I don’t just call it Christ mass anymore. Every Christmas the last 20 years have not been equal to the next for me.
the snow lays thick on the ground as I take my steps towards a place I have not seen in years. I once called it home.
I rang the doorbell two hours at least after they expected me.
“Hello” my mom answered.
“It’s Marco Polo” I replied. It was almost 6 at night on Christmas Eve.
She let me in without hesitating.
Yuletide is something that has been celebrated since pagan times. And through my journeys I have learned one thing. I am not Christian. Neither is anyone in my family. We’re just hell of a tolerant family grown up with traditions.
We are a proud people of heathens who could care less about religion. Except for my parents urge to go to church on Christmas Eve before greeting me. In whatever state I might be in.
This year I have been on journeys for most of the time, or preparing for another journey. Though I have friends of mine that has not come home for Christmas to spend some quality time with their families. And my old fiancee is celebrating Christmas with someone else this year. Like she did last year and the year before.
And me: I was forced to go home for Christmas or celebrate in a gutter somewhere in Dublin or Belfast haunted like hell from visions and flashbacks of a warm place in another place or another time.
It’s not the worst place to go to after months abroad, living in uncertainty by your own, having your own things to deal with. things you don’t want your loved ones to worry or know about.
This last year have been a long journey to self acknowledgement, acceptance on who I am, and what I have to do. It has been a difficult journey. Plenty of darkness, anger and harsh words to anyone I have cared about. Some words from the ole wizard have been left out. words I can leave for next year to dear friends. Though a word of forgiveness I have not yet heard. not even in my dreams from some.
New plans have occured during the past months.
As I took this last transportation to my old childhood home, I wondered how I would be recieved. If old words of harsheness would be forgotten or at least swept under the carpet. If I would get a drink of my favorite drink. As to loosen me off, to buy me off, and losen my belch. A drink with no conditions. A drink of medicine that would be condemned by someone.
Toothless and tired I was recieved as a long lost son.
When the Christmas Choire sang in Christmas, I walked out on the porch having a cigarette. I have never been able to stand little angels in sailor suits sing Christian songs.
All I could think of was to survive this evening like I have survived this last year. Pissing off as many people as possible, and threatening some on the way.
Being angry at a decieving world, I tried to put this behind me. Look forward to a heavy meal of smoked and salted meal of lamb ribs to fill up an empty stomach, and maybe even get a present I could use as well.
Luckily I don’t have that same thirst as I once used to have. And if I needed to get high, I would have my Salvia with me at all times. My medication from the jungles of Mexico brought from a Cosmic Corner in a town I finished my book.
And the medicine of a loving family who’s missed their last hope in this world.
And I need them. I’m just to proud to admit it.
As the poor lonesome wayfarer I am, the only thing I often have to give my family and loved ones are memories from travels this past year and being alive for a present.
Well, I’d like to give a present to them and all the readers, true or not a little present from the heart, It’s an immortal song of love and compassion and forgiveness and soul.
As I drink that aweful german whiskey given to me by my uncle the 1st Christmas day to take with me home, this song, and this journey home for Christmas is as heartfelt as any of my old rants and ravings from the past year.
I hope all will find peace and happiness for the next year….