There are many worlds atop, beneath and within our own. Each identical only in topography, the physical laws governing each are unique and often contradict those of our own home. For those who know how, travel between the worlds is possible and easy. For those who don’t, travel is inevitable and painful. This time of year I think longingly of an old…ancient…friend from my childhood with whom I’ve since lost contact. Well, direct contact anyway.
I was much younger then, and much more knowledgeable of the ways of the world. My mind was uncluttered by doubt and my heart was free of the scars of darkness. I was a childe then, and I hope and pray that old age will one day return to me the life that faded as I waxed human, but not before I learn to look with fondness upon being human! I was new to this world and had not yet forgotten all about the one I’d just left. It is the memory of that memory that gives me hope and assures me that I am sane. For the friend of whom I speak is Kris Kringle.
Now that I think about it, I don’t recall exactly how old I was. I had the same bedroom from the time I was 5 until the time I moved out, so sometime between 5 and when I grew up. It was Christmas Eve and I had finally dropped off to sleep after lying in bed for years waiting to hear the massive sled and reindeer land on the roof. There was an ageless person in my room, sitting on my bed talking to me. In my memory we had been talking since before I woke up. I remember a familiarity about him that feels like a very old friendship, but for a boy so young, how old could any friendship have been? He seemed sad but resigned to the revelation that we would soon be parted for a very long time, and left me a letter as he said his good bye and I drifted off back to sleep.
I have since misplaced the letter, or maybe I just can’t find it anymore. But in it he reminded me that I passed from a land of love and light and, to this world, magic. Kris was a traveler who knew how to pass between worlds. He explained that most people have transitioned between worlds many times and with each new sojourn take up characteristics of their new world as they gradually forget the previous. Nevertheless, regardless of where they’ve gone, their essential makeup never changes and always bears the essence of their origin. In this world, and any other, I will always be a creature of love, light and magic. And those qualities which are a blessing in one world are a curse in another.
Now, Kris can’t travel to just anyplace he wants. He requires an accomplice in his destination. The accomplice must remember him and believe—no, because belief implies the possibility of doubt. The accomplice must assume he can make the journey, for only when we make an assumption about something are we truly in the same world. When the assumption and memory fade, well, that’s why my friend was sad that night I suppose. Yes, Kris is the one who brings gifts to children on Christmas Eve. But only to the ones who assume—not because he’s judgmental, but because he is simply unable to visit anyone else. The gift he leaves becomes the same gift that someone else believes they left, because they are the same gift the moment Kris’ world, a childe’s world, and what is usually a parent’s world, intersect.
I am told that I have been in this world for over 41 years now and most of the time I feel a part of it. But when I try to recall Kris and his perfect love and perfect friendship, and when I realize how very far away he is from me, I feel a bit sad. I believe part of me misses my true home and longs to return to a world of love, light and magic. And then I remember that, being of that place, I am also a part of that place. And that part of me can return there by manifesting what I am into where ever I am. After a whole year it takes considerable effort to surround myself with love, light and magic. Usually it requires eating cookies.