Literature for the Aged

Literature for the Aged

The written word: immortal, ephemeral.

Thursday, December 24, 2015

A Christmas Moment

He was born. With a gasp he remembered his previous life. For once it hadn't ended so badly, he hadn't died violently or alone. Oh! Now he remembered all the times he had lived. He was doomed to live all lives because, one day, when he had lived them all, he would understand—become, you know, god.
He wondered where he was. This must be Mother, and her warm breast, which she offered him.
“And Father, he's quite a bit older than the last guy. And who are the three coots offering gifts?
That looks like a donkey! In my bedroom! My folks have shacked up in a manger! Where the hell am I?” He looked around desperately for escape.
Then he yawned. With every sip of Mother's milk the baby's thoughts became a little more cloudy. He forgot the shopkeeper's life he'd lived in Memphis, the cobbler in Macedon, the farmer in Gaul, the dancing girl in Rome. He forgot them all as he started his new life, in a manger, in Bethlehem.

The 3 Wise Asses--Bear's Christmas 2014

The story that poses the question: If there were three wise men, what did they ride?

It was a cold evening, the sky clear and dark as the three wise asses stood tied up beside the humble manger in the little town of Bethlehem. A boy passed among them, giving each a handful of parched grain.

“What's the special occasion?” grumbled the one called Meg, but the others were too busy chewing to answer.

Suddenly, the door swung open and the boss came out. “Bring Meg over here,” he hissed. “Quickly!”

The boys untied her and led her inside the shabby building where the animal was brought before a tableau of a tired looking couple and their newborn child. Meg snorted nervously.

Impossibly, the infant began speaking.

“Don't be afraid, Meg.”

Meg looked around but no one seemed to notice. “I didn't know you little ones could talk . . . for that matter, I didn't know I could speak Aramaic!”

The baby smiled. “You can't, but that won't stop you.”

“Right . . . well what can I do for you? . . .”

“Jesus . . . I guess I just wanted to talk to somebody before all this . . . rigmarole begins.”

“Say what?” the ass brayed.

“You and I are a lot alike,” Jesus said. “We take on people's burdens with very little thanks. In your case, you carry people and their belongings until the day you can't do it any more, then they get rid of you.”

“Hey, Buford-Saul has been good to me.”

“No doubt,” replied Jesus with a laugh.

“Well, what burden do you have, baby?”

The infant sighed. “Just the whole fuckin' world.”

Shocked, Meg backed away a step. “It's not right for a baby to use language like that, even if he is only pretending to talk.”

Jesus smiled sadly. “Here's the deal, Meg. Once I've grown up I'll give people a message of compassion and hope and the secret for a happy, fulfilled life—treat others as you wish to be treated yourself. Pretty simple.”

“Even an ass can remember that!”

“Then I'll sacrifice myself to drive the point home.”

Meg stared at him. “That seems . . . extreme.”

The baby shrugged. “Believe me, it'll be worth it. But what chaps my ass is that I'll barely be with the angels above when men start harnessing the power of my words to their own ends—for power, for money, for plain ornery meanness.”

Distressed, Meg wailed, “What can I do? I'm just an ass!”

Jesus laughed as his mother lifted him to her breast. “At least you admit it, dear Meg, at least you admit it!”

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