undoubtedly, the birth took place
      in nazareth not bethlehem and 
           egypt lies way, way too far away
 
for an additional journey (spoiler,
      they didn’t take the first one.) 
           and the birth took place at home

(really? who knows?) not in a stinky 
      stable although, there were smells 
           there, too, for sure. “then what 

about the three wise men and the 
      shepherds and the cattle and 
           sheep, etc., etc., etc.?” asked the 

king of siam (which he really, un-
      doubtedly, didn’t do, but the etc. 
           stuff works for effect); and so, the 

whole thing is more like a divine memoir 
      than literal history because some-
           one said, “don’t ever take a memoir 

as gospel (that’s funny), because it 
      isn’t objective. it’s all from a subjective 
           perspective,” which of necessity 

it is. so do we toss the baby with 
      the bathwater, and that, undoubtedly, 
           wasn’t very clean either? are you kid-

ding? that makes the whole thing 
      that much more incarnational be-
           cause there was wisdom from the 

past and wish fulfillment in the his-
      torical present (and don’t forget the 
           contributions from the historical future) 

and very human dreams and you 
      could almost hear the storytellers 
           and scribes and poets saying that 

there is faith and hope in the mystery 
      of birth in the dank, darkness shed-
           ding a bit of light on the eternal mys-

tery of Love, and why in the world 
      wouldn’t preachers and teachers 
           want their parishioners and students 

to ponder a much richer, deeper, more 
      mysterious meaning to the sturdy, 
           middle-eastern fabric of a tale of Truth?

Back in the day, a man and his wife play-
     ed Monopoly with the wife of the chair 
          of the psychology department. She was 
incredibly competitive but no compet-
     ition for the King of Get Out of Jail 
          Free cards. The talking heads wondered 
why such a vindictive, uncaring person 
     would offer gifts to such unworthy per-
          sons. It was concluded that because the 
person is who he is that it’s just his 
     little thumb in the big eye of the country 
          as he exits stage left — an indiscriminate 
assault on the rule of law is how a talking 
     head put it. Seriously, like that's even 
          news anymore, thought the man. On the other 
hand, the wife of the chair of the psycho-
     logy department usually graced the couple 
          with a bottle of wine for them to sip as 
they played all those many years ago. Strange, 
     thought the man, all these years later, 
          I don’t ever remember refilling her glass.

He decided to get a cup of coffee 
          at the drive-through window of the 
     gourmet coffee shop across the 
               street from the eye clinic, so he 
 
pulled into a parking lot that seem-
           ingly covered the entire expanse of 
     the earth in part from New York City 
                to San Francisco with ruts as big as 
 
the Grand Canyon and mounds of 
          broken-up blacktop as tall as Mt. 
     McKinley along the way. The parking 
                spaces had long ago departed for 
 
Shanghai. He passed a boarded up
          window of what had been a Brazilian 
     Steakhouse, a defunct Dollar Store
               and the welcoming sign of the store-
 
front hyper-evangelical church that 
          had once been a Family Video with 
     a porn section for adults only. He 
               maneuvered his way around the 
 
geography without getting a flat 
          or throwing the wheels out of line 
     like he used to be worried about 
               on the winding climb and descent 
 
on the one lane dirt road from 
          Phoenix to Roosevelt Dam, pulled 
     up to the window, ordered a 
               medium coffee and headed back 
 
home humming the tune, “They 
          Paved Paradise and Put Up a 
     Parking Lot,” which reminded him 
               of his old Kentucky home.

The high school senior got in the car
and asked his father, the driver, if he
had finished the parent’s part of the
scholarship application. The papers
sat on the bench between them. The
high school senior looked at the un-
finished paperwork and then heard
his dad say while choking back tears
that he was sorry, oh, so sorry, but
that he just couldn’t complete the
application. The high school senior,
with fear in his eyes, looked at his
desperate father. They drove home
in silence.

Sure, exaggerations were made 
     about the miraculous birth taking 
          images of a young woman noted 
 
in the Old Testament and making 
     it into something spiritually special 
          but it was, you see, a marker point-
 
ing beyond itself marking all births 
     as spiritually special; it was a ling-
          uistic image pointing to a caring, 
 
loving spiritually enlightening reality, 
     so you see, the thing that was so 
          special, which we often miss, is that 
 
in the marrow of our bones, in the 
     deepest crevices of our hearts, in 
          the folds of our brains is Love.

The daddy
of all
lunatics
attracts
lunatics
like
flypaper
spinning
round
and round
in a restaurant
without
screens
on the
windows.
Other buggy
bugs
have flown
out
the window
on their
way
south
without
glances
back
at
the daddy
of all
lunatics,
but even
then,
there are
still some
luna-ticks
crawling
around the house
as the clock
winds
down
on the house
with no
screens

on

the

windows.

“It’s time for the magic to come out of things,”
she said in reference to Christmas things.
Did she mean go away or show its stuff?
“It’s time to enter the mystery of things,”

she said in reference to eternal things.
Magic/mystery/mystery/magic. What isn’t
a mystery? But magic? Conjuring illusion?
Way too much of that going on. Maybe she

meant that magic should go away while my-
stery is here to stay and that we should enter
with anticipation of exit. It’s the winter solstice;
it will grow dark quickly and the dark will last

longer than any other day of the year. We will
enter the mystery of the darkness to ponder
and wait just as they did at Stonehenge
for the returning, mysterious glimmer of light

— the marvelously mysterious eternal nature of nature.

After a peaceful, easy mornin’,
he headed to the convenience
store and three pickups flew in

and three mask-less men got
out and headed in. He sat in
the car waiting for the pickup

boys and their possibly deadly
droplets to depart. They did;
he went in and while checking

out, another mask-less man
came in. He rolled his eyes,
glad for his masked disguise

and headed home, his morn-
ing’s meditations having flown
to the wind. He knows in his

heart that the mask-less men
have the divinity of God in the
marrow of their bones (even if

they couldn’t care less) and they
are loved by God and brothers
of Jesus, but the man is content

to leave all that divine love to
God while he scurries to the
safety of home sweet home.

Autumn dune grass swings and sways
like golden waves of grain.
I watch while listening to Big Lake’s waves
roaring over the dune like thunderous rain.

Driving through the heartland
we once just took for granted —
then bored, but never again;
because we feel trapped and stranded.

Yet, there is much comfort here
while looking out the window
or wandering nature without fear.
Oh, my, look! Three fawns and mother doe.

Then Irish butter and cinnamon on raisin toast,
and the warm comfort of gourmet coffee roast —
good morning.

With an aged, pekid (He really is
old.), pale pallor, he pondered,

“There are two kinds of people —
the ones who increase your joy

and those who steal your joy.”
Yup, he thought, nobody should

have a parent who steals your joy.
And then he thought, in his pallid,

pale ways, She had her own darn
demons. It is said that children

spend the first ten years worship-
ing their parents and the rest of

their lives trying to forgive them.
Then with an aged gaze to the

sky, he smiled and said, “It’s okay,                                                                                      mom, I forgive you; please forgive me.