Thursday, January 6, 2011


[How strange is that? This is the "Twelfth Day of Christmas!" Why even bother talking about it anymore. For the vast majority of Christians in America Christmas is long gone. The Christmas trees were out on the curb for waste removal by the 27th of December--a day late because there was no trash pickup on Sunday, the 26th.
Christmas day is for all practical purposes and after-thought. The real 'celebration' was in the shopping, and all the other work we did to "get ready" for the big feast. So much for watching and waiting. Well, here, as the final after-thought, along comes the last Magus, Balthassar. And wouldn't you know it, he is looking ahead, too.]


Three times we are born:
We are born to die,
born to live,
and we die
to be born the final birth.
I was there
for the birth of life in the midst;
the fullness,
the coming into.
There when you were there
for the first,
the real birth,
the coming of age.

Myrrh is what I bring;
for being born is pain,
and only more so
in the midst of life.
I offer what I have
to make the passage not easier,
but more true.
I will wait further along
for you to visit me.

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