checkin' it twice

The snow belt of Northern Ohio is receiving its first lashing of snow squalls for this winter; currently we have a thick blanket of fluffy stuff on the ground, and the sky doesn’t look as if it’s going to let up anytime soon. And it’s a half an hour until the market opens up and I can get my hands on some decent hot chocolate!

In a week from today Patrick and I will be on the road to Michigan, heading to a Vipassana course, heading towards a week of celibacy, heading into the arms and company of (perhaps) our true brethren. This morning I looked at the picture of Sayadaw that Mike gave us for our wedding. He is right, the picture is full of honor, nobility, courage, strength; this is someone whom I want to emulate, with all of my heart, and perhaps some pieces of my ego!

Christmas time when you’re not Christian. I must admit that the Christmas theology and folklore is striking me as particularly pagan and medieval this year. Big plastic lighted figures of Joseph and Mary in the front yards of the subdivisions. Trees on top of SUVs, trees in front windows, lights everywhere, EVERYWHERE, and presents too. Mountains of presents. It seems that, somewhere along the way, all the Christians forgot why they celebrate this time of year. Or perhaps I am just being overly analytical.

I am being too preachy, and for that, I apologize.

If we are to believe the stories that they tell about the life of Jesus, then we are going about this Christmas thing all wrong. Instead of crass commercialism and self-righteousness, perhaps we should be practicing solitude and quiet introspection. If the story of the birth of Jesus is more than a fairy tale, and I know that some of you believe the story to be sacrosanct, then why wouldn’t we try to recreate the feeling of that very first night? It’s doubtful that Mary and Joseph had decorated with mini-lights, and I can’t remember, but I don’t believe that Santa and his reindeer arrived that night. No chimneys for him to go down in the middle of the desert.

I am putting myself in a foul mood, thinking about it. I will soon stop, I promise.

I mean, we all know that Jesus became a disciple of the Buddha.

(Was that your heart skipping? Little pine needles hidden on the path, when you step on one it really hurts, doesn’t it?)

Down to go up, back to go forward, we’ll get there eventually. There’s a cat on my lap, and he usually doesn’t enjoy attention, so I think that is my cue to play.