I bring you greetings between magical realms, yours and mine. Life on the edge of the universe may seem glamorous, but in my world, it’s dodging asteroids, falling stars, and fending off treacherous lizards known as dragons, or trying to contain the magic and energy of the careless and mean, seeing from afar how comfortable life is for you despicable wonderful humans. My spindly frame may seem terrifying. My gray skin, though tough, can be fragile if spells make it so. My grand robes, a window to visions beyond your imagination, and my bent, cocked hat, a reminder of what I once was. Such is the battle, the fine balance between what is and what isn’t, what passes in an instant, and then ultimately becomes the array of deeds that have been foretold about your fleeting lives. I have watched some of you light to the world around you, jealous of your hand holding and soft kisses, and gentle love making, the sparks of your mind, but in the end your treacherous ways close the doors to it all. You snuff it out with barely a wince. Then you ask, what could I want, me, little old me, a humble wizard, with all the universe in sight, the grand views of colorful galaxies spinning in perfect harmony, the magnificent sound, a miraculous orchestra, if you could hear it at all, surpasses a teeming chorus of gleeful believers, those awake, led by the Arch Angel Gabriel and lighted by the protection of Arch Angel Michael, and others whose names, you, in desperate times, invoke. I want to glory in your glory, and let tears fall where they may. I feel the vibrations of all that once was, and all that will be, all at once. I raise my finger, as though a wand, not like your robed priests with ancient crumbling misconceived texts, through contorted views, taken for granted as saviors of peace, but a professor of truth, protecting the knowledge and ways from wayward novices, seeking answers to this swirling mystery called life, convulsing with the momentary laughter abolished by the thought that it all can’t go on forever… yet, it does. You have all been given thought to this concept, bore it in your minds, perhaps conceptualized it as Heaven, as above and so below, you say, but do you believe? You know you are a part of it, something, some weird, odd experimental soup, yet count yourself apart. It’s not on a hilltop, a pyramid, a mountain, the Himalayas, ready to spill answers down a grassy plain, a bed of flowers where you can daydream about all the possibilities. The red chair on which I reside sits next to a Christmas Tree surrounded by gifts, manifested by desires. This Santa who arrives each year raises the spirit, like alchemy, like me, a wizard. He’s a friend, but you liken him to the imagination of childhood, but in truth, the link stretches beyond childhood, and the babe lying in the manger. Otherwise, you are easily frightened, that child who once did not want to let him go, nor his jolly wife, nor his elves; you think, the way you feel, derived from such fantastical lore. You label it pagan-like yet keep its traditions. Your legendary experiences, your mischievous tales, were made possible through the love or A LOVE you could not express otherwise. Do you feel this spark of knowing, of feeling, when the perfect gift sits in your hand, it carries you on a journey back through time, when you as a child, sat on the same red chair, mesmerized by the tree of life, it’s branches extended outward, from it’s trunk, further, from it’s roots, from this earth, which gives life…your life? Everything was all right, then, in perfect time. You eat from the tree’s needles, and prickly leaves, as through the lives of the animals, which adorn your holiday table, a glazed Cornish hen, the grains harvested from your fields and untended wild prairie lands, watered by storms, basted by the light from a star, your sun, which manages the prana fed to you, all of this, a gift…, not the cars which choke your lungs; not the poisons called medicines, false alchemy, which stifle your pain, only temporarily; not the guns which give you false authority, rousing hatred; not the coins which plants seeds of contempt, taking you farther from your true selves; not the most dangerous creature on the planet which you have made yourselves into, and makes this time of giving, less pure. So far away from Heaven. For a moment or forever, let those shadows fall away and walk toward the sun. I am a wizard, and even I cannot stop you from this slow suicide, this treatise based on fright, a promise you have made to yourselves for protections which can never be granted… from Death. Why are you so afraid of it? Death. Fear has separated you and grown so much violence. While if you embraced each other, where would fear go? Each year, each day, you are reminded of this higher self, the promise that Jesus gave, that you could be like Him. Therefore, living in this blood which courses through the universe, the body, your body, that if you trace it back to its origins, you will find the heart of it, what life was meant to be. We all live in this rhythm, and with each heave of breath, which ends the physical lives of the old, crippled and diseased, at the same time, it brings out new life, babes each new year, each new day, screaming so bold, adding to the choir, which so beautifully sings… of you, of you pathetic charming human beings. As you trade packages, so colorfully wrapped, you call tradition, you likely and most commonly miss the truth of who you are, that YOU are the gift, your love, your arms wrapped around each other, and bringing each other up, to further your story, to carry on, to continue your miracle. I am as green as the Grinch. I dispel this greeting with immense jealousy of who you are, and applaud you, the few, for keeping it sacred, and so close to your hearts, that it gives even this old lonely wizard, who has watched the millions of years of life pass by, a feeling of belonging. If you could truly know the gold which you possess, the treasures beyond treasures, of who you are. I hope this short but long greeting of magic can open your eyes to the layers, the depths which you see each morning in the mirror, in each other, that soft gentle gaze which your future generations, your children will see, on Christmas Day, and those days after, will know your love, your true gift… YOU!