Christmas morning dawns cold and mostly clear this year, but the clouds are closing in steadily. We’ve had a flurry or two, just enough to drop a few tiny white pellets onto the ground, spaced far enough part to count each one individually. The Magpie Clan has arrived at the feeder, waiting for me to come out and feed them a holiday breakfast.
After three days of bitter cold, the weather warmed up a bit yesterday — just enough to permit me to ship two final orders, neither of them intended for Christmas. We spent the day on wholly ordinary tasks, with a small exception toward day’s end, but we did not go into the old village for the annual festivities.
Christmas Eve in the village is a local rite, a marker of the year, community celebration and spectacle simultaneously: the procession of the Virgin Mary, the bonfires, the family gatherings and food. It’s open to the public and attracts the local crowds. Wings grew up seeing the celebration from within, and yet the memories he holds dearest are not those of the public spectacle, but of the Christmases spent in the warmth of the family home, of wood fires and small gifts and watching his mother make dough.
This morning, many of the families in the village will be celebrating Christmas Day much like everyone else: with a tree and gifts for the children and shouts of laughter and good food. The adults will be clearing away all evidence of last night’s festivities, in preparation for those to come later today: another public event, a dance on the plaza to mark the day.
Last year, it was the Dance of the Matachines, a dance that infuses some traditional elements into a rite brought to the people half a millennium ago by colonial invaders and would-be conquerors. It’s probably less a “celebration” of the dance’s original intent than it is a stand, a gesture of defiance, an announcement to all that the people are still here. But because of its history, it doesn’t hold the same qualities of the sacred that other dances do.
This year, it’s the much more traditional Deer Dance. It’s a beautiful, powerful piece of tradition, and one that is to be respected. It is open to the public, yes, but there are conditions, and they must be observed: no recording of any kind, whether video, audio, still photography, drawing/sketching, or writing. It’s not meant to be transmitted in any way, only to be experienced; leave your cell phones, cameras, tablets, recorders, and pen and paper in the car. It’s also not meant to be explained. If you attend, do so knowing that you are a guest, and there only to take in what is perceptible to you as it is given. Don’t ask questions; simply enjoy the opportunity to experience something that few outsiders do.
Here, it will be a mostly ordinary day, celebrating the great gift of our life together in this place. This evening, we’ll have a small pork roast with potatoes and vegetables, and the apple pie I’ll be making this afternoon. It’ll be a day of simple chores and rest, a day to be mindful of the Spirits’ gifts to us year-round.
One thing is different this year: For the first time, we have a Christmas tree. It’s a bit of a Charlie Brown tree at the moment, very small, but that will change. We planted it a week or two ago, in memory of a dear friend who walked on two days after Christmas last year, a warrior we both loved like a brother. Late yesterday, we wrapped a single small strand of white lights around its boughs.
It’s a reminder of the the Christmases of our childhoods.
It’s a living memorial to a great man now with us only in spirit.
It’s a light in the winter dark.
To all of our clients, friends, and family who celebrate this day, we wish you a beautiful Christmas filled with joy and love.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owners.
