I Am Not Hamlet

 Note: This is going out a wee bit later than planned, but that's mostly due to an unplanned overnight stay in Milwaukee. Note 2: All images from this post were carelessly cut and pasted from the internet without proper citation. What is the best gift you've received?  Here on the Ninth Day of Christmas, we can reflect on, obviously, the number nine. It is an amplification of the sacred number of three--in some circumstances the thrice cry of believers of "Kyrie Eleison" is heard three times.  There are supposedly nine angelic choirs scattered about the supposed nine cosmic spheres. We do know, as St. Paul attests, nine fruit(s?) of the Holy Spirit are available for those who seek.  This fruit might be why there are nine ladies dancing. They dance the dance of love            They dance the dance of joy They dance the dance of peace They frolic for longsuffering They waltz with kindness They caper ...

Why is it that when I go shopping for Christmas presents I very quickly find myself on stimulus overload? That overload then creates in me the attitude that I don't want anything for Christmas. The overload builds so much sometimes that the very thought of receiving gifts from anyone is downright blue-black depressing. My to-read book pile is quite high, my iPod has 4800+ songs on it (and climbing), I don't want any new DVDs. What do I want? Land. That parcel we've had our eye on for about six months now. That's it. But who's going to get me that? And if someone actually purchased it for me, what the heck would I do with it? That's the kind of gift that would just gaw at you over time. So, you want to give me something this Christmas? I'll take your prayers, your time, and your long, deep conversation about things that really matter. F*@k small talk, man; bare your soul. Peaceful Advent, everybody.