There he stood, all eyes in a scruffy face
more beautiful than the most beautiful
of all angels, at the threshold of a Christmas Eve.
One single button, precariously holding up
grey rags of pants much too big and altogether
failing to hold in the tails of someone else’s shirt
- someone else much larger and like the shirt
much older than his frail, shivering frame
of wild flower budding in spite of the frost
piercing of white the much too flimsy, murky cloth.
From a frayed strap over the shoulder
and across the patch sown right on top
of where his heart pulsed, under a tear now unseen
a square, also frayed sack, became softly rounded
before the tenderness unfolding in the smile
of the beholder, wondering at the bulge
that squirmed spiritedly in spite of the little boy’s
frantic efforts to quiet it down. Irresistibly
the question came, but in a voice made as sweet
as the scent of honey, touched of raisins
coming through the open door, just so all flavours of fear
would fade from the magnificent blend of chocolate
cinnamon and hope, in his eyes: “What is your name
sweetheart?” Barely whispered followed the answer
as enigmatic as only the words spelled by one
who is little more than just a baby can be.
But when the soul listens, enigmas disperse
like fog under the sun, and perception unfolds
in clarity of lines, as bright and warm
as beams of images consonant with radiating sounds.
And so the revelations filled that threshold
more welcoming than any other, and one by one
they stepped into that soul as widely open
as that Christmas Eve. His name would remain
simply Angel, as he purely was, out of an earthly name
that only mattered, really, as a clue which would
guide the soul who cared to the all but heaven
where his mother breathed her one and last
Christmas wish: “Please take care of my angel
and of that puppy he carries in his sack. I beg
of you but this, kind soul, for all else he gave me
and now that I’m going to where there are
no further needs, he’s left with nothing
and no one else.” Then, came the night
but with it came the glow of a truly hallowed star.
The house brimmed with joy, so far and yet so near
that heaven of peace to where the Angel’s mother
had flown, leaving the hell hole of her life
and all worries, all pain, all despair
at the threshold of that Christmas Eve
 - the very same threshold that her Angel crossed
by the hand of that kind, listening soul, into the joy
of the welcoming house, his tiny puppy trotting behind.
Soon it was time – that magical time when the air
is a stream of carols, of bells, of beginnings
reflecting myriads of colours that drip
from a source of love, of dream and of light.
And when the family gathered by the magic
of that moment more glorious than any other
something far more radiant and blissful
than the blaze of the apple log crackling
merrily on the hearth, made their faces glow:
The unique sortilege of finding a dark-haired angel
all eyes in a rosy, divine little face, all comfy
in pajamas with red teddy-bears, and eating
a huge slice of Christmas cake, under the Christmas tree
with a tiny puppy asleep on a Christmas stocking
by his side. “This is not just any Christmas”
the father proclaimed to his children in awe;
”Today your mother has shared her soul with another
and in turn that mother has bestowed on us
the most precious blessing; from now on, my beloved
children, this little boy that looks like an angel
is your brother, born from a Gift of Love.”
”Thank you” he breathed in adoration and a kiss
to his wife as the hallowed star crossed the threshold
into the full, sublime glory of Christmas and the children
surrounded their new angel brother and his puppy
with songful wishes of

FELIZ NATAL!

© 2005 Alexandra* ~ OneLight*® Authors & Creations

Dearest AD Friends,
This episode told in poetic prose is based on a true story. The “little dark-haired angel” with huge eyes is now in his late fifties, and his earthly name, which he couldn’t pronounce correctly at three years old, let alone his enigmatic family alias of “Miqueica”, is Arnaldo. He was indeed raised as one more of my maternal grandparents children, and loved by my mother, my aunts and uncles as one more brother. By sharing Arnaldo’s story with you all, I am hoping to convey the sense of love and generosity that my grandparents always shared with everyone not just at this time of the year, but which came to pervade and fill my spirit as the deepest and true st sense of what so many of us celebrate as Christmas. I am also hoping that, at this and other times of the year, many genuinely hallowed stars will cross many thresholds, and that many homes will become heavens of peace and joy, complete with angels of all ages (dark or light haired and with eyes reflecting all colours of wonder and none of fear) and their beloved animals coming through doors open wide, into the warmth and the glow of many lights, having left all worries, all needs, all the pain, all the despair and all hell holes behind. Finally, I am hoping that none of these hopes may be heard as just a childish dream that can never come true … because when the heart listens, all impossibilities disperse like fog under the sun, and perception unfolds in tangible realities “as bright as beams of images consonant with radiating sounds”. So, from the heart, let me surround you all, even those who celebrate these holidays differently or do not celebrate them at all, with songful wishes, in my mother language, of a timeless and absolute

FELIZ NATAL!

Filled with Gifts of Love&Light*,
Your grateful Friend
Alexandra*