Merry Christmas and blissful nearly New Yr. 2025, at the least in my expertise, was a 12 months when the long run appeared extra open, extra unsure, and possibly in some methods extra horrifying than at any level in current reminiscence. And so I assumed I might learn a poem for the season whereas dressed on this remarkably seasonal sweater that spoke on to the expertise of transformation, nervousness in its shadow and, hopefully, revelation as properly. So that is “The Journey of the Magi” by T.S. Eliot. A chilly coming we had of it simply the worst time of the 12 months for a journey and such an extended journey. The methods deep and the climate sharp. The very useless of winter. And the camels galled. Sore-footed, refractory. Mendacity down within the melting snow. There have been instances we regretted the summer time palaces on slopes, the terraces and the silken women bringing sherbert. Then the camel males cursing and grumbling and operating away and wanting their liquor and ladies and the evening fires going out and the shortage of shelters and the town’s hostile and the city’s unfriendly, and the village’s soiled and charging excessive costs. A tough time we had of it. On the finish we most popular to journey all evening, sleeping in snatches with the voices singing in our ears, saying that this was all folly. Then, at daybreak, we got here all the way down to a temperate valley, moist beneath the snow line, smelling of vegetation, with a operating stream and a water mill beating the darkness, and three timber on the low sky. And an outdated white horse galloped away within the meadow. Then we got here to a tavern with vine leaves over the lintel. Six arms at an open door, dicing for items of silver, and ft kicking the empty wine skins. However there was no info. And so we continued, and arrived at night, not a second too quickly, discovering the place. It was, chances are you’ll say, passable. All this was a very long time in the past. I keep in mind, and I might do it once more. However set down this. Set down this. Had been we led all that approach for start or dying? There was a start. Definitely, we had proof, and little question I had seen start and dying, however had thought they had been totally different. This start was laborious and bitter agony for us. Like dying, our dying, we return to our locations, these kingdoms, however not comfortable right here within the outdated dispensation with an alien individuals clutching their gods. I needs to be glad of one other dying. So after I learn this poem to my youngsters as a observe, they mentioned: Dad, that’s type of darkish. And in a approach it’s. However I feel an understanding of the darkness that’s threaded in amid the enjoyment and happiness and presence on Christmas morning is actually essential to understanding the true spirit of Christmas that the fact of the darkness is the explanation for the sunshine. So, Merry Christmas.
