Have you ever heard of a Christmas ghost who saves
greed?
Ghosts of Christmas
We know the ghosts of Christmas, as familiar as the advent: the grim past, the glorious present, the silent future. But this ghost story is no mere nightmare; it's how
good is saved.
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Such comfort: the known and the familiar. It is a thing we crave, like it is something real and tangible and material and precious.
But it's a ghost.
That we cling to. A blanket that comforts the toddlers we used to be. The toddlers we manifestly are. When we demand the present be known and familiar. Not tomorrow: NOW!
Though a ghost cannot be commanded thus.
*
Still we invite them.
To be pasts brim with triumphs. Happiness, wealth, and unions all, charmed by the brittle plaster of remembrance. Sanctity preserved against rot.
Until such smoke writhes in the cool water of reality.
*
Of despair? No. The present is not hopeless. Who says that? No one.
But the feverish make believe of a child, it is not.
Nor is it the terror absent of sugar, too bitter a medicine to swallow. We are, after all, made of tougher grit than dogs' tails, no?
*
As for death, if there is a shadow that lives and breathes, it is the seasoned veteran of life's cessation. Implacable and mortally inescapable, none who oppose it, win.
Still we taunt it.
Though a shadow doesn't care.
*
Oh a good ghost story is good!
Like doppelgangers of norepinephrine, specters coax panic to reign. But we are immune and invincible. Nothing as familiar as the advent, horrifies we callous and soulless.
As if a Christmas spirit is real and tangible and material and precious.
Long live greed bless us all!
What are ghosts made of?What are ghosts made of?Night and shade and sour lemonade.Gloves and heels and devils in deals.That's what ghosts are made of.
What is death made of?What is death made of?Future spent and every hope rent.Void sublime sans one more last time.That's what death is made of.
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