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capri0mniBack a few days ago, in that Christmassy, roly-poly poll thing, I answered that I've never stopped believing in Santa Claus. That was just a teeny bit of a lie. Like many kids, I stopped believing in the singular, and singularly magical, person named "Santa Claus" eventually (I don't remember exactly when; I might have held onto my belief a little longer than some).
However, it was not a complete lie, because when I was at the ripe old, and almost cynical, age of twenty-three, something happened that made me a believer all over again.
So yes. I am utterly sincere when I say I believe in Santa Claus. But I don't believe in him in quite the same way I used to, when I was a child. I no longer believe he has the same kind of corporeal reality as my parents had, or that Nikolaos, the Bishop of Myra (Defender of the Orthodoxy), had, in the Third Century. On the other hand, I believe his reality is quite a bit more substantial than the metaphor for our hopes and ideals that Francis P. Church described in his editorial written for the New York Sun, in 1897.
I can't say, exactly, what he is. He might be some part of my subconscious so deep that it feels like it comes from some Other. He might be some mysterious Deamon of the Earth, itself. He might be a creature created from the collective unconscious of all the humans in the world, that we can sometimes tap into if the circumstances are just right. But I know I've heard him whisper in my ear. And his pressence was enough to raise goose pimples on my skin.
However, it was not a complete lie, because when I was at the ripe old, and almost cynical, age of twenty-three, something happened that made me a believer all over again.
Do you know how, sometimes, particularly after an emotionally charged conversation, your memory can play back the voice of the other person in your head so clearly that it's almost like you're actually hearing them speak, even if you're not exactly "hearing voices"? If so, bear it in mind, because it plays a key part in my story, in a bit.
I was in college at the time, and our dorm took part in the custom of playing "Secret Santa" -- all the dormmates put their names in a hat, and, for the week leading up to Christmas Break, bought little gifts for whomever they drew each day (no more than a couple of dollars each), and then, on the last day before the break, we'd have a Christmas party, exchange bigger gifts (like around ten dollars each), and reveal our secret identities. Normally, folks would tack their stockings for the small gifts (AKA one of their spare socks) up on the wall by their dorm room door. But since I couldn't get up the stairs, and since making a special exception for me would spoil the secret, in our dorm, that year, we all hung our stockings on one wall in the lounge.
Now, the school I was attending had been founded by a tribe of Sisters of the Dominican Order, who'd sailed to the New World sometime at the turn of the Twentieth Century. So that while the school was officially secular by the time I attended, the two original majors of the school, Early Education and Nursing, were still the biggest majors within the student body. The Teaching majors hung out with the Liberal Arts students like myself, but it was as though the Nursing majors lived on a different planet from the rest of us. And in my dorm, all the Nursing majors had rooms upstairs. You'd hear the door slam as they entered and left, and you'd hear them racing up and down the stairs, but, other than manditory all-dorm meetings, you'd never see them in the common lounge where the rest of us would gather to study or watch T.V., and the only way you'd run into them would be in the upstairs hallway, passing each other to and from the bathroom.
So, wouldn't you know it? That year, when I pulled the name of my Santee from the hat, it turned out to be one of the Nursing students. I couldn't even fit the name to the face, much less have any idea about what to get her for a gift.
The next day, in desperation, I decided to grab an orange from the cafeteria's salad bar, because oranges have been traditional stocking stuffers for centuries. But then, as the day wore on, I was feeling the pang of conscience -- I had to buy her at least one extra thing, and not be a total cheapskate. So, right before I came back to the dorm for the afternoon, I ducked into the college bookstore to pick something out for her.
The shelves were jam-packed with items designed to be Secret Santa gifts: little kitzch teddy bears with Santa hats, and Santa-shaped chocolates, and elf-shaped pencil erasers... you probably know the kind of thing I'm talking about. After staring in bewilderment at the array before me, I reached out for a particularly decadent-looking chocolate bar, if I recall correctly (but it might have been a bag of microwave popcorn... in any case, it was a "treat" food -- something I thought I needed to balance the "health" food of the orange).
But then, a clear male voice played in my head, just like that "remembered voice" I mentioned earlier. Though I know I'd never heard anyone speak those actual words to me before. And the voice said: "No, no -- get her the chicken soup." (And it was in the third person, like that -- not: "Oh, I know -- I'll get her the chicken soup!" it was very clearly "get her the chicken soup")
And it was not a voice to be ignored, either. So I moved my hand over to the right, and grabbed a four-pack of Lipton's Instant Chicken Noodle.
Then, after paying, I hurried back to the dorm, checked to see that no one was around, and quickly shoved the orange and the pack of soup into the sock tacked up under my Santee's name (as I recall, I was the first to deposit my gift, that day -- none of the stockings had anything in them), and managed to slip into my own hallway before anyone caught me. I was just fitting my key into my lock when I heard someone come in, and go right to the wall where the stockings were hung with care. I paused, and waited for her to leave, so that the sound of my door opening and closing wouldn't give me away.
"Chicken soup," I heard her exclaim, "and an orange! Just what I needed -- I'm coming down with a cold!" And then she hurried right up the stairs, and I finally slipped into my own room.
I think my pulse quickened a few more beats per minute, at that point, because I realized that there is no way I could have known what she needed most, and that the voice must have been from that being we call "Santa Claus," today.
And you know, I can't remember a single gift I bought for her, after that -- not even the big gift I must have gotten at the end of the week.
So yes. I am utterly sincere when I say I believe in Santa Claus. But I don't believe in him in quite the same way I used to, when I was a child. I no longer believe he has the same kind of corporeal reality as my parents had, or that Nikolaos, the Bishop of Myra (Defender of the Orthodoxy), had, in the Third Century. On the other hand, I believe his reality is quite a bit more substantial than the metaphor for our hopes and ideals that Francis P. Church described in his editorial written for the New York Sun, in 1897.
I can't say, exactly, what he is. He might be some part of my subconscious so deep that it feels like it comes from some Other. He might be some mysterious Deamon of the Earth, itself. He might be a creature created from the collective unconscious of all the humans in the world, that we can sometimes tap into if the circumstances are just right. But I know I've heard him whisper in my ear. And his pressence was enough to raise goose pimples on my skin.
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no subject
Date: 2006-12-10 03:16 pm (UTC)This is the sort of thing I mean when I say the scientific method isn't sufficient to explain existence to me. It posits, in essense, that nothing exists but that can be measured by instruments of man, and the universe I live in is bigger than that.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-10 09:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-11 06:15 am (UTC)Awesome story!
Date: 2006-12-10 05:19 pm (UTC)Re: Awesome story!
Date: 2006-12-10 09:16 pm (UTC)The microphone that came with my computer is a bit dodgy, but I think I can make it work... how much longer does the Holiday PickleTacular go on for?
Re: Awesome story!
Date: 2006-12-10 09:24 pm (UTC)Re: Awesome story!
Date: 2006-12-12 06:43 am (UTC)