You and so many others seem to be casting nets for something larger than you may think, and I so blame the American version of the secular Christmas where what is a festival thr oughout most of Europe from the south of Spain all the way in to the nordic climates, Christmas as days of celebration, ancestral ownership of their past, the medevil drums of the long ago when most were tribes still beat out the sounds of miracles, and would we as pilgrims of this world not seek out the majestic, the mirable', the Sanctus et Spiritu,' -- with music, majesty, gatherings over days and weeks before the quiet of Lent and the fall after Carnivale are almost welcome relief -- For celebration begins before the Christ Mass or just the great dinner of the non-believer, and it continues with the crackle of fires,the specialness of awaiting for the arrival of The Kings, and I mean this -- While we poor souls just have not managed the blessings of so many days that are crucial to welcome winter's blast and to soothe ourselves from all mortal and spiritual hunger, for we put on the coat and the cloak of Christmas, when only January's storms meld us in to the crystals which will be another year.

We are lost, for we left ourselves and our traditions that we cannot document completely, but as far as the history books tell us, around the 15th century, so for all whites, olive, Asian, African and other skin; We have not found our celebrations, and very few can attest that twelve days of Christmas -- at least burn within their homes.  With Hannukah, the Jewish tribe of a Christ has been elevated to give a glimpse of what the tribes of Mary and Joseph may have come to the temple gate to satisby, and Quanza seriously began in the 1960s, a most gracious call for the darkest Americans to be their tribes from where they were stolen.

Casting, casting and filling our nets with something so ancient and pure was taken from us as we took another's world.  We must have looked like a bunch of zombies dressed in garments that The Native American would have scourned, for animals and skins; perhaps threads of cotton or flax was the only attire necessary to cover the body from child to warrior.  Know this, we wound up taking countless nations in about 400 years -- But we left behind, "Us."  Part of the punishment for the untold theft is the longing to capture in those nets what the cousins from other seas have no doubt that we are constantly anguishing for our own birth rights.  I say it with religious zeal; "This still is not our home, and in the Shakespearian truth.  "We are but actors on the stage," and we keep trying to find the roots we left so long ago. The drums are palpable as our unfilled hearts seek from birth to death the, "Meaning of Tradition," which we, too, owned before the greedy saw even national economy could be changed by the harping sellers of trinkets, the not so wise person's hawking of gifts.

Come my tired brother, my lonely sister, my neighbor who looks to the New Year to cure the ancient beast of longing and ask the world we left behind to share more of whom we are and from where we came.  Be certain that the cross marked most every first trips, and it was assumed that the cup and bread would win the native's fear. We are pathetic in our lonliness and questions of well being. Take heart and look for the marks and signs of your past and celebrate with every ounce of plenty which you were born to.

The book; Of course, I wish that you would read my book, for,  "Pinkhoneysuckle," is the rage, the rape, the history and love of unseen angels; So truely, I would like for you to read my book, "Pinkhoneysuckle," and when it beccomes too touch; Just have a toast  with our favorite Texan's Miss Amarillo, 1969. Rest with, "Song of The Heart," and learn from Las Vegas Mike, then a little Golightly to bring you back to earth where, "The Evangelist preaches," Then, "Lonely Wanderer, and Finity, and so many that I cannot name but who write across the Xanga bow heading toward the Western world where we lost may find it so hard to be found.

All blessings my friend,

Barbara Everett Heintz, "Pinkhoneysuckle," on Amazon, paper or hard cover -- Kindle Ready or KDP -- The, "Pinkhoneysuckle," of yesterday to share one of the old stories which needs a happy ending.

Bless you in the New Year.

Lovinglly, Barb Hz; Thank you for reminding me of our need to search.....