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The Ghosts of Christmas Present · Relatively Stable

• 0:04
  SPEAKER_00: Welcome to Stable Roots.
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  This week I'm going to be talking about the ghost of Christmas
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  present and finding
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  SPEAKER_00: richness in the unseen.
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  SPEAKER_00: Christmas presents.
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  I'm posting this week's musings in Stable Roots a day early
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  because it feels silly
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  to talk about Christmas the day after the event just because I
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  love order and
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  SPEAKER_00: consistency and can't abide change.
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  Also,
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  I did Charles Dickens a disservice when I mentioned I was tired
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  of him.
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  SPEAKER_00: Sorry, Charles.
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  SPEAKER_00: I'm making up for it this week with a nod to you in the title.
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  SPEAKER_00: Dickens was the master of producing serialized writing,
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  leading the way for peons like me to arrive in your inbox every
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  Thursday or Wednesday.
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  SPEAKER_00: We have a lot to thank him for in the mass production of Story.
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  SPEAKER_00: We've taken Christmas down a notch in the farmhouse.
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  SPEAKER_00: We sourced a tree from the fence line and the decorations are up.
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  SPEAKER_00: But we've taken the pressure away from gifting each other extravagantly.
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  SPEAKER_00: Experiences and presents are at the top of our wish lists.
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  SPEAKER_00: Speaking of wish lists,
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  SPEAKER_00: Daniel Ruda and his family in Swannanoa,
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  SPEAKER_00: North Carolina lost their house,
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  SPEAKER_00: their belongings,
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  SPEAKER_00: their vehicle,
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  and tools for working when Hurricane Helene cut a path through
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  their community.
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  Daniel posted an Amazon wish list and was slayed on the
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  internet for listing
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  SPEAKER_00: something as frivolous as a drone.
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  SPEAKER_00: How dare he have wants instead of needs?
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  What people didn't understand was that he needed the drone for
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  his construction business.
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  SPEAKER_00: Tamar Reno and I spoke about his story,
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  SPEAKER_00: a drop in the bucket of stories from the mountains,
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  SPEAKER_00: on a recent episode of my podcast.
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  SPEAKER_00: Tamar's wish was that Daniel would receive a drone,
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  SPEAKER_00: and that need was fulfilled by someone from our beloved farm community.
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  SPEAKER_00: I cannot thank them enough.
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  SPEAKER_00: I went from feeling meh about the Christmas season to being all fired up.
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  SPEAKER_00: This is the sort of present that matters now in the present.
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  SPEAKER_00: How can we show up in the here and now and be of some service?
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  SPEAKER_00: And if you click on this post for Stable Roots,
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  it'll take you to Daniel Ruta's family's Amazon wish list and
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  also their GoFundMe.
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  And you can also click on the link for my ever-changing list of
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  other people who
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  need your help as they rebuild their entire lives after the
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  destruction of
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  SPEAKER_00: Hurricane Helene.
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  SPEAKER_00: In this week's post,
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  SPEAKER_00: I'm sharing three views of the holidays and how the present,
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  SPEAKER_00: our presence,
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  and the prescience of the unseen world weave together in a web
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  of connection.
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  SPEAKER_00: Let's get started.
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  SPEAKER_00: And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?
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  SPEAKER_00: Walt Whitman.
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  SPEAKER_00: Present.
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  SPEAKER_00: Night roads in the country remind me of the limitations of my vision.
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  The headlights reveal just enough to move me forward one
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  illuminated stretch at a time.
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  SPEAKER_00: It's Christmas Eve,
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  and I slow my car to watch a woman pull a long stretch of water
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  hose across the
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  SPEAKER_00: narrow street to a pasture fenced in sagging wire and hickory posts.
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  SPEAKER_00: This woman and I once shared barn space together, our herds mingled.
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  SPEAKER_00: She knows me better than my family.
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  We've not spoken in years because the raw places in my heart
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  brushed against the
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  SPEAKER_00: metal of her rightness and ignited in a slow burn of resentment.
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  SPEAKER_00: That's how the cycles keep spinning with the planets.
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  We're still convinced our sun is at the center of the universe
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  because that's all we can see.
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  SPEAKER_00: My headlights blind her.
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  SPEAKER_00: She can't see who is behind the wheel.
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  SPEAKER_00: I could dim my lights,
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  SPEAKER_00: pull over on the wide winter grass shoulder of the road,
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  SPEAKER_00: and help her water the far pasture.
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  SPEAKER_00: I've walked this land since I was newly made,
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  SPEAKER_00: filled with stories and yearning,
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  SPEAKER_00: spending an hour with a dragging halter trying to catch my horse.
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  SPEAKER_00: I can feel my way through it in the dark.
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  SPEAKER_00: I could tell her how frustrated I was, how sorry I am.
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  SPEAKER_00: In farms, olive branches come wrapped in help.
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  SPEAKER_00: I could tell her that my temper is a form of protection,
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  that it's the sharp barbed fence I use to keep my uncatchable
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  horses safe.
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  SPEAKER_00: If I can't tame them, I can hold them.
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  A watcher move beyond the edges of the headlights to the gate I
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  know by the rough
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  SPEAKER_00: touch of rust,
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  SPEAKER_00: the chain that will slip from her fingers and drop to the ground.
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  SPEAKER_00: There will be time.
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  SPEAKER_00: There will be time to ask forgiveness.
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  SPEAKER_00: There will be time.
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  I wait for the movement in the water hose to settle and the
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  gate to close behind
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  SPEAKER_00: her before I creep the car slowly forward and drive away.
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  SPEAKER_00: And my note at the end is this.
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  SPEAKER_00: The time to offer the olive branch of help is the present.
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  SPEAKER_00: I recently learned of Marilyn Wren's passing.
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  SPEAKER_00: I did eventually speak to her.
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  SPEAKER_00: We picked up as if nothing had happened.
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  But I regret not stopping to offer help watering the far
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  pasture that Christmas Eve.
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  SPEAKER_00: I regret not being brave enough to say I'm sorry.
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  SPEAKER_00: Deep peace to you, Marilyn.
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  Presence It's like speeding through red lights to reach the
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  party at the same time
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  SPEAKER_00: I'd arrive if I went the speed limit.
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  This is what Christmas feels like,
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  the part I begrudgingly agree to attend.
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  SPEAKER_00: If I can rush through it, I can speed home to sit still.
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  SPEAKER_00: The pressure to buy and to be and to perform.
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  Holiday parties were jewels of the seasonal crown when my
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  family was alive and together.
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  SPEAKER_00: Together can have many meanings.
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  SPEAKER_00: We dressed and packaged and arrived to houses, restaurants, offices.
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  SPEAKER_00: The decorated trees,
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  SPEAKER_00: pre-strung in their cardboard storage boxes,
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  SPEAKER_00: smelled musty and bound like old books,
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  SPEAKER_00: fiberglass flecked from the attic.
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  I picked the tinsel apart with my fingers,
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  every strand placed in just the right spot.
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  SPEAKER_00: Christmas taught me the bone-deep urgency to produce,
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  how this could become a way of being when cooked with a precise
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  pinch of expectation.
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  SPEAKER_00: How wrapping paper is rolled in lineage,
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  SPEAKER_00: the cheap pieces easy to tear and wrinkle,
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  the expensive fibers thick against my hands and straining to
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  bounce back into its memory,
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  SPEAKER_00: a paper-cut reminder of the sharp cost of blood.
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  SPEAKER_00: I don't dress for Christmas anymore, but when I did, I started early.
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  SPEAKER_00: Little velvet dresses and patent leather shoes that pinched my heels.
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  SPEAKER_00: I understood that pain was important to beauty,
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  that the bow on the package needed to be perfect before it was
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  unwrapped and discarded.
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  SPEAKER_00: But there is only so much my feet could stand.
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  SPEAKER_00: As the crowds thin to murmurs in the corners of the room,
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  I kick my shoes off and stalk a path to the hair tonic and
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  whiskey of my grandfather.
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  SPEAKER_00: I don't remember specifics of gifts or guests or conversations,
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  SPEAKER_00: but I remember this with detail that has been sewn into my hymns.
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  My sock feet on top of his polished shoes as I leaned into his
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  legs and danced with him.
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  SPEAKER_00: I remembered time with my grandfather,
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  SPEAKER_00: his attention to my questions,
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  SPEAKER_00: the box step of us moving together,
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  SPEAKER_00: the wire-handled box of fortunes in my small hand,
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  SPEAKER_00: his presence,
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  SPEAKER_00: a gift to my future.
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  the willing suspension of disbelief for the moment,
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  which constitutes poetic faith.
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  SPEAKER_00: Samuel Taylor Coolridge Presence I don't dress for Christmas anymore.
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  SPEAKER_00: Instead,
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  SPEAKER_00: I stalk a path down to the barn at midnight,
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  SPEAKER_00: wrapped in the memory of a language I have never learned.
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  SPEAKER_00: Horses don't tell time, but they get by just fine without it.
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  The old stories marvel at the miracle of animals talking at
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  midnight on Christmas Eve,
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  SPEAKER_00: the darkness leading to the light of morning,
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  SPEAKER_00: a throwback to the manger,
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  and the wise men traversing deserts to gift rich resins to
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  divine inspiration.
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  SPEAKER_00: The legend of speaking animals goes back to Roman Saturnalia,
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  SPEAKER_00: a solstice feast where roles are reversed.
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  My Turkish ex-in-laws celebrated with costume parties of
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  switched-gender outfits
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  SPEAKER_00: before the holy January of Gregorian Christmas.
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  SPEAKER_00: Dark becomes light.
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  SPEAKER_00: Fear becomes hope.
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  SPEAKER_00: Christ arrives with a promise.
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  SPEAKER_00: The seasons shift.
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  SPEAKER_00: If our stories are primary colors,
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  SPEAKER_00: the ingredients simmered down to a rue,
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  what does it mean when our holidays are not an obligation of
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  pantomimed abundance?
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  SPEAKER_00: When do the animals speak?
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  SPEAKER_00: Because I want to be there.
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  SPEAKER_00: There's frost on the fallen tree limbs,
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  SPEAKER_00: and the inky sky is dull with starlight filtering through the city glow.
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  SPEAKER_00: Deer graze the kitchen scraps on the compost pile.
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  A doe watches me curiously,
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  a spiral of tangerine peel hanging from her delicate lips.
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  SPEAKER_00: The horses are sleeping, some lying, some standing.
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  SPEAKER_00: Their eyes slip open as they hear my steps.
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  SPEAKER_00: A blow, a snort, a cough.
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  Please talk to me,
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  I say to the herd,
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  a gathering I've never had to dress for.
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  SPEAKER_00: I've brought you peppermints.
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  SPEAKER_00: The plastic crinkle of the wrapper brings the barn into full wakefulness.
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  SPEAKER_00: Bribery slash gifts,
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  SPEAKER_00: dart slash light,
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  SPEAKER_00: two sides of the same offered coin,
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  SPEAKER_00: a token for the ferryman.
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  SPEAKER_00: I sit on a mounting block step and wait.
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  SPEAKER_00: The air is colder when my body is motionless.
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  SPEAKER_00: This is where I'm at, I say to the barn.
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  SPEAKER_00: I want to learn your language, but Rosetta Stone doesn't offer a course.
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  SPEAKER_00: I need you to dumb it all down for me.
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  SPEAKER_00: Frequencies are my life's blood.
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  SPEAKER_00: Radios built my family.
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  SPEAKER_00: Information crossing through the unseen.
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  SPEAKER_00: I suspect that hearing the horses works in the same way,
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  but I've swam too long in science to be conscious of the
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  mystery when it comes.
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  I settle into my breath and listen to the warm air through the
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  horse's soft nostrils,
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  SPEAKER_00: touch and sense and faith.
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  SPEAKER_00: I'm hungry for miracles,
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  SPEAKER_00: but I suspect we all are right now,
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  SPEAKER_00: each of us craving toward the divine light of inspiration.
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  SPEAKER_00: A horse lowers her head and reaches toward me.
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  SPEAKER_00: I stretch my hand out and offer a peppermint.
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  SPEAKER_00: There is an understanding in the milky current of this exchange.
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  SPEAKER_00: I'll work on listening better,
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  SPEAKER_00: I say,
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  SPEAKER_00: or I will learn to listen differently,
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  listening with my skin and breath and teeth and the atmosphere
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  that descends on a
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  SPEAKER_00: place where a herd of any type gathers.
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  SPEAKER_00: I will lean into it all and listen.
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  Maybe the magic isn't in the tangible,
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  but is nestled somewhere in the promise.
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  SPEAKER_00: Maybe we find it when we stop looking.
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  SPEAKER_00: The deer steps deeper into the forest,
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  SPEAKER_00: and I watch my breath in the space between my world and theirs.
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  SPEAKER_00: Knowledge, like mist, is porous, moving, present.
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  There is no actual mention in the Bible of animals being
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  present at Christ's birth.
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  SPEAKER_00: We've collectively added them into the mangers of our memory,
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  or maybe we've always known that animals have a deeper sense of
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  the mystery than we
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  SPEAKER_00: have learned to grasp.
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  SPEAKER_00: Animals see what is in front of them.
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  SPEAKER_00: Animals don't talk themselves out of believing.
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  SPEAKER_00: Animals listen with their hair and skin and feet.
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  SPEAKER_00: Animals read the frequencies.
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  SPEAKER_00: As midnight passes into the early hours of Christmas morning,
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  SPEAKER_00: I realize I don't need a miracle to prove my belief.
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  SPEAKER_00: Faith works beyond science.
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  SPEAKER_00: And as for the animals talking,
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  when my thoughts and questions quieten past the crashing waves
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  of my expectations,
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  SPEAKER_00: I realize that they've been speaking to me all along.
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  SPEAKER_00: But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.
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  SPEAKER_00: Luke 2, 19
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  SPEAKER_00: I'm sending you so much love this Christmas.
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  I wish you presents,
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  the present,
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  presents,
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  and presents this holiday season.
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  I've even made a Christmas card,
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  and you can see it if you click on this post.
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  SPEAKER_00: I might have been married before,
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  SPEAKER_00: but this is the first time I wanted to stick it on a Christmas card.
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  SPEAKER_00: And that is how I know he's the right one.
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  SPEAKER_00: In all seriousness,
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  SPEAKER_00: I get a lot of comments from strong,
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  SPEAKER_00: beautiful women who believe balanced,
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  SPEAKER_00: mature,
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  SPEAKER_00: safe love is a myth.
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  SPEAKER_00: I had given up looking.
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  It's absolutely okay to not want anything to do with finding
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  someone and to build
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  SPEAKER_00: your life fundamentally around your wisdom.
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  SPEAKER_00: We don't have to be with another person to have a rich existence.
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  SPEAKER_00: But if you're looking,
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  SPEAKER_00: you don't have to buy the expectations,
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  SPEAKER_00: fabrications,
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  SPEAKER_00: and myths that we've been sold about what the perfect partner is.
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  SPEAKER_00: Mine was right beside me my entire life,
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  and I was too blinded by dogma to see him until he patiently
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  waited for me to
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  SPEAKER_00: accept what he offered.
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  SPEAKER_00: I talk about this in 6,000 other things here at Stable Roots,
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  and you can find the first chapter of my love story if you
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  click on my post or on
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  SPEAKER_00: the navigation of the Stable Roots page.
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  SPEAKER_00: On this Christmas, I wish you peace and a felt sense of your inner light.
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  SPEAKER_00: Your body knows its truth.
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  SPEAKER_00: Your spirit is ready to nourish you,
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  SPEAKER_00: and your mind is ready to be transformed by the awe of nature.
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  SPEAKER_00: There is still magic in this world.
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  SPEAKER_00: Let's find it together.
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  SPEAKER_00: Love, Kim