In observance of the Boston Marathon bombing that occurred 6 years ago Monday, I’m reposting a poem I wrote the day after.
Running on a dark highway, under speckled stars and the approaching dawn, I felt the legs of thousands of runners alongside me. The shrapnel of fear and terror, echoing thousands of miles away, gave rise to such indomitable hope and strength for so many.
Today I ran.
Not out of fear,
not out of obligation to a scale or a time.
Today I ran to remember why we run,
to share the heavy hurt,
to find the solace that only comes in the gentle cadence of the body and road.
Today I ran for them,
For the hearts and soles that carry the world with them as they go.
just as I do.
Down pavement, and sidewalks, and dirt trails we fly
Down these paths to lighten the burdens of life.
Today I run with my countless brothers and sisters.
Those who came before me,
those paced beside me,
those still on their way.
For all of the tireless legs, the calloused feet, the hardened lungs and loosened smiles.
For those that find their peace and promise where feet connect to Earth.
I don’t have to know you, to know you.
You are me.
In the dark morning, pavement shining in just-stopped rain.
In the quick wedge of afternoon between meetings and bus drops.
In the long weekends when we find out what we really can do in the hours
I hear there have been some questions at school and amongst your friends, about if Santa Claus is real.
There comes a time, in most kids lives, when they are taught to grow up and out of what some adults call “silly, fanciful, daydreams.” And so adults and peers will go about destroying everything that even whiffs of magic, and work hard to wipe away every ounce of stardust from the eyes of children who believe.
To this I say…shut it your mean-hearted pieholes, you wankers. (And anyone who hasn’t, at some point in their existence, called a middle schooler a wanker is probably lying. Let’s face it, middle school was/is not our finest hour as humans.)
And I’m willing to bet that these are the same little judgmentalists that gave you sideways glances for not going to church.
These are the people who say it’s obviously impossible for a generous old guy to deliver presents to kids one night of the year, while simultaneously cherishing and accepting the “fact” that a deity impregnated a virgin and their child wiped away the entirety of sin in the world…
If they can suspend reality, nay, even base their lives around this idea of, albeit a cool, hippy/demigod, is it such a stretch to believe in a jolly old elf that spreads the ideals of generosity and selfless giving for just one day?
(To be clear–I’m an equal opportunity believer so I won’t touch your demigod hippy if you don’t touch my fat guy in a red suit.)
I refuse to lose my stardust. As Anne Shirley would say; I refuse to be poisoned by their bitterness.
You want to know if there is magic? If Santa is real?
Here’s what I know…
Santa is real and magic exists.
How can I be sure?
I’m here aren’t I? You’re here, yes? We’re all here.
We were sprung from the unlikely combination of a chemical lottery and dumb, cosmic luck. We went on to survive hundreds of thousands of years of evolutionary death traps.
If that’s not magical, what is?
Here’s what I also know.
There are two types of people in the world.
Those that destroy joy, and those that spread it.
I say, it does no harm to believe in something better, more beautiful, and magical in our lives (Hippy Demigod or Santa Claus).
I say, it does no harm to fill our eyes with wonder and joy in the midst of the darkest day of the year.
I say, it does no harm to hope and anticipate.
I say, it does no harm to walk into these short cold days with elation in our hearts.
I say, what a horrible, dark and sad world it must be for those that seek to take away such light; those who disbelieve and ridicule others who hold magic in their heart.
It does harm to take someone’s joy.
It does harm to smother the fire of giving and generosity.
It does harm when we seek to oppress the light of selflessness in a world so dark.
I know this; each one of us chooses what we believe.
We choose what we fill our hearts with. And in a world that can be so gloomy and wretched, why would you want to fill your heart with anything that would make it even more so?
I choose to believe.
I believe in Santa Claus and I believe in magic.
I believe that there is light in the darkest of times. And I believe that the joy radiating from the hearts that hope, and love, and give, is more real than any hot air getting blown around by a bunch of self-conscious, hormonal, dying-to-fit-in middle schoolers.
I can’t decide for you, but neither can they.
Embrace the joy, be the magic, and light the dark… or reject the lot of it and wipe the stardust from your eyes.