December 24, 2017
by Merle Wenger
Today, I find ample reason to celebrate
the first days of winter
the last weeks of the year, the increase of sunlight
for Hannukah and Kwanza, Feliz Navidad, a very old story
the birth of a king, to whom many sing
a virgin birth no less, that neither implies sterility or inability
but certainly emphasizes the aspect of fertility
which would have pleased the country folk long ago
whose pagan rituals sanctified birth’s mystery
a conjuring of the irrational we might defy:
they blessed the four directions, the web of diversity
life depended on relating to animals, the toil of the soil
the constellations of the heavens were like lanterns in the dark.
There’s been a tendency of late you see
with endless dazzling scientific discovery
to downplay mystery as fodder for simple folk
for once we understand meiosis and mitosis
the replication of RNA, the creation of a baby’s DNA
genetic codes that turn us dull or bright,
why should we take our eye from off the microscope–
to ponder unexplained realities
the fickleness of candy canes and tinseled trees,
possessed as we are with self-driving cars,
intoxicated by nano-second timeliness
with formulaic answers for the birds and the bees
right here in our palms, our i-phones or our pads
as if you have the power of a god at your fingertips–
we keep our eyes glued to facts that Google knows:
oodles of answers to everyday tasks
how to change your brake shoes, make homemade bombs;
Why would one pause to raise their eyes to the sky
to ponder a curiously extra bright star,
that might draw well-disciplined minds afar;
this metaphor for holy quests drew wise men as manger guests
like Don Quixote or Elon Musk, imaginations taking off–
some follow uncharted dreams that others scoff.
But viewing the virgin birth as metaphor
As myth that fulfills a sacred text from time before
A long-awaited messiah arrives on the doorstep of a new millennium
Not from distant lands like many virgin births of lore
Where Greek Gods gave birth in distant skies–
“No,†right here on earth among the common folk
Born in a barn where livestock loaf,
Destined to lead throngs seeking change:
He taught mankind to lay down arms
Use brain over brawn
Defy the old, eye for an eye,
Lay up your swords, share your coat
Search your own eye for fault or mote
For divinity is found within—reflects practiced humility
Not in burning bush or faked piety.
Yes, Jesu Christi, like divinities before
Krishna, Buddha, Mithra, Horus and Dionysius
All sages born sans sexual intercourse,
Elevates these teachers to ethereal realms
Disconnects from human drudgery and sensuality
Links humanity to mystery, a medicine for the soul
Truths invisible to microscope or telescope:
For those with neither books or photographs
Created classic epic stories and wisdom tracts
Poetic interpretation of pre-scientific comprehension.
But should you meet a postulate
Whose faith base is more literal
This is perhaps the season to pass it by
For who am I to assess another’s sacredness?
Instead, remember how oft we all suspend reality
Dress up for Halloween as witch or ghost
Wear silly togs to cheer our favorite team
When Duke Dog comes along he brings applause
Or when you play your favorite video game
And literalism is tossed as if some foreign meme;
Consider Mickey Mouse or Donald Duck
Big Bird, Winnie the Pooh, Homer Simpson down on his luck
A Lion King where jungle friends teach wise tales
We sit entranced as talking animals prevail;
To defy symbolism and metaphor
You must forgo all theatre, bid adieu to Streep and Olivier
Turn off the television–give up your addiction to fiction
Send daily comic strips straight to the litter box
Perhaps take off your smile as well–
And tell the world to go to hell.
In the spirit of the holiday I say raise glasses high
to holidays and holy ways
the sanctified celebrations of eons past
Even less dignified Amazon grins and Walmart ads
for Santa Claus and yule logs, to holiday tunes by barking dogs
May Kwanza fill your heart with Joy,
Hannukah dazzle your days with light,
when Jesus’ birthday pales, let New Year’s ale
fortify your body with seasoned bliss,
We’ve made it through this year, there’s much amiss,
yet for today, for most of us, there’s peace on earth,
and I for one hope for some seeming miracle:
reality, in fact, has become a bit too real.
For me, it’s quite alright to celebrate the turning of the sun
With polyester artificial Christmas trees
Or virgin births of revered deities.