“Listening, Not waiting to talk.”

Ho, there gentle reader and very merry holidays to you! It is with great excitement, and no little pleasure, that my idle hands once again put finger to keyboard in an attempt to spread this fine, if somewhat underground, publication. To my luck we even begin our talk at this, ‘the most wonderful time of the year,’ or so Perry Como has so often mused on while we try digesting our daily helping of office dogma in our remodeled lunch room.

But why indeed has it been so very long ‘tween my last words and these, you ask. After all if George the Second can string syllables into a holier then thou rant, why haven’t I? Well you may as well ask why the radio’s played Paul McCartney’s Christmas song every hour and Lennon’s once a week?

Obviously John Lennon’s words mean so much more, and not just for Christmas, but for every day. Now gentle reader do not think me pretentious, I pretend not a comparison of my little web log to the melodic social commentaries of such a brilliant man. What I toil communicate is that words with weight are not so easily written. Yet still that is no excuse for silence, many a man hath written with far greater obstacles. So then why have I been silent? Why have I been missing?

Could it be that I, you’re humble auteur, had been swallowed up by the feelings of indifference that bleed through our televisions and magazines like Hayden Christenson looking for a clue? Or have I just been so self-involved that my ears have been closed to the cries of the huddled masses and the Dixie Chicks? Could the rub be just that simple?

Three days ago I stood in the midst our fair city and for the first time in what hath seemed a lifetime, just closed my eyes and listened. To my incredulity hear not a catch phrases or a jingle bell or even the meaningless three-cord candy which coats our Mtv. Oh no gentle reader, what I heard was simply the people around me; Living, crying, walking, talking and loving.

True when I opened my eyes the Sale signs and bubble-gum Christianity were still everywhere. True too that every child within my view whined about the presents they felt themselves entitled to. Even that self-gratifying reflection of myself in the shop window full of my own steam as I cradle not a penny for the poor but what I foresaw to be the ideal gifts for my own cadre of relations.

Realization that you may give, celebrate, even love at the high holidays without really understanding it, dear reader, might eluded us all now and again. And as salmon swimming up stream purely on instincts, or just because Mel Gibson is, we go on without that feeling held once to our breast as it was long ago.

So I ask you to be honest with yourselves and answer; what do these high holidays mean you any of you? But more importantly what do you think they should mean to you and yours?

Though I must warn you that if all you hold in your hearts is freedom from school or work, the pain of purchase, or your favorite time for movie releases, then well mayhaps you too should close your eyes midst the sea of Fifth Avenue or Sunset Strip or Newberry Street, or where ever it is you call home and think about it again.

Close your eyes and listen to the word with me, try to understand how much we have here and how little other people do. Not just around the word, but even a few blocks down and to the left. If the holidays are just another day for you, make it more. If they are a drain on your bank account, give it to those who need it in the name of those whom you love. Mad as I may sound truth is still truth, and what is more clever and more in the spirit then a bottle of wine with a card saying you have donated cloths or toys or money in thy name?

What have I been doing for a year, I have just been listening. Now I ask of you, listen too gentle read, listen to your cautionary tales and yours hearts alike Mr. and Miss. Scrooge. It is not for your family you are meant only to give, it is to man kind.

Now then I go to make merry and I wish for you a time that will fill you as mine hath filled my very being with the glory of the holidays.