Trickle down. Lay off. Down-size. Buy out. Trade off. Bail out. Shut down. Little prepositions. Large ideas. Sickening, important ideas. Gristle on the bone of life at which we constantly gnaw. Our one-a-day dose of ‘reality’. Caffeine paced life. Mc-heartburn and heart-ache. Nervous indigestion from Tilt-a-Wall Street. You can check out any time, but you can never leave.
Not a filling diet as daily fare. Humans hunger for ambrosia. We long for ‘pan’ the universal bread. Sustaining nourishment. ‘God gave them manna in the desert’. He provided quail. Moses struck the rock at Meribah and water poured forth. The Jews, the chosen people were fed by the Hand of God.
We long for a little of that nectar. In our desert desperation, we stop the pangs with stale crumbs ‘fallen from the tables of the mighty’ (or ‘from the tables of the fallen mighty’). How mighty are the fallen! How fallen are the mighty! How are the mighty fallen? No matter how you splice it, the question lacks answer.
Children crying. Can you hear their pain? Can you feel their cries? Either way it hurts. Gulp down quantities of imperfect nothingness. Fill the hole. Quiet the rising gorge of agony. Self-medicate with hollow sugar cane indulgences. Empty calories and vain promises. Neon lights, like amphetamines, dazzle. Then the Captain and Mr. Jack his first mate sail in to dull over-dazzled senses to sleep. Soul-lights dim with worry and care. Beings shrivel: dry hard little peas stuck to a dirty plate.
Wake the next day. Look in the mirror. What do you see? Whose face do you have to shave? Are you feeling it? A guilt side trip? Trip being the operative word. Naaw. We’re too far gone for that. The tonic? Hair of the dog. Drink your Amber Moon, sir. Numb the headache of last night’s choices. Raise a glass to past failures. Paste that umbrella smile over the grimace of fear. Carpe Diem! The world is your oyster. Grab the ring on the carousel!
Will you be like that fool Ebenezer Scrooge? The idiot threw away a fortune because of a dream! With the knell of Christmas morn, his fear disappeared. His Hope realized. Little Tim who blest us one and all, grew and flourished physically. Scrooge, who cursed one and all, grew spiritually. He traded a king’s ransom for Hope of Redemption. For Expectation of Christmas Yet to Come.
Just a silly Christmas fairy tale. A naive holiday wish for peace on earth. Ambrosia for all? This idealist believes in Christmas miracles.