CHRISTMAS IN BROOKLYN©

BY JACK SCHIMMELMAN

I lived in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn for close to 15 years. During that

time I worked at jobs in Manhattan, which began early in the morning
and found me coming home very late at night, around the midnight
hour and later. Bay Ridge is a community of mostly single-family
homes, with some small multi-family apartment buildings. I lived in
the latter. It is a thoroughly working class/middle class neighborhood.
People take pride in their homes and present them as best as possible.

Each Christmas eve I would inevitably be returning from work,

walking home near the wishing hour that divides the days. Perhaps
snow would be on the ground. All was quiet. The snow was still white.
It is during these moments when I could feel the molecules of my
physicality breathe deeply allowing a modicum of harmony to wash
over me. I would stare with wonder at the modest Christmas light
shows that my neighbors had managed to create with limited
resources. In many windows I could see pine trees that had lovingly
been invited indoors and adorned with an array of color, silver tinsel
and beloved objects. Some were topped by angels, others by
homegrown images. These sights and sounds reassured me with their
eternal simplicity.

For several years a universal feeling ascended from my heart

during these late night, early morning Christmas strolls. I felt loved
unconditionally. On those pristine walks, I loved unconditionally. I can
only identify this feeling as a Christ consciousness. Throughout my
decades of timeless struggle, I have periodically wondered how this
could happen to me. I am not an extraordinary person, but rather
someone who seeks those sacred moments of grace, but invariably
falls short. Anger has been a constant companion, although I have
managed to dissipate much of that discomfort along the way. I have
stood on shores hoping to catch a glimpse of the beacon for which I
yearn. So why has this deeply beloved feeling embraced me each
Christmas. I believe that despite our prodigious attempts to deny
unconditional love that resides in each of us, its power is so great, so
magnificent, that we are all capable of moving to its music. Some
insist that the Christ consciousness comes only to those who are
“special.” I am here to tell you that it can come to the most
downtrodden, as well as the most earthly powerful person. And when
it does arrive, totally unexpected, you are brought to your knees,
sometimes metaphorically and often actually. What is this Christ
consciousness? Is it only embodied in one historical figure, Jesus of
Nazareth? At the risk of angering those who believe devoutly in this
paradigm, I bear witness that the very nature of Christ is that it resides
in the DNA of us all. And when I say “us,” I not only speak of human
beings, but rather all manifestations of life. For that omnipotence is
the very essence of unconditional love. It is the soul of all of life and
call it what you may, this essence is what I call God.

I believe by dint of massive yearning, the Christ consciousness is

summoned by our broken hearts, our elation, our lost soul, whomever
you may be during this Christmas spell. In a sense, it doesn’t even
matter if the historical Jesus was born during this period that we call
Christmas, for there is a lot of controversy regarding that so-called
fact. What matters is that a significant portion of humanity once took
it upon themselves to set aside a moment of time, a moment of space
when we may be available to that feeling of unconditional love which
alights the darkest soul. These moments are manifested universally.
It is the potential of such an experience that keeps many of us moving
forward, slowly, but inexorably. I believe the Christ is constantly
evolving, eternally growing to embrace all of life in its myriad of
mysterious existence. It is not perfect. Perfection is messy.

We live in times of great conflict; great horror. We kill each other

because of ideology. We dominate each other out of terror. We are
blind to an ever burgeoning cloud of tragedies whether it be human
trafficking of children, women, men, wars waged against the helpless,
manipulation of children to destroy themselves by dangling a greater
glory in front of their exhausted lives – the list is endless. I am sure
that you who read this can add to the roll call. And that is just what we
do to our own species, never mind our devotion to annihilating other
life forms in the name of self-preservation and pleasure. We can only
act in this manner because we deny our own divinity; we disavow our
place in the fabric of life. If one thread is destroyed or merely
damaged, then the entire cloth must adjust and suffer from dissonance
that plagues our hearts.

I exhale, fully emptied, to finally say that it is a fool’s folly to try

to separate our selves from the other. We are each other. As Walt
Kelly (Pogo) once said:

There is no need to sally forth, for it remains true that

those things which make us human are, curiously
enough, always close at hand. Resolve then, that on
this very ground, with small flags waving and tiny
blasts of tiny trumpets, we have met the enemy, and
not only may he be ours, he may be us.

Merry Christmas.