Week 4: Follow the Star

Written for the fourth and final week of Advent, representing human beings.

It was Christmas Eve, and it was snowing, and David was on his way home.
The headlights of his car cut a path through the snowflakes as he rumbled on, thinking about his wife at home, and his two kids, and his brother. He was thinking about lights all over the house and a brightly-decorated tree and warm food—lots of it. In the back seat were a number of presents that he had picked up and gift-wrapped, all for his family. They were going to listen to old and scratchy records and drink hot chocolate. Then they’d fall asleep, he supposed, and wake up on Christmas morning to cinnamon cupcakes and gifts to unwrap.

The snow was a swirling grey and white, and David was just thinking that it was only another couple of kilometers and a turn round a corner until he got home, when the engine sputtered, gasped its last and died.

David’s eyes widened. “Oh…no!”

He was all alone in an empty, small road, and there were nothing but trees all around, and snowflakes everywhere.

David sat in the car and stared out the front window as the wipers continued clearing the snow away.

It’s cold, he thought.

—
It was cold too, a long time ago, in the fields around Bethlehem. A young shepherd boy drew his wool cloak firmly around him. He was with three other men of his village, and they were all trying to stay awake and watchful of the sheep around them.

Yet despite his best efforts, the shepherd boy found himself dozing off…ever so softly, that he didn’t notice it until he was aware of a bright light shining down upon him.

It was a light without heat, and streamed down from a star high up above, a star that burned brighter than all the rest.

And the boy heard singing.

And he wasn’t quite sure of the words, but he awoke with one thought in mind:

Follow the star.

—
Months later, the same phenomenon occurred, but now the star shone in the skies of the East. From his balcony, an old king observed its glow. He knew its presence meant that the world would never be quite the same again.

The sound of hoofbeats reached his ears, and he saw, from afar, a white horse with a brightly-clad rider on its back gallop through the gate and towards his palace. The king left the balcony. By the time he made it downstairs and outside, the rider had stopped, but had not dismounted.

“Greetings, Balthazar!” he cried. Then he sobered. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“I do,” the king said. “Wait here for me as I saddle my horse, Caspar.”

“We must tell Melchior, too.”

“Yes,” Balthazar said. “Then we shall follow this star together.” He hastened toward the stables.

“And don’t forget to bring a gift!” Caspar called after him.

—
“Will we ever see it again?”

The shepherd boy stood at the top of the hill with his uncle, watching the last of the star’s light wash over Bethlehem.

His uncle leaned on his shepherds’ crook. “No. Not us. But maybe others will. Forever and ever.”

Before they parted ways, the wise man Melchior asked the same thing of his companions.

“Will we see it again?”

“We won’t,” said Balthazar. “But it will always be there. For people who need it, and for those who know where to look…”

—
It was a story David had told his children year after year, the kind of story that nobody is too old to believe in, part-bedtime tale and part-valuable history. He remembered it just before he dozed off behind the wheel, waiting for the snow to stop falling, waiting for a trucker (or someone, anyone) to come by and give him a ride, waiting for the whole thing to suddenly prove itself to be a dream. Then he would put the key back in ignition, hear the engine rumble again, and hit the gas and be home in a few minutes.

David woke up, suddenly, joltingly. He wasn’t sure why, but in the back of his head, there was a ringing like a chorus of voices in a heavenly tune that he would not remember again. He looked out the window.

The snow had stopped falling. And the sky was clear; dark as a plum, but bright with a few distant stars.

One of them shone brighter than all the others.

David remembered the story—how a star had shone brightly above shepherds and wise men alike, both at different times, yet leading to the same place. How those who had seen it had not waited for someone to take them there or for a better time to leave; or even, thought of what they would leave behind.

He looked at the snowy ground. It was bright enough to see his way home. He tilted his head up at the star, shining right above the place where he knew the house to be…

David opened the door and got out of the car. He opened the trunk and found a brown sack inside. He opened the passenger door and piled all of the presents inside.

Then he put on his bright red hat and slung the sack over his back.

Below him gleamed the freshly-fallen snow, and above him glittered the stars. David started walking. Walking, all the way home.

David was named after the Biblical king, because I read somewhere that Jesus was like his descendant or something? I forget. Anyway, he also emulates a popular holiday figure at the end of this story 🙂

Week 1: A Ruby in the Desert

A tale for the first week of Advent, said to represent stones.

One thousand years ago, or maybe more, there was a powerful king who ruled over a large and wealthy land.

They had built it around an oasis in the desert, and despite their barren surroundings flourished and prospered.

And wise men and rulers from all over would stop by to trade and see the sights of this glorious city, a ruby in the desert, perhaps even catch a glimpse of the mighty monarch.

And rarer still was a glimpse of his queen, the most beautiful woman of her time, for she was like a lovely flower he zealously guarded away from other eyes, another possession that belonged to only him.

But though the people lived well, they lived in fear. For the king had a quick temper, an iron fist, and a very great pride.

He was selfish and greedy, and walked with his head held high, knowing that none would dare to challenge his rule.

And as he walked through the marketplace, accompanied by royal guards and attendants of all kinds, the crowds parted before him like waves under the hull of a ship.

In the marketplace the king passed by a mining cart, laden with all sorts of precious gems and jewels that had been found deep in the caverns of mountains miles away. And on top of a heap of stones, one gem caught his eye. It was a ruby, almost flawless; big as a man’s fist.

Its gleam was reflected in his eyes as he plucked the ruby from the top of the pile and held it up to the light, and claimed it as his own.

No one objected.

The king brought it home and instantly locked the jewel away in his treasury. Then he left to plan his next great project.

His architects and artisans proposed a grant monument for him; a vast statue, a likeness of himself in sandstone, laden with precious gems. It would be the greatest creation in history, they promised, and it would rise behind the palace and last for ages to come, and the king’s children and his children’s children would stand in its shadow and marvel at the sight, and kings and queens of other lands would tremble to look at its glory.

The king loved the sound of it. And so the building took place.

Many months went by before the statue was finished. Under the mighty stone limbs, men slaved away in the heat of the sun to bring the figure to life.

At long last, it was finished. Diamonds adorned the statues’ neck, and precious garnets on its fingers. And the king’s prize, the red ruby, shone from high on the statue’s crown. Its face, exactly like the king’s, gazed down with pride and power and ferocity, a cold sneer, upon his subjects.

And that king looked up into the stone face that was his own and smiled, and thought that now, he was immortal.

And he went home, and the sun set and the moon rose over the statue for years.

But things change.

War came to the city, one invader after the other, all seeking to take their riches, seeking vengeance for the lands they had conquered, and the king sent his armies to fight them off, blood spilling on the desert sand. But little by little, his grand city went into ruin. The people began to despair. And soon they began to starve.

The king’s wife grew tired of him and his cruel ways, and gave her heart to one of their enemies, the monarch of a city not very far away. He would not lock her away from people or keep her from going where she liked.

Eventually she ran away to him, and in his anger her husband declared war on her lover, and their last great battle caused both cities to fall into destruction.

Finally, their enemies brought the great statue toppling to the ground. The ruby fell off and sank deep into the desert sand.

In the end the once proud king died, ill and alone, on the banks of the single river that flowed through the desert. His people left the ruined kingdom and scattered, seeking refuge in other lands.

In the years since then, time wore away any other trace of the city. The oasis dried up, and desert storms wrecked the buildings. The statue was lost beneath the sands for ages.

Travelers, on camels, passed through the barrenness that was once the great kingdom. Fighter planes buzzed overhead at great speed, terrifying marvels that the city never lived to see.

For thousands of years it remained forgotten until a convoy of three little jeeps puttered into the desert.

A team of archeologists jumped out, and began to excavate the place where the city used to be, seeking information and forgotten riches.

They found old artifacts, jewelry, tools. They managed to uncover the face of the fallen statue. And one man dug up the ruby.

It was chipped and scratched now, and had a dull sheen to it. Try as he might to polish it, it couldn’t shine the way it did back in ancient times, but there was no way for the archeologist to know that. The ruby would never return to its previous, glorious state, but he thought it was good enough.

He passed by the statue’s excavated face, taking the ruby away from under the king’s very eyes. And the king, only a memory, only the slightest hint of a shadow of likeness on the stone surface, was not there to stop him.

And he wrapped it up and brought it home, far away to a museum in a city with more great buildings and people and majestic sights, from young lovers on benches to musicians playing guitar under streetlamps, than the king could ever imagine.

The smaller pieces of the once great empire found their way into galleries and collections all over the globe, but the king’s mighty statue remained where it was, and continued to crumble into dust.

And for ages to come, it lies beneath the sands, an unseen reminder of a forgotten story.

Inspired by ‘Ozymandias’ by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

Unsolved Mystery

I don’t want this to be an
Unresolved story that
Goes down in history as
An unsolved mystery
That my kids will read about in books
That they’ll ask me the questions about
That I’ll tell them what I know but feel
Helpless because I don’t know the whole truth
That people will always puzzle about
And put up on that shelf with
Roanoke and Amelia Earhart
No, what I can’t get out of my head is
The empty place at someone’s table
The unclaimed hotel reservation
The wide eyes of a child who waits eagerly
Only to be told her dad won’t be coming home that day
And he disappeared along with a bunch of strangers
But they’re looking for him
So far, no luck yet
There has got to be more to the story
An explanation
Logic
Reason
At the very least

Just in case
A happy ending
Is too much to ask for

Foreign

(Part 8 of the Europe Collection. A monologue to the streets of Caen, Normandy, from that time I got hopelessly lost and frustrated.)

Once upon a time

A young girl got lost in your streets.

You knew she didn’t belong there.

‘Que faites-vous ici, fille?’

(or so a street could say, if it could talk.)

But a street cannot talk

If it could, maybe it would tell the girl which way to go.

(Or not.)

Anyway

What do you care?

Tons of people may get lost in your streets every day.

And it makes little difference

To a city that’s seen the rise

(and the fall)

of a great duke

Revolutions, uprisings

War and devastation

Been there, done that.

You hold churches, shops, schools and gardens

The single bone of a mighty ruler

And a huge sprawling castle

The passage of time seems like an endless parade

Which you watch, dormant, silent

So what difference

Does one lost, foreign girl make?

Time

(Part 2 of the Europe collection. The theme of the student conference was ‘Time+Money=Value?’ Here’s my scattered thoughts on this.)

Time is

Money

(or so they say)

Time is

Precious

(my precioussssssssss)

Time is

Short?

Hence, the reason why

We stay up till after midnight to keep on dancing because

We only have a few days of this conference thing left.

Time is

Valued by everyone

And if two foxes look at each other from the opposite ends of a tube at different times

Then the money you put in the bank is equal to the seeds you plant

With the help of your alliances

(or something like that)

In any case

Time is something everyone’s got

Even if we don’t think we’ve got it

Or if we think we have very little of it

Time is relative

Time is fluid

Time is

(and I’m quoting someone I’m sure of it)

Wibbly-wobbly

Time is–

Now.

At one point or another, every minute is or was Now.

Yesterday used to be Now,

but today is Now.

And a hundred years ago was Now,

and someday

that point in which I finally become famous

or become a parent

will be Now.

But right now? It’s Now.

Even if it will someday be ‘A hundred years ago.’

Whenever it is,

it’s the most important time.

Because after all

Rome wasn’t built in a day

But it was finished at a point in time that could be considered as Now.

And seriously?

Time is just–

Snap, it goes by. And

You’re left holding a memory.

Think about long shots, think about split-second decisions

And you’ll realize

That no matter the difference of minutes in between them

They might end up of the same importance.

Time is unexplainable

Time is incredible

Time is

well

infinite