Year of the Goat

The History of the Holy Goat Ranch recorded an anecdote involving their three female goats: Miss Brown, Prissy and Dot. Miss Brown had mistaken Dot's high heel shoes for her own, and so Dot gave the shoes to her. Later when Miss Brown found her shoes out in the dump pile, and decided to give Dot's shoes back to her, but she would not accept the returned shoes.

A similar event occurred one and a half years prior between Prissy and Miss Brown. Prissy took Miss Brown's shoes sitting by the stanchion by mistake. Miss Brown smiled saying, "Are they yours?" and gave the shoes to her. Soon Prissy found the shoes she had lost and gave Miss Brown's shoes back, feeling bad because they looked rather worn-out. Miss Brown asked if they weren't really hers, then smiled while she scraped the edge of the souls with her knife and a brightness of gold shone through clearly, and then took the shoes back.

These are trivial matters amongst goats and for us people too, however, the question arises: Is it better for us to act as Miss Brown or Dot?

Well, I hope you like my story. Lots of symbolism can be pulled out, with my favorite one being that in a society based on capital, other peoples' motives are not always well understood. And without amicability, we are marooned, and all the goats know it. Love, Sharon

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With the Christmas season upon us, I begin both anticipating and dreading the eve and day of. The lead-up parties: El Gato's party, Taj & gifts with the ladies and Holiday music @ Yavapai, are going to be exciting, yes! In either case, the anxiety I feel as these approach later in the week have far less to do with the festivities themselves as it does with the people who will actually be attending them. I'm holding my breath to push through another holiday season as best as I can. Because no matter how "spiritual" or world-travelled I think I may be, or how much Real Love I have, there's something about Christmas that reduces me.

I am not spelling this out because something needs to be fixed. While I have tons of friends and family in my life that "love me like crazy," no one is exactly like me or in the same shoes on Christmas day. I feel like I'm cracked from hitting the sides too hard with my spoon and anger or chipped from being dropped to go run towards a loved one in need. I am uniquely my own. The holiday kind of turns this unique and celebrated aspect around and I'm stubborn in shifting my perspective, wishing to not see the beauty of these "flaws."

Your "story" is likely very different from mine. But perhaps it offers something useful to people reading this who are on the brink of changing their own lives. Fundamental to all our stories is that our Christmas's are imagined before they come into being. I hope you image something beautiful coming forth in yours, with no one forcing you to feel anything if you don't want to. If we make the best of this time acting on the rise to our reaction, perhaps history will call it the start of a renaissance.

The amazing thing about December is that no matter how many festivities you're set up to attend, it’s designed so that, regardless of the combination the people always go together — chips, cracks and all things we've yet to learn to make ourselves. Love, Sharon