The President of the United States has been impeached. No longer sharing facts as a common ground, we sit next to each other at work and at family gatherings but exist in different realities.
The iris by my front door bloomed through most of November and a confused cherry tree in the park had a branch with five blossoms in mid-December. Days later there was an ice storm. Even the seasons can’t agree.
The largest, world-wide refugee crisis in history is under way. Lone children climb on the top of La Bestia, families hide in the backs of trucks and die in the desert. Terrified strangers seek refuge in churches and disappear next to us in the Elizabeth Detention Center. Numbers on a census, the Lord and his family are somewhere in the crowds.
Some place out of the way behind an alley there is a shed. The baby for whom the stars move is in it. Almost no one knows, but the feeding trough where his mother lad him is the center of the world- the spot where all humanity will one day come home to be overwhelmed by joy.
There are no directions to get there. The proud circle round and round, winding up where they began. For now, only the broken, the nameless and the innocent can find it; out there in the darkness, the only gift worth having.
Somewhere in your heart you know where to go. Light your candle in the dark church, Sing your way there.
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