Christmas Spirits

 

Christmas Spirits

Twas the night before Christmas and as I lay down in bed I sent out a Christmas prayer.
“Christmas Spirits, both ancient and present I plead with you this dark night lit only by the moon.
My Christmas wish tonight is not for gifts of gold and silver wrapped trinkets or sweet morsels to fill my mouth.
My Christmas wish tonight is not for earthly peace nor endless sunshine and cloudless skies.
No, my Christmas wish is a touch, a kiss, a warm embrace, the whisper of my name on breath long disappeared.
My Christmas wish is for the living and the spirits to meet once more, even for a few hours.
My Christmas wish is to tell those that left me how I loved them and how I missed their presence in my life.
My Christmas wish is to hear the sweet tinkling bells of their laughter and to feel the warmth of their smiles.
My Christmas wish is to tell them that though their spirits now walk this realm and the next, their love remains alive in my heart.
Christmas Spirits, both ancient and present I plead with you this dark night lit only by the moon.” As the moon disappeared behind veiled clouds of deep grey, I fell asleep with trickling rain dripping down my cheek.
It was not long and I heard a sound and felt a warm caress dry the rain’s tears from my cheek.
A voice bent down to my ear and whispered my name and I heard tinkling laughter coming from all corners of the room.
I slowly opened my eyes and looked to see what marvel had appeared in my room under the clouded sky.
There in a bed, covered up to the chin by a heavy blanket of death-white, lay a girl with a dried tear on her cheek.
Her hair was smooth and dark against the white of the pillow and her lips were bruised as if some kiss had longed to punish them.
I heard the tinkling laughter then and looked to my side and behind me.
There were ethereal specters there all around the bed of this lost girl.
The moon had disappeared but pale light shone through their shadowy forms.
I looked back at the girl wondering where I had seen her before.
One of these specters looked at me then for the first time and smiled a smile that embraced my soul in warmth and light.
The specter’s lips did not move but a low melodious sound came from him like a cello chasing the sound of light in a moonless night:
“We heard your Christmas plea little one. You did not ask for earthly peace nor endless sunshine and cloudless skies.
You did not ask for gold and silver wrapped trinkets or sweet morsels to fill your mouth.
Your Christmas wish was for the living and the spirits to meet once more.
So here we come, at your call and as you wished…all the spirits who loved you once and missed you long.”
But dear one the living must sacrifice life itself to walk with the spirits…Your sacrifice has been a tender gift for us this Christmas Past.”

Then he stretched out his hand and he touched mine.
I trembled in fear at his words and wished to take back my Christmas plea.
I had not wished to sacrifice life, what of all those I love this Christmas Present.
His hand went right through air and though I could feel his strong grasp, there was no hand to cling to in return.
I looked down again at the lost girl lying asleep in eternity and knew that my heart would ache to feel the tears of rain or light of the moon again.
No more endless sunshine nor cloudless skies for me. No earthly peace nor gifts of gold and silver.
No touch, no kiss, nor embrace, sweet laughter, nor whispers of my name.

These specters were only veils of what had been warm breath and soft laughter, shed tears and sweet memories.
The lost girl lay in bed as the clouded sky gave way to the all seeing eye of the morning.
All around I could hear carolers singing and in the house far away I could hear mother and father calling out “Merry Christmas.”
The lost girl did not stir. Christmas Eve had come and passed taking her with it.
I watched the two people I had once known as mom and dad come running in with gifts of gold and silver wrapped trinkets spilling forth from their embrace.
I saw the woman collapse to the floor before he could catch her and the sounds that poured forth from both pulled a veil over the sun, their misery was so great.

I knew then, looking at the ugly grief of the couple where I recognised that lost girl.
She had been this same specter once before when it breathed, laughed, hoped and loved.
I took one last glance at the lost girl and the grieving couple and I bent down and whispered my forgotten name in the woman’s ear.
She shivered at the sound of my whisper and glanced wildly around searching for that missing girl
I touched the man’s arm but he shook my touch off as if a cruel thing had pierced him.

The specter who had spoken so melodiously before beckoned me once more.
The other ethereal forms had drifted off as the moon had been swallowed by the morning.
He looked at me once again and his face showed pain so great and so forlorn:
“Come child, you are no more. Now you walk the realm with those who have gone before.”

Now I walk this realm and the next longing for a warm touch, a sweet kiss and shared laughter.
I visit all the homes of my loved ones each Christmas, silently coming in with the moonlight and leaving with the sun.
I am moonlight and stardust, wind and water but ancient spirit I remain.

Heed the wishes you make on Christmas night for twas a wish such as this that took my breath…
Heed the living and love the present for the realm of spirits leaves much to be attained…

Heed the Christmas wish that regrets the past, forgetting your gift of Now but love life lest you sacrifice it.

Christmas Spirits, both ancient and present keep your silence, the living seek you out…

© All Rights Reserved Kim Koning

My December Solstice on this #Creepfest I bleed ink and walk with Christmas Spirits

Today I am honoured to be hosted by two #Creepfest Authors in honour of December Solstice…

Find out why I bleed ink … all over Jessica McHugh’s “No Vacation from Speculation”

Find my Ode to December Solstice and the Ghosts of Christmas’s Past … with Ruth Barrett’s “Spirited Words”

I thought I would share a little insight on December Solstice or Night of the Midnight Sun in honour of both the event and #Creepfest…

December Solstice usually occurs between 20/12 and 23/12 every year. This year it falls on the 22nd. This solstice celebrates the return of light and the continuing circle of seasons and life. Here are some ways that cultures around the world have celebrated the Solstice…

  • Yule is also known as Alban Arthan and was one of the “Lesser Sabbats” of the Wiccan year in a time when ancient believers celebrated the rebirth of the Sun God and days with more light. This took place annually around the time of the December solstice and lasted for 12 days.
  • Yule: The Feast of Juul was a pre-Christian festival observed in Scandinavia at the time of the December solstice. Fires were lit to symbolize the heat, light and life-giving properties of the returning sun. A Yule or Juul log was brought in and burned on the hearth in honor of the Scandinavian god Thor. A piece of the log was kept as both a token of good luck and as kindling for the following year’s log.
  • In England, Germany, France and other European countries, the Yule log was burned until nothing but ash remained. The ashes were then collected and either strewn on the fields as fertilizer every night until Twelfth Night or kept as a charm and or as medicine.
  • In Ancient Rome the winter (December) solstice festival Saturnalia began on December 17 and lasted for seven days. It was held to honor Saturn, the father of the gods and was characterized by the suspension of discipline and reversal of the usual order. Grudges and quarrels were forgotten while businesses, courts and schools were closed. Wars were interrupted or postponed and slaves were served by their masters. Masquerades often occurred during this time. It was traditional to offer gifts of imitation fruit (a symbol of fertility), dolls (symbolic of the custom of human sacrifice), and candles (reminiscent of the bonfires traditionally associated with pagan solstice celebrations). A mock king was chosen, usually from a group of slaves or criminals, and although he was permitted to behave in an unrestrained manner for seven days of the festival, he was usually killed at the end. The Saturnalia eventually degenerated into a week-long spree of debauchery and crime – giving rise to the modern use of the tern saturnalia, meaning a period of unrestrained license and revelry. 
  • In Poland the ancient December solstice observance prior to Christianity involved people showing forgiveness and sharing food. It was a tradition that can still be seen in what is known as Gody.
  • In the northwestern corner of Pakistan, a festival called Chaomos, takes place among the Kalasha or Kalash Kafir people. It lasts for at least seven days, including the day of the December solstice. It involves ritual baths as part of a purification process, as well as singing and chanting, a torchlight procession, dancing, bonfires and festive eating.
  • Many Christians celebrate St Thomas’ Day in honor of St Thomas the Apostle on December 21.
  • In Guatemala on this day, Mayan Indians honor the sun god they worshipped long before they became Christians with a dangerous ritual known as the polo voladore, or “flying pole dance”. Three men climb on top of a 50-foot pole. As one of them beats a drum and plays a flute, the other two men wind a rope attached to the pole around one foot and jump. If they land on their feet, it is believed that the sun god will be pleased and that the days will start getting longer.
  • The ancient Incas celebrated a special festival to honor the sun god at the time of the December solstice. In the 16th century ceremonies were banned by the Roman Catholics in their bid to convert the Inca people to Christianity. A local group of Quecia Indians in Cusco, Peru, revived the festival in the 1950s. It is now a major festival that begins in Cusco and proceeds to an ancient amphitheater a few miles away.
  • Aside – One of my favourite books deals with the legends of the Solstice as well as other ancient stories that permeate early European cultures…          
  •   Kate Mosse’s Labyrinth

 kim-creepfestlogo

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Related articles on the Solstice

#CoffinHop | Undead poetry chills your blood…

Click on the full moon to hop into the coffin tour...

the gory details:

1) HAVE A SPOOKY FUN TIME!
2) INVITE YOUR FRIENDS AND SPREAD THE WORD!
3) THIS TOUR STARTS: Monday, October 24, 2011 at Midnight (PST)
THIS TOUR ENDS: Monday, October 31, 2011 at Midnight (PST)
Winners will be drawn and posted November 1, 2011
4) MEET AND MINGLE WITH THE AUTHORS! EXPERIENCE A NEW DESTINATION AT EVERY STOP! PARTICIPATE IN EVERY SITE’S CONTEST AND BE ENTERED FOR CHANCES TO WIN MULTIPLE PRIZES! EVERY BLOG VISITED IS ANOTHER OPPORTUNITY TO WIN!
5) PARTICIPATION AT ALL SITES IS RECOMMENDED, BUT NOT REQUIRED. THE MORE SITES YOU HOP, THE BETTER YOUR CHANCES OF WINNING PRIZES.
6) DID I MENTION TO HAVE A SPOOKY FUN TIME?
***Authors have full discretion to choose an alternate winner in the event any winner fails to claim their prize(s) within 72 hours of their name being posted or after notification of win, whichever comes first. Anyone who participates in this tour is subject to these rules***
__________________________________________________________________________________

My Contest – Prize Time

My next WIP is a psychological thriller and it involves psychological twists and a cold-blooded killer. This killer curdles my blood. Already the killer haunts my dreams. But the worst thing about this character is that I am struggling to name him. He does have a moniker that he will be known by in the story but he does need a name.

Let me tell you a little bit about him. He is a psychopath. He is exceptionally cruel and sadistic. He is also a perfectionist who never leaves any trace of himself at the crime scene. He is fastidiously clean, almost surgically I would say. He preys on people that he feels are “fallen”. He is incredibly alluring and seductive. He is hard to say “no” to. By the time his victims realise he is the final person they will see, it is too late and they are taken by surprise. This man could be anyone. He might be your friend, your brother, your father, your lover, your husband or your colleague. He stalks you like a silent lioness. Do you know his name?

So…this is where you blog-hoppers come in. I need you to put your creative hats on and spin me a first name and surname for my sadistic killer.

The best name will win three ebooks by three phenomenal authors. (I will be announcing the names of the authors and their books closer to Halloween but believe me you will want these ebooks.) 

The best name will also become the name of my sadistic killer.

You need to be subscribed to this blog to enter (so join up if you are not already) as well as leave your best answer (along with your email address for winner notification) in the comments on any of this week’s posts on this blog. You also need to have visited and commented on at least 5 of the CoffinHop bloggers.

The winner will be announced on this blog on 5th November. Multiple entries are welcome.

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Undead Poetry

 Come take a walk with me and other undead poets as we explore the darker realms of humanity, nature and the ether. This is a place where poets of all walks come together to celebrate the visceral rawness that is poetry. 

raw

stay

You walk away,

I wait

Gone

The world breaks apart

The groaning earth cracks 

The heavens tear asunder

running,falling

Eyes burning with the sting of salt

My chest aches, the muscle of my core cracks

Bile rises up in me

Rivulets of Blood flow in a cage of ribs

Claws of Malice grasp into the beating muscle

Spilling my life through its talons

Terrible keening fills the air , something is dying

Eyes drowned in tears

I stumble in a half run 

seeking the dying creature

The agony of its violent pain deafens me

Crowds surround me, mouths moving, mute

their faces are blank, deaf to the cries of the dying

Talons are clawing  at the broken muscle struggling in my chest

I fall, My mouth is open, my heart pleads in agony

The broken thing  lies fallen, curled in a womb 

Cries as old as the earth tear out of my mouth – echo tears in my heart

The  heart struggles in weakness, 

Salt crystals grate into my cheeks

I watch as the hand tears open from within me 

hollow

heart lies next to me, dull and grey

curled in a womb

the tide of tears from the grotto deep within

rises in a flood out of me, drowning the shadow of my heart

silence – cold, hollow finally stills the creature

soft whimpers are the only echo

lying, a curled up husk in a womb

sorrow covers its naked form in heavy layers

blanketing the creature complete

the stitching of sorrow is the thread of your love

pulled tight through the needle of your cruelty

yours are the talons rending my core into shattered remains

my heart lies without, torn from me

dull, greying muscle 

– a heart dying

– a husk curled in hate’s womb

– a creature hidden in sorrow’s quilt

love

______

hate

raw

An original work by © All rights reserved Kim Koning 

…take a walk into my heart and soul through my other soul photographs

The Passing of Pain

Scar

The time of healing is near

yet for a distance,

Tears unshed with silent screams

Agony through the barrier of solitude.

Emotions create voids;

voids of self-discovery

Is it fear of vulnerability?

Arrows of others’ views

The bows of torment are sprung…

The clouds of time are building slowly

The torrent of healing is falling

Time strikes through

The barrier disintergrates.

As the quiet of a storm

so silence of the heart,

Focus on solitude lifts

Wounds wrap in scars.

Scars fall apart

lives weave a quilt of patchwork,

Thread sewn – meant to tear

The needle of Love

first and last

Eternal Union…

© All Rights Reserved Kim Koning.

Letting go

Hands Of Desperation

Pain

Receding and returning

Burning, constantly churning

Alone

alone

The feelings

indescribable

ever elusive

Emotionally abhorrent

mentally abusive

An act, a mask

a tear behind a smile

The wall shutting out

the pain

the fear

Unapproachable

My heart at odds

no hearts breaking even

Twisting and turning

my strength keeps me burning

yearning…

The once insuring strength

always an alluding weakness;

The Keeper of the Walls

the key, the entry, was…

But one has touched the brick,

the wall; a barricaded entry

An allusion of uncertainty

veiled by the cool

collected calm

– Two –

© All Rights Reserved Kim Koning.

Resilience ~ Hope

Day 2 - Project 365/2011

Hope


Hope is a green blade of grass in a hot desert

Resilience is a daisy blooming in the tread of Fate’s footpath

Faith is absorbing every bit of moisture

Life is to keep growing

But Love is the unseen root…

– Kim Koning –


This is a picture I took on my Sony Cybershot this morning. It is a macro-focus of two tiny, perfectly intact miniture daisies that were in my footpath as I walked to work. It hit me then that truly is what Resilience is. It is an enduring hardiness and toughness even though you may be vulnerable to the pull of fate and circumstance. It is about a miniture creation perfect and whole that lies in the footpath of all creatures.

Resilience is a character facet that will see one through many turmoils in life.

How often do you feel as vulnerable as those daisies?

How often do you feel as if you are in the footpath of life just waiting for the tread of fate to crush you?

Yet if you are resilient like these two daisies, you will continue blooming and you will live the life you are meant to live no matter how short.


As I wrote a couple of days ago, I have started Project 365/2011 being inspired by the Shutter Sisters. It is amazing what sights you find when you are looking for them. I am on Day 2 so far, so 363 days left. Follow my posts on my flickr and my tumblr accounts.

May you also be inspired to seek out images that inspire you.


© All Rights Reserved Kim Koning

(Published in She Writes Editors’ Picks 13/01/11)