Vignette: Nativity
“We can live without religion and meditation, but we cannot survive without human affection.”
~ Dalai Lama
****
And so, on this Christmas morn, Words became Flesh, and in the Flesh, they became One, through the restorative power of earthly Wine turning to Blood turning to divine Love. No longer did the world lie in endless darkness, the Hound no longer bayed at his door. Wrapped in the warmth of Will’s arms, Jack drank the Blood and ate the Flesh from his lips, blessing the Guiding Star which had led them.
In humble sanctuary, they gave each other a gift more precious that Gold, and like the Phoenix bird, built their funeral pyre out of myrrh and frankincense, their burning desire for Life eternal, if only to live this moment again, chasing away the sadness, demons and sorrows of mortality.
In a tangled, cinnamon scented version of a long forgotten scripture, the pure Light had returned in the World, and in Him, there was Life; and in the Life was the Light of men…And the Light shone steady, surrounding, guarding, the unwavering flame alighting him; giving Birth to Love, the Love to Life, the Life to Love, cycling infinitely, and in that Love was their Rebirth.
Drink this wine, he’d said to the Flame, and offered openly his sinless heart, holding the vessel from which it was served against the mouth that licked, finding fulfillment, until the final drop, and still, did not let go. For there was more; A union consecrated by even the most frightful God.
And so, on this Christmas morn, they were born anew.
****
~ Dalai Lama
****
And so, on this Christmas morn, Words became Flesh, and in the Flesh, they became One, through the restorative power of earthly Wine turning to Blood turning to divine Love. No longer did the world lie in endless darkness, the Hound no longer bayed at his door. Wrapped in the warmth of Will’s arms, Jack drank the Blood and ate the Flesh from his lips, blessing the Guiding Star which had led them.
In humble sanctuary, they gave each other a gift more precious that Gold, and like the Phoenix bird, built their funeral pyre out of myrrh and frankincense, their burning desire for Life eternal, if only to live this moment again, chasing away the sadness, demons and sorrows of mortality.
In a tangled, cinnamon scented version of a long forgotten scripture, the pure Light had returned in the World, and in Him, there was Life; and in the Life was the Light of men…And the Light shone steady, surrounding, guarding, the unwavering flame alighting him; giving Birth to Love, the Love to Life, the Life to Love, cycling infinitely, and in that Love was their Rebirth.
Drink this wine, he’d said to the Flame, and offered openly his sinless heart, holding the vessel from which it was served against the mouth that licked, finding fulfillment, until the final drop, and still, did not let go. For there was more; A union consecrated by even the most frightful God.
And so, on this Christmas morn, they were born anew.
****