Santa, Dear Friends

Santa, dear friends,
does not wear a red suit
fringed with white fur,
and black boots
and a broad black belt.

Not every night of the year.

Don't cry.

You're old enough to understand now.

He doesn't live at the North Pole —
although your heart's compass
points to him.
He lands on your rooftop
with seven tiny mind-spirits
and climbs down
the chimney of your dreams
and leaves his gifts
in your desire
to make children happy.
Not just with
an exchange of loot,
but with the joyous anticipation of
that oneness of sharing
which we all can represent
to each other.

The proof of Santa's quickness
is that no one ever catches him.

The proof of Santa's wisdom
is that all who find him
are better
for having known him.

His gifts are perfect.

I don't have to get
run over by his sleigh
to know the old elf is real.

He is real
in the hearts
of those who truly love him,
and through
his loving spirit's guiding,
our minds are his,
our hands his tinkers,
and so
does he visit
throughout the world
overnight.

Santa is real in spirit,
and his spirit
is spreading
because his real love,
his generous spirit —
beyond all
commerciality
and greed
and hype
. . .
is positively infectious.

*
Merry
Happy
Safe
Warm
Joyous
All Year Long