Stone at Christmas

Stone at Christmas

As stone I do not know how come they called it Christmas. By “they” I mean the ones that glided on the surface. As mean as they would get they would never achieve the depths that we reached. But this was different. Lying here, their feet below their surface, I began to wonder. Never before had a carpenter rested so stable in his flight and sought to cradle his … now what shall I call it … his bride, his pride, his time and tijde?

Wait, now do not get me wrong, yet but lying here, and they say that all stones are liars, gets me plenty of consideration for what is happening and believe me I can leave no stone unturned. And what a night this was. My cousins the meteores has relayed me the notion that other cosmos exist but kings following stars! Scots follow that of Scone to the house at Westminster but kings with myrrh, frankincense and gold! Pip in the fruit of evil lay before many a serpentine path and let no moss lay before yea on yon gathering grounds. No sense here and yet…

This was happening around me, as I lay under Bethlehem. Stable and herodic at the same time, a sense of way thing, waiting, weighting befell the community of shepherds, sheep and lambs for the slaughter. Yet his coming we had yet to comment on, we of middle earth, of magmanimous deeps not to mention nickel and iron. But kings and carpenter?

Crosses and nails more likely. Now from whence gain I that thought? Now you are Peter and upon this Perstone I will built my church. Preposterous.
Ah, the birthing has begun, and the woman lays on the clay and the man takes from her life and thus gives her life to live and then to watch him die before she. Cruel cross world of man and roman. And rue the days when cxoss inclines to another angel.

The manthing is isolate now and wrapped in swaddling. That I can under stand. Swaddling and envelopment are keys to harmony on our journey to wards the surface and presents in the light. Of which I know nothing yet the need to give strikes a chord within my sole thought – resist. Friction between friends is what is needed, now that permafrost has given way to blending seasons. A tide for every season.

Well we befelt the extinction of the last race upon their iridium stratum and this star to night belayed a portent of the movement to come towards the West and back to East and West again, like a crusade gathering negative inertia in its meandering. Rich and hard, cypress and pine, the landscape looks upon the stable and the cradle. Of civilization I know nothing.

In the other valley they are counting themselves, lucky I suppose, those that were old and older and the sense of us rocks the credibility of the Sainted One. St. One is the Essene of virtue so they say but that is a tale set-aside for another that would come before, using water. Of life I know nothing.

Boulder I become in my thoughts as I predict the rise to surface of myself and my kind. Wren would build St. Paul’s in Ludd’s Town for Charles and Diana no doubt. In mind I know nothing.

The second mark once said that as I grew I used to be able to see not only all things that had past but also all things that had yet to pass. Sadly as I grow older I see only those things that have yet to pass. Mountains in their way they had particular … I digress and recognize the granularity of my thoughts.

But back to the boy, Je Suis, I think therefore I am. I can feel his presence now and shall continue to feel his pace on the surface of our worlds for the next 30 of his own years and then nothing! I lay no claim to Him and he did not disturb the physical divide between us. Stone I am and gingerly await the ailing masses. I take exception with crystal clear clarity as a preference over maintaining mystery as a means to hold sway over the ignorant. Masses of people celebrate the coming but I mourn only his loss.

Gaia.