And so, as the winds gather force and the nights grow longer and longer still; as we inch closer and closer to the day we have been told to look forward to for the last six weeks, our thoughts should not stray to feelings of foreboding and petty misdemeanours, but rejoice in the choral song offered to us by the poor misguided souls that have taken to carol singing on Prince Street Bridge.
Of course I am not referring to the music itself. Heavens above! The last couple of nights, there they have been; all gaily clad in Santa hats and expressions of forced imbecility. Heaven knows that if God had wanted us to maim, he would surely not have made it quite so easy for us. It must be some kind of a trick, I thought to myself when my senses were first enraged by the spectacle. Perhaps it is something put here to test me.
The lord works in mysterious ways, they say; and this is most certainly that. I’m sure he will know better than anyone that I’m still trying to figure out this latest conundrum. He may even derive some pleasure from watching me as I ponder it.
I’ll tell you where I stand with it now; when the light fades tonight and the voices strike up in unison to the song of a silent night (and you’re really wishing it were) my only advise would be to take it as a blessed relief that you are not yet one of the people joining in with this lunacy. This is why we must rejoice. Rejoice in the knowledge that it has not yet come to that for you and yours, and we will defer further judgement on the assailants until we can gain a greater understanding of to which depths the madness festers.
Take that happy thought to bed with you and remember it on Christmas morning. No amount of candy cane can possibly beat that. You’re welcome.
Merry Christmas from me,
The Mystic Cosmica (channelling the words and musings of Black Beard).*