Jingle Bells

Jingle Bells …

Jingle bells, jingle bells…
Jingle bells?
When?
Where?
Who?

Not I,
nor anybody I know.

Except the time
when I was a child,
and my mom pinned
tiny golden bells
to my petticoat.

I marched everywhere
in my little hard-soled shoes;
so the bells would
always
jingle.
A lot.

And all that lived could
hear the marvelous sound;
mysterious,
its source unknown.

Could those be reindeer bells?

But that was only once;
it hasn’t happened since.
I’ve never had
a petticoat like that
again.

Or any tiny golden bells,
either.

I was only a little bit older
when I realized
that adults had known all along;
they were only pretending
to think the jingles
were wonderful,
mysterious,
enchanting.

The adults knew
perfectly well
they were just
cheap metal bells
from the dime store.

When we grow up
we stop believing
in magic –
our own or anyone else’s –
it becomes impossible,
a trick,
mere foolishness.

We learn to see only
what is real;
we rely on
what is
concrete,
solid,
predictable,
repeatable.

We look for
falsehoods,
tricks,
lies,
confusion,
duplicity,
cheating
and
stupidity.

“For everyone who asks receives,
and everyone who searches finds,
and for everyone who knocks,
the door will be opened.”
Matthew 7:8

Every time a bell rings,
an angel
gets her wings.

Deborah Beach Giordano
© December 21, 2009

About inklingscommunity

I am a struggling Christian, committed pacifist, near-obsessive recycler, incurable animal lover, inveterate tree-hugger; a nature mystic, a socialized introvert, an advocate for the vulnerable, an opponent of exploiters.
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