Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight;
Make me a child again, just for tonight.
~ Elizabeth Allen, Rock Me to Sleep
Every day during the Advent Season, my mother would hang a Christmas ornament or set out a different decoration. When we came home after school, my brothers and I excitedly searched the house, trying to be the first to find some new Santa, elf, or angel.
Our stockings were hung on December 5th, St. Nicholas Eve, with letters for Santa earnestly describing our wishes, and we always received one little gift from St. Nick in return, along with a letter written in his elegant script. (Our imaginations were fully capable of conflating and separating St. Nicholas and Santa Claus as necessary; one is the other, after all, and “both” had a role in the seasonal flow that came to be our highly anticipated magical routine.) We were extra careful to behave during the weeks leading to Christmas as well, certain that elves were recording our every move. Once or twice, we woke up to find a lump of coal or a willow switch in our stocking, as symbolic warnings that we’d failed to be kind to each other, or we’d find an orange or chocolate to reward us for extra-generous choices.
We always had an Advent wreathe and crèche set out; the infant Jesus couldn’t appear till Christmas Eve after Midnight Mass, and then the Wise Men had to start parading from some distance, another room perhaps, until they arrived at the manger on the Epiphany which, in those days, was always January 6th. As they got older, my brothers liked to rearrange the animals and vary the positions of the wise men, usually in extremely unenlightened ways, to my mother’s annoyance (and perhaps secret delight, for this, too, became family tradition).
The energy of these memories, rituals of wonder, and charming customs circles around my heart as I set out my own decorations and tree, reconfiguring traditions into shapes that fit our beliefs and lives now, but also offering blessing and gratitude for the wonder, the love, and the gift of enchantment our parents gave us, especially during this beautiful season of darkness and renewal. Today, I placed one of Mama’s old Santas on a copper rooster weather vane I gave to my parents many, many years ago. The juxtaposition made me yearn so deeply for their presence that I cried.
I’m one of those fortunate people who can say I had a wonderful childhood, in large part due to my parents’ sense of fun and willingness to be the architects of a home that was safe, loving, and committed to our opportunities to actually have childhoods within set and known boundaries. Television wasn’t prominent enough to rob us of our imaginations and books were plentiful. When we were very young we were read to once or twice a day and when we started school, we’d come home at lunch and often hear another chapter or fairy tale. I never doubted the “truth” of these tales and have since discovered that, of course, they are true, and in our lives, we play and encounter most of the characters, at one time or another.
I’ve been reflecting on the “enchantment” of my childhood this week, as I’ve been re-reading Thomas Moore’s The Re-Enchantment of Everyday Life, along with Bruno Bettelheim’s The Uses of Enchantment.
While Bettelheim focuses on fairy tales’ deeply important contributions to a child’s psychological health and development, Moore reminds us that every aspect of our daily lives deserves to be grounded in the enchantment granted by a spirit-infused perspective.
Too many of our homes, workplaces, churches, schools, political institutions and lives are completely bereft of reverence for the spirit and thus, they render days of drudgery and unimaginative perspectives. When we live unenchanted with life, the world offers only stale inhalations of fetid air and exhalations of futility. The spirit shrivels.
At my core, I believe life is enchanting, and I know this is because of my parents and the childhood I was gifted. As an adult, I’ve done my share of stumbling; like everyone, I’ve suffered and caused the suffering of others due to choices that strayed from my inherent soul-truths. At times, I’ve followed paths that silenced my spirit and guided me solely by desire and ego gratification. As I reflect on these choices and times, I can see they corresponded to periods when I lost touch with the enchantment every moment offers. If that sense of enchantment is present and alive, we carry life with greater reverence and acknowledge its value as precious and unique.
My mother made every holiday special and every day holy; I miss her light always but more dearly during this sweet time of year. I miss my childhood family— our stories, our ability to nestle within reliable routines and exciting fantasies, and the annual re-enactments of our rituals. I miss my childhood, but what a lovely reminder this offers to infuse life—right now— with an enchanted perspective, so I don’t “miss” my adulthood as well.
I can’t “be a child again,” but I can nourish my spirit by seeking, with child-like openness to enchantment and wonder, the light that is always present in darkness, and by holding in my heart the certainty that Love is always advancing towards us, with arms wide open, inviting us into its enchanting embrace.
May this be a season of love, peace, insight, and enchantment for you and those you love.
And don’t forget to hang your stockings!
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10 thoughts on “Living an Enchanted Life”
Indeed Dear Catherine!
‘and by holding in my heart the certainty that Love is always advancing towards us, with arms wide open, inviting us into its enchanting embrace.
This pretty much says it all!
Radiant Blessings to You and Yours this Holy Season!
Thank you; and to you, as well, Akasa!
Thank you for sharing one of the most beautiful and thought provoking essays in English. People read writing, of course. This work, however, reads the reader, and invites the reader to reread the last three paragraphs. It’s difficult to decide if the author’s memories of the meaning of this season are the context of the reader’s experience or vice versa. Beautiful!
Love you and miss you, Matt; thank you, as always, for your heightened perceptions, infusion of light, and kind encouragement.
Akasa pointed me this way….I love the John Muir quote.
Wishing you a restful Today.
Welcome, Sarah, and thank you! It’s a wonderful quote, I agree, and here is another of his that resonates with my heart: “I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in.” Gentle peace to your day, too!
Good morning Catherine…..found you through Alaska Wolf Song….what a special post this is….being a child again at Christmas time. I couldn’t agree more….I didn’t have much happiness in my childhood but I have bee able to have a wonderful “childhood” again with my beautiful grandson…..in fact I made my FIRST EVER gingerbread house with him over the weekend. We both we kids…laughing and decorating…..oh my what memories we are building.
Thank you, and welcome, Jo. You’ve probably heard the saying, “It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.” It sounds like you are giving this gift to yourself/your life: Hooray for you! Blessings and joy to you and your grandson.
Greetings Catherine….Wonderful post. Although my childhood was rather grim, I managed to provide my son with a loving one and we are extremely close. I recreated a childhood through him. Now grown we still share so much with each other. I am very blessed indeed. I signed up for your posting a while back but nothing came. I just signed up again and I hope it works this time. I very much enjoy my time I spend here. BTW, the soup was excellent and I chowed down on that for several days. Hit the spot perfectly….I wish you all a wonderful holiday season……Blessings… VK
Thank you, VK, and please let me know if you fail to receive notice regarding a post; I may well have some setting wrong…Peace to your day! (And glad the soup made you happy!)