Merry Christmas

George Enthroned at Christmas

George sat on his throne. He was feeling down. Not in the throws of despair but just a pervasive mud that almost felt like if he washed his face it would float off and a peaceful joy would be left. The mud always came by this time of year, the Christmas time, a time when as a child he hadn't had the awareness to question things, the ability to comprehend that some ideas from his upbringing were not set in stone.

The human mind was a muddy place. Beliefs were believed mostly because it was easier to believe them than not. They gave us our place in our social world, gave us a right to despise those who could not fit. Mud, mud, mud. Even when you got a little wiped out of your eyes you'd get another face full. But deep down he knew there was a truth, a reality to the world which he'd never understand or put into words.

So George arose and washed his face. He went to his front door and opened it wide and whispered “Merry Christmas to all, whatever it means, and a Happy New Year too”. And a peaceful joy came over him, and a star appeared in the east, ya a Russian spy satellite.