At eleven, his awareness has definitely broadened, but just how much is always a surprise to me.

So, at the end of the night when I work on this project, he often comes over and gives me his feedback on the photo editing, which I generally take since he is already such a gifted visual artist.  He has read all of them and has his favorites.  It has been a lot of fun.

A few nights back, I had gotten my photo up and had written this title, “Meet me under the tree,” and this first line, “We will make magic, together.”  I had to walk away from the computer for some reason or another and when I came back, he had finished the poem.

I think it was a bit inspired by his recent readings of my own work, but it is still pretty awesome.  Especially for a boy who thinks he doesn’t write well.  He does, he really does.  He just can’t yet get the grand scope of his stories down as well as he sees them in his head and so he feels this limitation and hasn’t gotten to the point of realizing he just needs to either give those epics a lot of hard work or try to write something shorter.  The short hasn’t interested him yet.  Poetry hasn’t interested him yet.  And so this was very exciting.

I couldn’t really leave it on my other page and my own post morphed into this.

But he had really wanted me to use it and so I told him I would post it here.  He decided to change the photo and edited one of his favorites from our files–one of his father’s–to go with the poem.  The old title is gone too, but I think his new choice is perfect.  It is the best kind of magic making, doing these kinds of things, together.

Together

by Olorin Jaillet

we will make magic, together.

we will make bliss.

we will make unity,  together.

together, we will make magic.

together, we will make peace, we will make happiness.

we will, together.