No One Ever Sees Him
By Andy Morris
He comes every year, but we never see him. Wrapped in the silence of the night he peers into our sleeping minds to see all the good and bad things we’ve done throughout the year. Our gentle visitor will never judge or condemn, and he will leave us something special to unwrap. Many people don’t find their gift, for they cannot be seen with the naked eye. These people continue to live their lives while their resolutions stay unfulfilled for another year. However, those who discover his offering will find what they need the most. They acquire a new outlook on life and a new attitude which will help make the world a better place for everyone. The greedy businessman, for example, may find the gift of empathy. The recently bereaved could receive the gift of courage. And for the bullied teen contemplating suicide, he may bestow the gift of hope. Their light will shine brightly and they will know, for a moment at least, that they are not alone and forgotten.
He’ll never forget us. He wants to help because he still believes in us. He still hopes that one day we’ll reach our potential, and when we do the light of the world will shine so brightly it will be noticed by the others like him. Then, when they see our goodness and compassion, they’ll return and guide humanity back to its glorious place in the heavens. This is his wish as he sits alone by his blazing hearth looking out at the world. This is the reason he continues his labours, and this is the reason he is living in exile.
Even down here he couldn’t escape the jeers and cruel laughter of his own kind. The taunts of his former kin still ring loudly in his ears. They mocked him for his sentimentality and they teased him for being an outcast. First, they dyed his cloak bright red – the colour of shame and embarrassment. Then they banished him to the frozen wastes of this world, but that wasn’t enough for them. They gave him horns like a beast, to symbolise the depraved, base instincts of the mortals he wasted his efforts upon. As time passed, the ridicule from his siblings echoed down to the ears of the world. The people he cared for began to shun him. They treated him with disdain and ultimately feared him. Yet, he continues his work.
As the years pass by he’s faded in our minds. His existence is only partially acknowledged now; in misplaced tradition and obscure folklore. Our perception is confused, and with every year he becomes more fragmented. His true nature, even his real name, lies adrift in a sea of lost memories. For a few weeks a year, we welcome him as Nicholas or Santa or Father Christmas, but for the rest of the year, we know him as Devil!
He’ll never forget us. He wants to help because he still believes in us. He still hopes that one day we’ll reach our potential, and when we do the light of the world will shine so brightly it will be noticed by the others like him. Then, when they see our goodness and compassion, they’ll return and guide humanity back to its glorious place in the heavens. This is his wish as he sits alone by his blazing hearth looking out at the world. This is the reason he continues his labours, and this is the reason he is living in exile.
Even down here he couldn’t escape the jeers and cruel laughter of his own kind. The taunts of his former kin still ring loudly in his ears. They mocked him for his sentimentality and they teased him for being an outcast. First, they dyed his cloak bright red – the colour of shame and embarrassment. Then they banished him to the frozen wastes of this world, but that wasn’t enough for them. They gave him horns like a beast, to symbolise the depraved, base instincts of the mortals he wasted his efforts upon. As time passed, the ridicule from his siblings echoed down to the ears of the world. The people he cared for began to shun him. They treated him with disdain and ultimately feared him. Yet, he continues his work.
As the years pass by he’s faded in our minds. His existence is only partially acknowledged now; in misplaced tradition and obscure folklore. Our perception is confused, and with every year he becomes more fragmented. His true nature, even his real name, lies adrift in a sea of lost memories. For a few weeks a year, we welcome him as Nicholas or Santa or Father Christmas, but for the rest of the year, we know him as Devil!