Streams of Being #4
December 2025
Streams of Christmas
“Turkey roasting and an open fire”, except that eating turkey feels like I'm eating a very thick rubber band and the fireplace is broken. It used to leak smoke everywhere, much worse than my uncle’s cigarettes. So, we switched the turkey for codfish, which I am also not very fond of. I am the only one who isn't very fond of it.
Watching the shows on TV, making time to open the presents at midnight. I didn't understand why I just couldn't open them earlier, but I guess waiting to open gifts that I already knew what they were wasn't so bad either. It just became worse when Santa stopped coming. And the rest of the outside family, too.
Decade by decade, year by year, fewer and fewer people sent “Merry Christmas” messages. Fewer relatives sent gifts, and less was the enthusiasm I had for the holidays. There was practically no longer any routine, any excitement, any bonding. Christmas is all about family, but if you look at the table, it wouldn’t take long to realise that if we weren’t connected by blood, we would all have been strangers.
The conversations are meaningless and mismatched, and the only thing tying us together is the dog trying to get on top of the table. After that, each one of us hides in their little corner until midnight, and returns to it after opening their present. At this point, I’ve stopped caring about Christmas. If it’s a time about gifts and a time about family, and we have practically none of each, then what is it for?
Under the Tree
Look U N D E R T H E T R E E Where is your gift for me? B U T W H A T T R E E ? What tree do you see? T H E R E I S N O T R E E There are no lights No decorations No snow No salutations No choirs No songs No space No bond N O T R E E
One, two, three, six, five, four,
One, two, three, One, two, three, Open a present for me One, two, three, One, two, three, What do you think of it? Six, five, four, Six, five, four, Don't take it away no more Six, five, four, Six, five, four, What do you do this for?
Choir in Dreams
For in your memory These songs will always sing Through the choir of your dreams Decorate the trees in your heart With colours of love and gifts of goodness Let your body echo the happiness you feel When the snow falls at your feet
Chimney
Smoke coming from the chimney Burning wood Burning tobacco Burning food All around me everything is burning Burning twigs Burning candles Burning us Don’t let Santa come down from the chimney Or he will burn, too
Where I live
One foot outside the door Freezing in the winter snow Except there is no snow Where I live Downtown, the Christmas songs ring in my ears The lights colour my eyes Except there is no jolly Where I live I decorate the tree I leave the cookies and milk Except there is no more Santa Where I live I set the table I bake the sweets Except there is no sweetness Where I live There is no Christmas spirit And there is no love Between the people Where I live
Red, Green, White, Gold
Red Green White Gold Wreaths Red Green White Gold Spheres Red Green White Gold Tears
By The Fireplace
This is an old fireplace. It’s been here ever since the last owners built this house. I am not sure how many years ago, but I do know that it was quite a long time, given how debilitated this place has become. Mould has started leaking through the walls, the cold penetrates deeper, and the scariest insects have found their new safehouse. This is all because the fireplace doesn’t actually work anymore.
It used to leak smoke everywhere, stain the walls a deep grey, and take forever for the worst of the smell to go away. I think all these years afterwards, I’m still coughing. And yet, it is nice to sit by its side. To look at the symbol of so many sweet memories, the last remnant of the warmth that used to exist here.
I feel like Hestia. Had she lost her powers and become unemployed, tending to the hearth that once was, in the hopes it would change the ways of her crazy family. In the hopes it would bring her happiness again. Instead, I am sitting here, hugging my knees, crying my eyes out. Doing the exact opposite of what keeps a fire alive: dousing it with water. Salty, bitter, angry, nostalgic water. I wonder if I keep this up, could I turn the fireplace (and the chimney along with it) into a water slide for Santa? Maybe then he’d come back. Haven’t seen the bastard in 6 years.
I’m cold, I’m sad, but most of all, I’m lonely. I am so fucking lonely. My only friend is this useless fireplace — soon to be waterslide. I wonder how many more years I am going to force myself to endure this. There is nothing left for me here. No more joy, no more warmth, no more love, no more family. And yet, I can’t seem to leave my place next to this fireplace. I can’t seem to get up, take my things, disappear, and let it all go. But what if I don’t actually want to let it go? What if I wish that one day it will all go back to normal, getting magically fixed along with this fireplace? What if every day I pray that the fire rekindles and the warmth comes back, along with the love and bond that I once thought used to hold us together, because not even the heat of the summer is enough for that? So what, if I just want what I never truly had?
The Tree
The very first thing I remember from that day was a strange group of people gawking at me. Like I was some sort of zoo animal or a brand new item at a blinding discount store. How should a tree know such things exist? We tend to talk with each other. But what I remember next, and quite vividly, I should add, was the searing pain from their chainsaw, tearing my trunk from my roots, sap oozing everywhere, and loading me on top of a dirty, dusty and smelly truck. Then, laughing and singing stupid songs of jolly and some baby named Jesus (who, for some reason, has the same name as the guy from the Bible), they took me too far away from my home, leaving a big part of me behind, both literally and figuratively.
I was too hypnotised by the pain to notice anything on the ride to our destination. Where they had severed my trunk, it felt like a million little blades were slicing me all over again. I was disoriented, helpless, lost. I even began to question the meaning of life. Were we born just to suffer like this? Was this all it led to, like some sort of price to pay for all the previous joy? I’m thankful I’ve never had any little saplings. What if they had met the same cruel fate as me? Even though I already knew this would happen, from what my sisters had told me, and I also knew there was nothing I could do about it, I was never fully able to grasp just how gut-wrenching this would be. After all, none of those who were taken ever came back to tell the rest of the story.
After what felt like hours on the driveway, we finally arrived at some farm. I was unloaded, most rudely and brutely, into a bizarre-looking, mental vomit-inducing, living room, filled with red, green, white, and gold junk. Weird, little, lifeless versions of human old men lay about on top of tables and desks, with white beards and red hats. There were wreaths on both doors, and strands of thick fabric all over the walls, with gold bells and some creepy wood-looking men with blunt moustaches hanging from them (don’t tell me they were planning on turning me into that?!). On the warm and radiant fireplace were some colourful stockings, each a significantly different size and colour, but definitely too big for any human to be able to wear on their feet. And there was even some fake snow on the corners of the floor, which would’ve made me cough if trees were capable of such a thing. It was a very flashy and strange assortment of objects, and I couldn’t believe I was about to become a part of it.
They put me up, laughing like idiots, as if my suffering was the most entertaining thing in the world, then they turned off the lights and left me alone, completely alone — if you don’t count the tiny, weird, lifeless men — in the dark. I couldn’t tell the number of hours that passed after that. My pain had begun to subside somewhat, and the journey had exhausted me, so I fell into a deep but terrified slumber. I awoke with something shining brightly and too hot for my branches, weighing them down heavily. I couldn’t believe my tree eyes. These barbarians had put some stupid lights on me! What was I? Another of their objects? Another decoration? I am a tree, for Earth’s sake! I, too, am alive! And to top it all off, they had put some red glittery balls on me, that toxic and disgusting fake snow all over my trunk and leaves, and a stupid star on my top branch. Oh, how I prayed this had all been a nightmare!
But it wasn’t. More days and even weeks passed, and they didn’t take these things off me. They’d had other obnoxious and loud humans like themselves over, all gawking and pulling at me. They would eat, fight, kiss under some last-minute mistletoe decorations, play some strange and useless games, talk behind each other’s backs, then fight some more, cry and open ridiculous-looking presents. All the while, I was feeling my life force draining from my body. I was thirsty, hungry, and a bit sun-deprived. I was desperate, depressed, and numb. I couldn’t take this anymore. When I was taken, I wanted to hold off death as much as possible. I wanted to live, to breathe, to bask in whatever remaining sunlight I could still grasp, and enjoy what little was left for me to. But now, I just want to return to the Earth’s sweet and motherly embrace. Despite her harshness, she holds so much love for all of her children. I want to be hers forever. So, when they took those ridiculous ornaments off me and threw me away, I welcomed it. I was all too happy to be thrown into some grove, where I could die beside other sisters of mine. But that didn’t happen. I was taken to a “recycling facility”, where I heard a lady say I would “make a very fine nightstand”. I knew then my wish would never come true. The last thing I ever remember was that same searing pain I had felt before, when my trunk was sliced from my roots.
No More Gifts for the Mouse Family
In the middle of a magical woodland, lived a small family of mice. Every Christmas, it was their custom to exchange gifts. Mama and Papa always gave the most beautiful pink ribbons and dresses to their only daughter, Selene, and she, in turn, would bake the most delicious batches of cookies.
And so the years went by until Selene reached the age of seventeen. At this age, you would think she would’ve found a good-looking mouse boy to marry in a couple of years, or some magical university to attend in a few months, or even rebelled against her parents, as all children do at least once. But no, what ruined the Mouse family’s Christmas tradition was far more sinister than that.
For you see, magical woodlands had become fewer and far more rare over the years. The one inhabited by this particular family was one of the very last fully undiscovered. But one day, a group of terrifying and loud apocalyptic devices took over the magical woodland and tore everything in their paths, severing trees and poisoning streams. Only sweet and innocent Selene and a few others were left unscathed. What saved them were the ingredients they were collecting to bake cookies with for the community. This year they were going to celebrate Christmas all together, as one happy and enormous family of different creatures.
It didn’t take too long for her and her friends to abandon what was no longer their homes and go their separate ways. Maybe this way, they could increase their chances of not getting caught in the blades and greed of the operators of these devices. And now, this woodland was no longer a magical place; it had become a graveyard of hopes, dreams and kindness. This year, our little Selene wasn’t going to receive any gifts…
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