Christmas, for me, is a celebration of Lights. The lights on the houses in the West Adams Boulevard neighborhood that I love hearing Rita describe in enthusiastic exclamations as we walk the streets near Prana. The lights on the tree in the foyer that are the backdrop for hanging ornaments, drinking hot cider, and sharing songs with Prana residents. The Lights of the spiritual beings who I glimpse through my inner vision celebrating the birth of Christ. The Lights of the Prana residents who share brunch after exchanging gifts and laughs on Christmas morning.

But even without any of these Lights, there’s such a sacredness that comes present for me during the Christmas season. A kind of reverence, even awe, that pours through me in the quiet moments of doing absolutely nothing. And I’ll find myself awash with quiet joy and then start wondering how in the world I can share this experience with others. And sometimes I’ll be moved to write little love e-mails to friends, or make up silly songs, or give people hugs when I wouldn’t normally. And sometimes I’ll be too moved to do anything but continue silently reveling in the sacredness. And that will be more than enough.

I’m not sure why the Christmas season is so sacred for me. Maybe I’m tuning in to the energy that so many create through giving gifts and celebrating togetherness. Maybe it’s the focus on the wonder of a baby, so innocent and so vulnerable, who holds the key to the salvation of his age. Maybe it’s the imprint left from J-R receiving his spiritual mantle in December of 1963 that can still be felt by initiates of our line. Or maybe it’s all of these things, and much more I’m not even aware of.

Whatever the reason, I’m grateful for the Christmas season and all of the delight it brings. Another chance to watch Charlie Brown buy a crappy tree and discover the true meaning of Christmas. Another moment to laugh as the Grinch’s heart grows three sizes and he returns all the presents he stole. Another time to sit through any number of movies or songs that might otherwise be cheesy but thanks to the innocence of Christmas are wonderful.

Sure, there’s still commercialism and packed stores and heavy traffic and after-Christmas blues, I don’t deny any of that. There’s still running late to the party and “why wasn’t I invited?” and “what am I going to wear for New Year’s Eve?” and family karma. But inside of me, it’s still just as sacred as ever. That amazing joy is there just waiting to be rediscovered during any quiet moment. Just waiting to be sung in a Christmas Carrol or shared in a thank you card or remembered in the Lights.

Probably the biggest key I’ve discovered for myself in maintaining Christmas joy is staying with what’s authentic for me. I’m best when I’m giving gifts not because I’m expected to but because I truly want to. Or going to a party not just to give me something to do but to talk with someone there I care about. Or writing an article for the NDH not from any sense of obligation but because I truly love sharing my Christmas cheer with you.

So I pray that this Christmas be the best one yet as you celebrate in the ways most authentic to you. And that if you find yourself stuck fulfilling an obligation that you laugh and let your heart grow three sizes into it. And that when January 25th rolls around and the Carrols and gift-giving have stopped that you are still aglow with the Lights that are bright all year round. That you keep singing the music of the spheres right into next December, right into the next life where ever-greater gifts lie in store.