Sunday, December 25, 2005
Santa Christ
I rode into KBOO from home on the bus. It had been raining, and I thought of waking at 4:30am to see the clearing sky and the stars sparkling with my blurry vision as I gazed out my window.
I share the morning with my friend, and then off to KBOO. Some habits die hard, and some of my habits, like this one, I absolutely Love.
I keep forgetting today is Christmas. I just don't think about it anymore. It used to be one of those days that came every year where my dysfunctional family would act somewhat functional. It wasn't until I got older, discovered history, discovered lies, etc., that I became disillusioned with this time of year. Even the actual Solstice, the natural, didn't hold a place in my heart anymore due to a damaging history surrounding that holiday as well.
It is difficult for me to celebrate anything this time of year anymore. Last year, my first year of freedom from abuse, I did nothing. Nothing for solstice, christmas, nothing.
I've created some of my own celebrations this year, though, and have decided that is what I want to do. Create celebrations for this time of year that are unique. I've had some of the most unique celebrations this year, but I will not go into those here.
I walk across the Burnside Bridge for the first time in weeks. I feel like a stranger in a strange land. I don't feel at home here. I feel at home in various spaces here, or at least pretty strongly connected to various places around here, but I do not feel at home. I don't know if I could feel at home anywhere, to be honest. I do feel at home in my heart, in my body, in the hearts of my friends, I just have a strong feeling of being disconnected to my surroundings.
I Love the green moss growing on the concrete pillars that form the handrail barrier on the Burnside Bridge. It's so soft and fuzzy, and a quiet revolution of nature reclaiming that which is believed to be above or separate from nature.
I walk to my offering spot, open up a new box of tobacco, look at the river below. I Love her. She is so beautiful. But there are signs of this weird disrespectful culture that surrounds her beauty. A raft of wood docked under the pillars of the Eastside Walkway, complete with trash and a combination of other pollutants seen and unseen. I see bits and pieces of wood floating swiftly down the river. The tide must be going out the current is moving so fast. I bridge to two sections of bridge and make my offerings. I step across the void of permanent parallels that never touch, and look across the void that spans several inches and see Jesus standing on the otherside of the crevass that is nothing but a symbol above water to be walked upon.
Jesus looks like the Jesus portrayed being nailed to the standing tree nation. White and blue-eyed with long dirty blonde hair, beard and mustache, scrawny, about six foot, in long beige and brown robes. I accidentally spit in Jesus' face as I start to laugh so hard. Jesus laughs and wipes his face, and laughs harder. I look at his feet and see sandals of no style I'm aware of or seen. I laugh harder. Jesus laughs. Tears pour down our eyes. What a great joke? We shake hands across the void, wipe our tears, and laugh some more.
"Got any pot, Jesus?" I ask. We laugh some more. He reaches into his left sleeve with his right hand and pulls out a bud that is at least a foot and a half long with beautiful hairy blossoms to offer the greatest of blessings, beauties, and insights. I reach into my pocket, pull out my tobacco and hand it to him to offer many great blessings, beauties, and insights. We shake hands as the gift passes. He places it in his left sleeve with his right hand. I place the cola in the left inner coat pocket of my jacket with my right hand where it rests above my heart.
Jesus and I chuckle, then give the "good trade" sign to each other at the same time across the not so great divide. We chuckle a little at our wonderful and fun personal joke. Jesus turns West and walks into town. I turn East and ran right into this story.
I share the morning with my friend, and then off to KBOO. Some habits die hard, and some of my habits, like this one, I absolutely Love.
I keep forgetting today is Christmas. I just don't think about it anymore. It used to be one of those days that came every year where my dysfunctional family would act somewhat functional. It wasn't until I got older, discovered history, discovered lies, etc., that I became disillusioned with this time of year. Even the actual Solstice, the natural, didn't hold a place in my heart anymore due to a damaging history surrounding that holiday as well.
It is difficult for me to celebrate anything this time of year anymore. Last year, my first year of freedom from abuse, I did nothing. Nothing for solstice, christmas, nothing.
I've created some of my own celebrations this year, though, and have decided that is what I want to do. Create celebrations for this time of year that are unique. I've had some of the most unique celebrations this year, but I will not go into those here.
I walk across the Burnside Bridge for the first time in weeks. I feel like a stranger in a strange land. I don't feel at home here. I feel at home in various spaces here, or at least pretty strongly connected to various places around here, but I do not feel at home. I don't know if I could feel at home anywhere, to be honest. I do feel at home in my heart, in my body, in the hearts of my friends, I just have a strong feeling of being disconnected to my surroundings.
I Love the green moss growing on the concrete pillars that form the handrail barrier on the Burnside Bridge. It's so soft and fuzzy, and a quiet revolution of nature reclaiming that which is believed to be above or separate from nature.
I walk to my offering spot, open up a new box of tobacco, look at the river below. I Love her. She is so beautiful. But there are signs of this weird disrespectful culture that surrounds her beauty. A raft of wood docked under the pillars of the Eastside Walkway, complete with trash and a combination of other pollutants seen and unseen. I see bits and pieces of wood floating swiftly down the river. The tide must be going out the current is moving so fast. I bridge to two sections of bridge and make my offerings. I step across the void of permanent parallels that never touch, and look across the void that spans several inches and see Jesus standing on the otherside of the crevass that is nothing but a symbol above water to be walked upon.
Jesus looks like the Jesus portrayed being nailed to the standing tree nation. White and blue-eyed with long dirty blonde hair, beard and mustache, scrawny, about six foot, in long beige and brown robes. I accidentally spit in Jesus' face as I start to laugh so hard. Jesus laughs and wipes his face, and laughs harder. I look at his feet and see sandals of no style I'm aware of or seen. I laugh harder. Jesus laughs. Tears pour down our eyes. What a great joke? We shake hands across the void, wipe our tears, and laugh some more.
"Got any pot, Jesus?" I ask. We laugh some more. He reaches into his left sleeve with his right hand and pulls out a bud that is at least a foot and a half long with beautiful hairy blossoms to offer the greatest of blessings, beauties, and insights. I reach into my pocket, pull out my tobacco and hand it to him to offer many great blessings, beauties, and insights. We shake hands as the gift passes. He places it in his left sleeve with his right hand. I place the cola in the left inner coat pocket of my jacket with my right hand where it rests above my heart.
Jesus and I chuckle, then give the "good trade" sign to each other at the same time across the not so great divide. We chuckle a little at our wonderful and fun personal joke. Jesus turns West and walks into town. I turn East and ran right into this story.
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