Ordinary Epiphany

easter vigil

There are no Magi
No men in soft robes
No alchemist, sorcerers
No caravan of students, servants, slaves
No cantankerous camels or stubborn pack mules
No impractical gifts
No shiny gold coins
No pungent incense
No foreboding myrrh
No treasure chests except in high towers and executive suites.
There is no alien star
No astronomical anomaly
No celestial portent
The stars simply hang
Like pin-pricks in a back lit black cloth.
There is no house containing the incarnate deity
No miracle
No wonder
No scared mother or confused but righteous father,
Except the million, yes even billions who have come and gone since.
There are no dreams
No visions
No prophecies
No oracles
The writings of the sages have all been rolled up and shredded and scattered to the wind.
There remains the numbness and tingling of hope
Like life returning to atrophied limbs.
There remains joy
Stirring in the darkness
Long forgotten and dormant
Beneath the doldrums of post card placidity and familiarity.
There remains the realization
The understanding
The faint awakening of this ordinary epiphany
The brown paper wrapped lodged in a plastic bag reality
A showing forth
Of flesh and bone and blood and guts
Of want and desire and need
Of the daily grind and the choice between wrong & right
Love & hate
Us & them
You or me.
No there is no quaint nativity scene
No silent night
No then an there
Only here and now
And the person sitting next to you
Or across the room, or across the street or across the world.


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