Dreaming of a White Xmas

With voluminous snow pouring out of the celestial buckets of ice and air, I'm dreaming of a white Xmas, even as the news and newspapers spin a different reality for others. The dream of a white Xmas for others has turned into a snow parka of nightmares in having to face the reality of road closures, delayed flights or other transportation outs and winter depression.

Trying to navigate the icy sleets of pavements on four wheels of rubber and a ton of metal for those in the game of 9-5pm was like playing unofficial hockey on the freeway and interior rinks with the vehicle being the puck of chance and potential score. For those taking to the airways, train stations or the proverbial "Greyhounds" of escapism, the snow has created plenty of time to pause and wonder. For those taking to their beds, the snow will become a calendered memory for the new year in the "Remember when" column of life's journey.

I like the idea of a white Xmas, a snow filled holiday where the heavens sing with joyous voices and light the sky with thunderous applause of cataclysmic clapping of snow covered angel wings feathered in ice crystals floating aimlessly over the land. Maybe growing up in the rat and roach infested Projects where snow was the crackle of static covering the black and white television screen; the blow of street drugs and genocide; and the blur of eyes bruised beyond seeing, the thought of a white Xmas for me was the fairytale that helped me survive the childhood that was taken.

When I think about the days of snow that have kept me home-bound of late and centered in a space of reflection, I am grateful for the voices of angels and the dusting of feather wings. I can dream beyond what was in my life and see the purity of what is, as the coolness of snow reminds me of what was. I can touch the snow in my yard and make snow angels in a majestic grandness of thankful synergy to the heavens. I can etch the thankfulness of gratitude into the building of a snow personification and feel its solidness of ice as I ponder my own solidity and metaphors on the journey of life.

I can look into the heavens and thank the choir for its bounty of the white stuff and smile as the streak of a sleigh blazes into the snow canvas of Xmas. Yet beyond it all, I'm not looking for Santa to dump odd-shaped presents down my chimney which is why I have a gas fireplace. For me, it is the reality of a white Xmas that brings the greatest present of all. Through the sheerness of snowfall, I am bathed in angels' wings and through the layering of snow coats, I am loved in the purist sense of the Universe. I am the miracle called life.

As I dream of a white Xmas and watch the snow fall, I am reminded that dreams can become realities of a spring, a summer and a fall that mirror the cycle of life and existence in a circle of miracles. Within the joy and heavenly love of humanity and a winter snowfall, I exist and I rise. I am having a white Xmas beyond the dream...........................