BLESSINGS FOR OUR NEW YEAR

HAPPY NEW YEAR!




May all beings have happiness
May they be free from suffering
May they know the joy that has never known suffering
May they be free from attachment and hatred

"O, my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell, lead all souls to heaven, especially those who are most in need of Thy mercy."

I offer this for all souls that seek love, hope and faith.

And I give thanks for the blessings that this has brought to me.

May this be a year of love, good health, prosperity and good fortune for us all!

YE SHALL FIND A BABE WRAPPED IN SWADDLING CLOTHES

I awoke today with feeling of joy and light. I was filled with thanks for the blessings in my life: God's presence, my family, my friends, the comforts in my life, the creation that burns within. Cristo, son of my soul, always reminds me to give thanks for these things, and I shall and I do.

This is a season not of glittering trinkets and marketing ploys, but rather of the birth of He would redeem us, saves us, and offer us eternal life-- The child born in a manger in swaddling clothes.


"In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to his own town to register.

So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger."

Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,
'Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.' "

'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

Here's wishing that everyone's Christmas dreams come true tomorrow! Merry Christmas to all!

THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
by Clement Clarke Moore or Henry Livingston

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

ABSINTHE MAKES THE HEART GROW FONDER

What is there to do when Yuletides are simply dreams and no chestnuts roasted await you? I am not home this Christmas. I'm three thousand miles away sitting in the desert looking for a star to follow.

Would that I could see my family's faces, those faces that are reflections of my own-- so similar, so familiar. Would that I could heal my father faster. Would that I could console my mother in person. Brothers and sisters, we'd exchange gifts, then gather around a meal, first in prayer, then in joy. The air outside would be sharp and cold. Snow, like the feathers of angels, would fill the ground. The house would be warm with heat and light.

Instead I wander these sands of cinematic mirage, this place of gilded temptresses, this land that buys your hopes for pennies on the dollar and sells them reconfigured and unrecognizable. The years here have baptized me in fire. I am reborn same as before and wholly new.

I've carved a small place in the dunes where I find solace. In my apartment by the oasis, I sit in the solitude of prophets and artists and sip the drink of madness, the verte liquor that worms through the wood of the iconoclastic brain and lights the fire in the soul of creation.

Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.

Daughters of the Green Lady, lovers of artists and poets, actors and musicians, all manner of thieves and outcasts-- for this night they are my Yuletide companions. They will see me through to the dawn when we give thanks for the birth of the Prince of Peace. They will see me through the longing for home.

ALL HAIL THE AMERICAN NIGHT

The nights have grown cold here in Syren Sea. The world around me seems drunk with delusion. Painted ladies, beautiful in their madness, crane their necks to the sky for answers. The stars stare back with rueful smiles. "Figure it for yourselves," they respond. The painted ladies strip down to frozen flesh in hopes of absolution. The moon sneers, "Your flesh cannot outshine me."

Townsmen, drunk with ale, brag of conquests and treasure. Boisterous in taverns, they wear the garlands of their heroes' triumphs as their own. "We are champions," they cry and the desert laughs at them. "You are made of what I am and no more," the desert says, "You are sand and dust. There are no monuments to your feats as there were to your fathers'."

Gentlemen of leisure in silken suits hand them pouches of pyrite, glistening golden in the night. They take their gifts and gamble for the Savior's robes and wage their children's souls. They sell each other casks of wine and fatted calves. They think nothing of the dawn.

I call to them in the distance, but no one seems to hear. Jack Knave has smiled his easy smile and sung tunes that drown my words.

Along the horizon, barely seen against the sky, the Beast of Seven and Ten arises, beckoned by the siren song. My nation's fate awaits the light.

Some say the last fight will come in a whimper; I say it will be a roar.

All hail the American Night.