Sometimes magick happens. And last night it did. Santa came to my home, ate my cookies, drank my milk, took the letters, and left a letter... and some gifts. The letter explained to the girls how he had been very busy giving gifts to children who don't get presents from their parents and it thanked them for believing in him nevertheless. He said as long as they believe, he will be real. And I know, in the logical part of my mind (which is a very small percent by the way) that it was me who wrote the letters, ate the cookies, burnt the notes, drank the milk, and left the gifts. But I just... well, on the other 99 % of the my brain I just don't believe it. It wasn't me. I don't have enough coins to spend on toys- I can barely afford my water bill. I'm not Santa. Santa is Santa, and his spirit did all of those things. Santa is a magnificant idea that so few people choose to think about. Perhaps he wears a red suit and has a white beard. But it's his heart, his charity, his ability to make dreams come true and tears fade away for a day, that really matters. Santa may be a person, but he's also the entire reason- the thought- the feeling- the inspiration one recieves when doing something kind simply to do something kind. No thank-you needed. No awknowledgement wanted. No name, no face, no identification to the good deed. Santa is that overwhelming sensation that merely doing something wonderful is reward enough. I'm not a Christmas person, but I have a Christmas spirit. I enjoy the holiday because it creates that bit of... care... that so many people seem to lack all other times of the year. And that care is what left the gifts. Santa left those gifts. I hope they understand that someday. I hope they remember it. And I hope they realize what exactly it means to do something good and who exactly Santa Claus is.
