Feliz Navidad!

091225 03:33
Feliz Navidad!
God bless God, for the Gift of Jesus, and this, God’s World, filled with the power of Love.
Last night I entered a place of bewilderment within myself; a penetration of that which is outside my ordinary day--alone with Annie and God.
Community!
What is it that draws and repels me simultaneously?
I know myself sane, yet touched by the--before our earth and the afterward--seen from God’s view.!?
If this be true, then I know transformation, the birth pangs of our Universe; and it is well, and no imagining, but writ in my soul? And if that be atavistically real, then I must be dust conjoined into stone made flesh, combusted into flame, a lesser star in the firmament.
Or, perhaps, a lifeless asteroid, whose existing/origin/being is unknowable to itself; a vagrant silently singing of space. . . .The void or abyss.
In some places, at odd times, I’ve sensed the spine of creation, revealed and unspeakable to my mute knowing that God is apparent to me. And in that inchoate knowing, no language of communication--the love immolating me ignited by what?
Consciousness is it’s own reward, exclusive of acknowledgement by, or of any other, for which there is no mirror. My favorite metaphor, and experience, is being in a mirror maze. And though, at times, such as last night, my ability to see a self reflected is momentarily confused, I am able to sense, eventually, which figure, upside down, inside out, distorted and or contorted into freaks, is me.
For what do I live now?
Why do I hunger and thirst for your welfare?
And last night I saw you in all your youth, old age and simple acceptance, the dance of birth become death and resurrected in the child commemorated, this new day. Which is for me everyday and all Sabbath.
God’s breath.
My heart sang in joy to see Fr. Michael, near blindness, make the sign of the Cross upon the forehead of a joyous little girl, her delight at his caress, reflecting the unseeing truth of him still manifest in the slow dance towards blindness and death.
Yet I fell into a well, unknowable in extent, of tears spent for those who died in my knowing before that moment.

I paused here brushing Annie, after all, what else, gift or pleasure, could I give? Does she know it is Christmas? She surely celebrates my attention.

In returning to my addiction of writing, I saw our sensing functions as antennas extended from a satellite seeking energy from solar light or winds. And my neglected, abandoned 49% woman seeking to magnify and be the vessel of new birth as a Mary before the birth we accept and celebrate this day, our Savior manifest.
. . . of His last words, oral history, apocryphal, long after He left recorded, or embellished, amplify His spirit among us now incarnate in poverty first, best and last
. . . where He said He would be found forever without gender or color distinction
        . . .  need it be added, without exception?