My friend Camerado is so comprehensively and astoundingly good at giving gifts that it actually freaks me out a little. The depths of his joy in the giving, the resonance and raw poetry of each gift, how he matches it to the tender of their soul’s perfect laughing. I’m serious. It’s a little unsettling. In the way a scenic vista can unhinge you, when you come face to face with some absolute and unrelenting beauty, and you feel your little ol’ heart bursting open, biggering, heaving over into the original lightning.
He gives gifts that way. That’s why he’s named Camerado.
But I don’t.
I realized this the other day when I tried to go Christmas shopping and felt like a muggle ramming my head against Platform 9 and 3/4. Ouch. I found no real threads to work with: sewing kit empty. You know the threads I’m talking about, when you can feel a buzz on something, and have at least a smidgen of inspiration to go on, like when you’re a Basset Hound with at least one whiff on the wind. Some kind of real inspiration to lean into, some inkling of a truer direction.
Yeah, I had none of that. For even those people I love ferociously and know very very well. No wind whiffs.
So I started to talk. With gifts. With giving. With receiving. With playing with it all. Come on into the conversation:
It’s a vibe thang, yo
I used to be really great at receiving. I remember sitting outside the door to the living room on Christmas morning, quaking with pure anticipation to receive all that was coming my way. No tangle, just, fuck yeah, I deserve scooters and bikes and whatever else Santa has up his sleeve. If there was a whale under that tree, I’d deserve the whale. There was no sense of needing to repay, or keep a balance sheet. I just opened the hinges and in poured all sorts of neato things and I delighted in the receipt of and joy they gave me.
When I became a moneyed adult all that stopped. Each gift came with a mental loop, What does this mean? What do I now owe? Are the scales still in balance? You know what scales I’m talking about. I put whales on the scales and it sent joy flying off into the I Can’t Find It Lands.
I’d picked up on a familiar paradigm of: I give to you, now you give to me, even tho it doesn’t make a lick of sense because what enters our life comes in response to the vibration we’re emitting. Not because of some obligatory contract with other humans.
So, as an initial step of deepening in my own conversation with gifts, I decided to clean up my own ability to have fun let things flow into my life in fun ways, to be way way way okay with getting gifts. In other words, I decided to believe in Santa again.
Law of Attraction can get a little diffuse and sexy, so why not energize the notion a bit to have more fun with it? We live in a universe where that which is like unto itself is drawn. So, we’re gonna get what we emit, vibrationally. But how much more fun is it to imagine Santa bringing it to you? And elves? I vote yes on a jolly, benevolent and all powerful force of good in the universe that just wants to give me super cool shit.
It’s a short cut, I think, through a lot of confused thinking, to just go join those clear hearted children, huddled outside the living room, with dawn rising. See them there? Laughing and joking with each other, wrapped in robes and softee blankies, so happy to be alive, and occasionally wrestling the impatient one to the ground who wants to wake the parents because they’re so dashingly and purely excited about all the beautiful things surely coming their way.
Few gifts fit in boxes, really great ones evince the notion of a box
The other night a strange call came into my number. Stranger still, I answered it. On the other end was a woman I’d known briefly but deeply and whom I’d tried to help but had felt like I’d failed miserably and hadn’t heard from since. She’d called to tell me that I’d saved her life and her child’s life.
That all that “failing” help was actually seeds that had caught on the frozen tundra of her and had seeped down into the earth of her as she began to thaw. The seeds pushed good strong roots of joy and playful habits into her life and she was calling me from her beautiful new garden. I listened to hear describing the flowers of her now. And got chillbumps. She couldn’t stop thanking me. The gift I gave would never know a box. The gift of her inviting me into her precious garden nourished my heart like a thousand fairy honeys.
Most gifts worth their salt are boxless.
Gifts go in the direction of the question beneath them
Camerado had some really pretty questions purring at the heart of his gift giving. He knows that gift giving is part of a larger conversation of love. It’s another way to feel the cool sands of love in your hands, or to make sand castles together. Gifts offer a way to savor, honor, delight in and celebrate others. You can also enjoy the fun of contributing to another’s thriving.
Questions Camerado doesn’t ask (questions that make you small):
- how can i get this over with?
- what is good enough that I pass under the wire unnoticed?
Questions in Camerado’s heart (questions that grow big roots):
- what is Light in this person and how can I support or grow that Light?
- What would make their inner smile jump out their face adn rainbow out into the world?
- What boxless gifts are in me that want to come home in the arms of this precious bean?
What are the questions inside your gifts, darlings?
“o maybe this is silly,
To give you on this night;
But giving away a part of me,
Just makes me feel so right.
So this year I will give to you,
The words that fill my soul;
I hope that they will bless you,
And may your life be whole.” Gary R. Ferris
Beautiful sprout, tender darling…
I wish you every sweetness this Christmas.
I hope you find yourself so present that every wind nourishes and each laugh shivers you anew. May every morsel in your mouth echo to pleasures in the distant past and exquisite pleasures to come. May you find yourself in love with your own existence in a brand new way.
May joy reign supreme.
All my love,