Christmas. Now in this is inspiration!
*

Pogy the Panda

Pogy, a robust, or should I say rotund fuzz ball of appetite with ample proof of padding showing his past eating habits.

Today, Pogy was laying on his back at the Bronx Zoo. His living quarters were spacious enough. There was some real bamboo, some imitation bamboo and his very own dipping pool. It was in this pool that Pogy playfully swished his rear paws, all the while dreaming of food.

Since it was Christmas, the Zoo was closed to the general public leaving only a skeleton staff of zookeepers to keep watch on the fairly large sized area filled with cages of birds, animals, and even some special rooms for reptiles.

When a bank or financial institution is closed, it truly is closed. Meaning that it would take great physical force to break and enter the barrier. Of course, great sums of treasure or currency is being protected.

For a zoo however, there is very minimal security to keep people from entering. There is far more security to keep the various creatures in the Zoo; contained…

She too, a bit portly, robust, or rotund. A woman with a big heart known by the name, Sally. She had a little difficulty climbing over the fence but with perseverance, she finally was able to wiggle her body over and into the realm of caged animals.

“Hi Pogy, it’s me, Sally.” She said with a smile while standing in front of Pogy’s cage. “I got something for you. A Christmas present.” And with that said, she tossed an opened can of fruitcake over the fence where it landed in front of an interested panda.

Pogy rolled over and waddled to see what kind of food was being offered. He sniffed and snuffled the concoction of sugar, fruit and other mysterious ingredients. Finally, with two paws holding it, he place it on his head and looked at Sally.

“Oh my, you look silly!” Sally giggled and smiled at the antics of the cute panda. She was wondering why he played with the fruitcake instead of eating it. She thought for sure that he would just love the tasty cake.

From somewhere inside Sally, she raised enough courage to try and climb over the fence to get closer to Pogy. It could be said some of that courage came from the ample eggnog and rum she had been consuming the past few hours. It was after
all, Christmas.

Pogy sat there playing with the fruitcake and tilted his head from side to side as he watched Sally wade across the moat filled with sour water and then climb up and over the fence.

“Hi Pogy,” Sally said with success. “You’re such a beautiful creature.”

What a magical season Christmas is. A season of hope and beauty. A time when family and friends get together. And this moment was truly one of those special moments.

Soon, the air was filled with blood curdling screams as Pogy happily mauled and started to devour Sally. In his heart he was so glad to finally get some real meat instead of the tofu and bamboo leaves. And as for that fucking fruitcake, it soon would be covered in fresh panda shit, shit consisting of excellent marbled fat from a very stupid and dead Sally.

The End (ah yes, nothing like a warm, comforting Christmas bedtime story for children)

Twas the night before Christmas

And all through the world

all the creatures were stirring

trying to survive

trying to be understood.

What is Christmas without Christ? An X or another day?

Appearance. Yes, appearances, all for humanities sake.

For who uses a chimney unless it is to burn the dead?

Who uses fruitcake or mistletoe when no one is there?

What is this Santa?

Wreath?

Tree?

Tinsel?

Eggnog?

Yes, Twas the Night before Christmas, and it seems the only ones that care

are commercial commerce

Walmart

Costsco

Amazon

and maybe

a couple of drunk Angels…

Of course,

Yes!

It matters not the name of Day or Month or Year.

What matters is the Vision of God

and in that i

hold dear.

Entering the pool, gliding in the hot waters and absorbing fogged steam. It is… wonderful to such as this body needs.

Spiritual comes to mind. Peace. Satisfaction. Refuge. Knowledge. Comfort. And today, conversation.

Indigenous people commonly known as American Indians, or, Native Americans hold much in common with the natural elements of this world.

Today, for almost two hours, talk of customs, words, and ways. The way of European, of countries without names before they became countries. Talk of language. Wars. Conquest. Social justice. Supreme Court.

Tribal reservations. Corporations. Religion. Greed.

Much enjoyed the dialogue with a proud voice that is trying to keep the spirit of her ‘people’ alive.

Talk of how in 500 years the children will still soak in the Spring. Or will they?

There is so much, so very much that will change.

Talk of artificial intelligence and the impact on humanity. Of technology. Yes indeed, a good talk today.

As for personal names, name are like the wind to me. They blow in one ear and depart the other, leaving only the important aspects of conversation inside.

Thankfully there are still people who engage in debate and conversation. Much like of old where flames of a common fire held the council of dreams, of talk of the day, of battles and what is held by those of common theme.

So, where were you born and who are your people? And what does that mean?

To some, such as those clinging to identity, it means everything.

For such as myself, not one damn thing.

And in this, this is wonderful to engage in conversation to learn of those customs of such that people cling.

It flows in the veins of mammals. It flows in reptiles, fish, birds… Blood. The liquid of life; fluid of motion, reproduction, and when it stops flowing… death.

John Kasich vetoes bill to ban abortions after unborn baby’s heartbeat is detected

John Kasich, another politician that speaks out of his ass aka. brain instead of his heart.

Funny how humans hide behind laws that adhere to their personal agenda. The main agenda for humans is simple…Power! The power over life and death. Rulers of their own imagination and kingdoms.

Amazing how humans blame God for their pain, rarely and few give God thanks for their misery and pain.

Predictable how humans ban together to fight that which attacks the collective.

Understandable how Jesus gave His life in Love for the ignorance of humans.

But what humans fail to understand is there are other forces at work besides the Good and Evil. That there are others other than human who also strive for the power over life and death.

Imagine if you will… For a small moment… What if the others other than human view their way against the way of humans? What would happen? And in that there is a very strange and powerful answer…

Taking form in many ways, playing as twine to claws of a kitten. Idea’s, actions, dreams. With many twists and turns. Gnarled, snarled, fit and tied.

With one and then another, such a game. Over here. Over there. All around. For some, inducing paranoia, in others blissful ignorance.

“Work hard and in America you will succeed.” or “It’s your right to be taken care of. Sit there and hold to the gender/species/color of your skin.”

Boring filled with boredom for those of such belief. Horror for others. Humor for me.

So many people scurrying around, trying, lying, tying, as if no one would notice or see. Listen, can you hear? Who? What? Where? When? Why?

Women are, Men are, Children though, they still try.

Thankfully, without any effort at all, the air smells sweet, the Moon bright, and beyond such mundane the stars sing.

Stem of a quill shaped to the drop of ink
Old hands steady in alcove reflecting a glimmer of candles shadow
Surrounded by so many centuries of labored work

In the distance the hollowed stone walls moaned
this the excitement of night wind
whispering among owls stance, atop the walls as if guarding

the heart of the old man
beating, beating, beating
steady and calm as he cast character upon parchment

Black lines curved and followed his mission of evening
one
above the other

Ink sipped by time as the moon climbed higher
higher
higher until replaced by the tired

An old man placed his quill into the hole so very old and colored
With a puff of lip snuffed the flame of such a colorful candle
Carrying then, an oil lamp one and same with a seal

Walking slowly through the large oak carrying hinged iron
closing
walking…

Leaving a room filled with lives beyond countless
bound in book and file
where they never die

As he took time to sleep and gather
more black lines to ink
tomorrow.

“Did you hear the news?”

News

News: A modern definition of depression.

In the ‘old’ days, news was a means of presenting the current status of a moment. To warn of advancing armies. To let the tribe know where the herd of buffalo were streaming.

Today, news is power of oppression with the intent of fomenting misinformation. Straying from truth and embracing twisting facts.

CNN  Fox Pravda BBC MSNBC ABC CBS Al Jazeera… all are shit and suck.

“Did you hear the news?”

Why, of course, yes.

“Where and what did you hear?”

Ask the wind for yourself. Open your ears. Listen. Live.

“That’s not news!”

Not to you. But I know the Sun will set and rise, a corgi needs a belly rub, that it will rain tomorrow, and that Truth is real.

Valley where the waters wind

scouring out a living’

giving chance for ear.

Rapids are what they call them

white, fast, full,

and then

Calm, smooth ribbons beneath which steelhead swim

heading against a current

and back again

Between the walls of canyon, a lion looks for deer

Den a bed for Winter as bears dream

Above the ribbons, the canyons, the animals, the eagles soar

A river, a river flows unaware, uncaring, until

it joins the ocean again.

For it is

said

a way to a heart is from within

What can be given when all there is

neither gem or gold

words of bold

flowers

candy…

But

one small thing, one cannot even hold it

to the Lady

a gift of the Wind.

A mothers crooning ignites the comfort of her infant child

With embers of love stirred by whispered breeze, followed by

a warm caress with her hand.

A young man picks flowers grown the by heat of the Sun

in a bunch held in his sweaty hands

giving them to his flame, his love.

A father works hard in the heat of day, flames of exhaust spitting from his machines

Sweating and thinking

of making pay for a family.

A young woman baking bread in a hot kitchen

thinking of a young man and his flowers

singing.

*

All around  a watery world, filled with clouds, sky, and blue

there exists

fires of the heart never to be destroyed

by flame.