MUSINGS OF A MALL SANTA

Behind the big window I sit

in the North Pole set,

sweating in red and white,

scratching the skin behind my long white beard.

The elves herd long lines of harried parents

     hoping to create flashbulb memories 

     clutching the small hands of apprentice consumers

     providing kindling for the fires of want.

As the thin high voices chanting their desires

fade into the background,

I drift into wondering.

             How can I transform my own raging river of wants

             into a quiet pool of prayer?

First, I let go,

remembering I’m not in charge.

            Worry is gently nudged

            to make room for the petals of consciousness

                        to receive the cool rain

                        to be warmed by the sun

                        to create a crucible for transforming moths into butterflies.

I’m called back to the North Pole

by a child sitting on my knee.

She looks in my eyes and asks

“What do you want for Christmas, Santa?”

 

                                                                                    Nancy Jago Finley

                                                                                    1999