What I wish For You TodayA Poem by Marie Anzalonethis Christmas, I wish you joyIn the Congo, the word is "Ubuntu." Meaning to include all those who are now living, who have lived and left us, who are marginally living, and who have yet to join us. People, skies, rocks, trees and living things. It's that simple. This Christmas, I wish you joy. The outrageous act of the experience; the thoughtful act of the recognition of its great and small footprints through lives and hearts. The rebellious act of living joy when others tell you that you should feel anything but, because look at what a terrible place this world became, and you turn the page from the story of the man who threw his son from 52 stories and then, himself- not because you do not care, but rather because you do; and you walk outside and take a deep breath and let the night sky replace horror with wonder, and what was lost becomes found when you connect. And you find who you are when you stop being afraid to feel the incredible beauty in a dancer, a nautilus, someone else's faith kneeling at temple, a simple bird chorus at dawn; the last breath of an old man's sun setting in life, and you. You choose to live, here, now, every moment magical, electrical. Awake. The divine comes down from mountain tops and has breakfast and you, lucky you- you pour the milk today. All the lost, the lonely, and those who cried themselves to sleep last night- you can bear it because when you saw the frost this morning on a dried flower, you were filled to bursting with the clarity of ice crystals and swan down, and you remembered being held before there were arms to hold you, and you let someone hold you again; you stopped fearing for once they would be taken and just let yourself BE held, really held. And when that calm reaches the inner place in your heart, the place we all have where we closed down from fear and pain and never living up to the expectations we outlined in crayon of who we would be; when that feeling breaks free, let it. Let it run, flow, leap, dance. That is what I wish for you today, the joy of living without fear of what comes next; the taking of the small moment and making it big. Little footsteps echoing quietly in big halls of so many books we cannot read them all in one life- but via the act of opening, we catch glimpses of all other possibilities and today it is possible that someone's God really will sit down at your table and ask you to pass the butter; will turn your water into wine. But the key is you- you have to be present to witness all acts of grace. And that is what I wish for you, starting today. That past, present and future converge; the union of living and life and the simplicity of joy in all that you are doing at the very moment of taking time to breathe it in. © 2013 Marie AnzaloneFeatured Review
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Added on December 24, 2013Last Updated on December 24, 2013 AuthorMarie AnzaloneXecaracoj, Quetzaltenango, GuatemalaAboutBilingual (English and Spanish) poet, essayist, novelist, grant writer, editor, and technical writer working in Central America. "A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to ta.. more..Writing
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