“And so, at this Christmas time, I greet you; not quite as the world sends greetings, but with profound esteem, and with the prayer that for you, now and forever, the day breaks and the shadows flee away.” —Fra Giovanni Giocondo
I prefer to think of “hallow” in a verb tense, to honor as holy. We all deserve that I believe. To have our special times, thoughts and loves holy, hallowed. A special place between death and the awesome light of G_D’s plan, and what better time than Christmas to celebrate this moment. – D.S.
When I think of Christmas, I’ll think of this day, Mr. Clapton singing, how somehow love can’t stay. Still it seems a mystery, a divining plan, how in Christmas hallows, love can take a stand. Every truth is wonder, how we struggle to find, a deeper love or meaning, when its in us all the time. History revolves around us, here in peace on earth, the myth might be a baby, still we celebrate a birth. For something in these Christmas hallows is something with each of us that stays, perhaps the prayer of memory of tender moments strayed. Falling cold around us, I wish it would snow today. That would make these Christmas Hallows seem like Christmas day.
Somewhere there’s a story written on one hand, I think the inks still drying, it’s a dream I don’t understand. Of a place or story, a certain promised land, traveled to on Christmas. Lost and found again. May be Mr. Clapton found it on a day when his son went falling his spirit went away. Now in Christmas Hallows a round and round it goes, asking for our memory, saying don’t let go. Asking for our memory saying please, oh please don’t let go.
When I think of Christmas, I move as if to stray, suddenly, it’s a far time, long so long away. I am just a young boy in 1978, looking through a glass darkly, so much I can’t say. Wandering through a long hall, one without a way, is it just a dream, knowing that I’m changing, loosing childhood memories in hallows, gone for good on Christmas Day. Every moment meaning, a skip a carol unsung, do you know this feeling, to leave this earth? Rise yourself in Christmas, watching all your memories in reverse.
We are all just children beyond our age, thinking we are special near Christmas Day. Bringing forth our hallows of one time delayed. Yes, it comes at Christmas, a ghost, a space, asking us for something to give away. Just like Mr. Clapton, our sorrows in hand, asking for forgiveness from a light which draws us with it’s plan you see, draws us everyone with its plan. 12.28.2018 – דָנִיֵּאל