My Great Love for dearest Santa Claus.
The true definition of giving is to offer something, anything, without expecting anything in return.
During my longish life, I’ve witnessed how children who later become adults are taught to behave because Santa Claus expects them to. These same children are also taught the rules of thousands of years and thousands of religions. People, women, in particular, are told to do as the rules demand them to. Lists upon lists of what can be and can not be done throughout their lives are ingrained into the very core of their psyche. Magical, invisible people are promised to deliver goods, which they never do. What they accomplish is pile up dead bodies of human beings who have murdered each other in the name of their magical imaginary savior. The irony is that the promised saving is of the very perils these books and their rules create. It’s a cycle of horror, deceit, and death.
Somehow, in her busy life, my mother forgot to sell me the bill of goods that Santa Claus is real. I always knew that he was an imaginary friend, and I’ve always loved him for it. He did not make me less than the little boys. He did not expect me to believe that he really did fly, all in one night, from chimney to chimney. He let me enjoy his existence as an imaginary being. What freedom this allowed me. I am so grateful to Santa Claus for these gifts. The toys were wonderful, but the true gift he gave me was allowing me to imagine him as real the entire time, knowing that he was not. The gift is in the knowing.
Santa Claus does not have a big fat book of senseless rules and regulations meant to govern my mind and my life. Santa Claus never threatened and scared me out of my socks. Santa Claus is a pacifist, which is where I learned to be one.
His wife, Mrs. Claus, is plump and gorgeous, with her red cheeks in a happy smile. She helps him get all those toys in his bags. She never wore black sheets over her body. She did not have to shave her head after she married him to appear less attractive. What kind of nonsense is that? Well, no hair is better than living under a black sheet. Santa Claus does not enslave us.
My imaginary friends, Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus, did not have a son to be sent to earth for us to kill him in order to save us from going to hell for killing him.
Santa and his family are free and loving spirits of our imagination. Their existence balances the lies that sell themselves as truth. How is that possible? The weight of one lie counterbalancing the weight of another? Right in the middle of the seasons, when imaginary stories from books tell people to ador them or die, we have our chubby, laughing, giving Santa Claus singing his. “HO, HO, HO!!!”
Unknowing parents are telling their children the stories of how hell awaits them, and they add the stories of the loving, laughing, giving dearest Santa Claus. Right there is proof of the balance created by imagining our beloved Santa Claus flying around with his crew of female reindeer. Males lose their crowns during winter.
So, my money is on Santa Claus, making our lives balanced and loving. Many thanks to my Mom for never lying to me and insisting that Santa is real. It opened a door to another life.
“HO, HO, HO!”
Please include Santa Claus stories during these upcoming holidays. We must keep the balance in check. The world is becoming unhinged, and Santa wants to help us. “HO, HO, HO,” and to all, a good night.
Thank you for reading.
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