Tuesday, November 29, 2016

How The Grinch Didn’t Bother to Steal Christmas Because It Was Filled With Malaise.

In the big picture window of our home is the spot…
Where there should be a Christmas tree, but right now there is not.
Not because we hate Christmas! That just isn’t the reason.
It’s the lingering malaise left from election season.
We just cannot shake it. It hangs in the air,
Where the stockings should be by the chimney with care.

But I think, now for me, what continues it all,
Is for one, all the crap we repost on our walls.
We rant and we rave and we generalize,
As deep in our chests our hearts shrink one whole size.
“Liberals!” “Conservatives!” Labels abound.
As each ounce of humanity gets boiled down,

To sound bites and tweets, the results of our voting,
With hatred and mayhem and some filled with gloating.
What once was connection to friends far and near
Is polluted with politics, panic and fear.
Fake news and Russia and hate crimes galore
All crushing the season I once so adored.

And you’d think that unplugging would keep it at bay,
But there are people out peopling all through the day.
Encroaching opinions from left and from right
And everyone’s edginess seems at its height.
These opinions are certain and everyone’s right.
The “I may have been wrong”s are nowhere in sight.

And the saddest part is, that none of “us” won.
The election is over, but it’s all far from done.
“You’re stupid!” "I hate you!” “They’re all just so dumb!”
Are commonly spoken, yet get nothing done,
But feeding the beast as we ramp up our rage
‘Til the monster’s too large to shove back in its cage.

The fury’s unleashed and it blusters and roars
And devours our insides right down to our cores.
It grows as it feeds and it makes such a clatter
I spring back in my bed to avoid what’s the matter.
It has cast such a pall over every last inch
That this Christmas repels yet the Grinchiest Grinch.

No glee left to steal, my heart feels so bare.
Because even the singing’s downtrodden with cares.
And I’m supposed to be joyful and unpack my tree?
But it’s all a big downer, the hatred I see.
The us versus them, name-calling and mocking
You’ve got to be kidding! Just hang up my stocking?

But I know that I will…eventually
And all who pass by will see light from my tree.
A light in the darkness, dare I say hope?
But hope’s what I cling to at the end of my rope.
Hope for a healing and starting anew.
Hope for the things I alone cannot do.

Hope to look up past my own fuzzy navel.
Hope to reflect on that child in a stable.
Hope that we’ll start to be warmer and kinder
Hope that we’ll be one another’s reminder.
Hope that we’ll grow love to strangle the hate.
Hope that we'll see that this just cannot wait.

It’s not required to be happy or jazzed or euphoric
Or jolly or festive or hyper caloric.
Or mall bound or hanging a wreath on one’s door.
Or retelling the tales of St. Nicolas lore.
Or trimming or toasting with Elf on the Shelf
Only to look outside of oneself.

So…I’m choosing hope, not to sit on the sidelines.
Or wait for someone to draw up some new guidelines.
For how to behave as we wallow and stew.
But to go forth in love and to be and to do.
It’s not up to “them” to all do their part,
It’s right here, now, with me, that the changing must start.