If you are among those folks like me
who are susceptible to Holiday Melancholy, you might appreciate an alternative
holiday story that still feels like Christmas but includes all humanity,
regardless of belief or background. I wrote this story for myself, my kids,
and also for you. Enjoy!
Too
often, we cloud our understanding of Christmas and the winter holidays. There
are a variety of clouds: commercialization, holiday over-spending, forced
“sparkly happy face attitude”, the flashing raucous glare of social media
highlights- snapshot moments airbrushed to facilitate the never ending cascade
of Hallmark Channel movie “perfect moments”, and finally, the pressure of religious
obligation. Yet, for many, this is a tough time marred by a miserable cocktail
of memories, failures, felt absences, grief, and tragedy. Whatever Christmas
means to you, I think there is always a solid core that transcends the clouds,
we just have to stay centered to find it. We are alive, we have breath in our
lungs, and we have someone else in our lives who cares about us. In the end,
all the other crap is just like wrapping paper. It looks great before
Christmas, but it quickly becomes trash by Tuesday. I’ll be honest. I wrote
this story this Christmas Eve afternoon, 2017. I was rather miserable, mainly
because I wanted Christmas to be so much more for all the people I love, yet I
felt like I could produce only a small fraction of that. I wanted to give so
much more. My faith has been on a see-saw for many years, so that aspect
offered little solace. I often struggle to find the “Holy” I used to see in
this holiday, especially spiritually. I almost tried to convince myself
tomorrow is just like any other day. As I stood shaving two hours ago before I
started typing, I suddenly wondered: what did cavemen do on Christmas, way
before Christ, commercialism and Instagram posts? Then I pondered, what if a
Caveman had a Christmas-like event, and he felt exactly like I do? Perhaps this
is not something relegated to seasonal distemper- maybe it’s bigger, much
bigger- part of the human condition. I liked the way the story formed so much,
I wrote it on the spot. It’s a gift to my family and friends, and all those out
there who are imperfect but trying to do as well as they can. I hope it makes
you think, and also feel a little better if you’re having a tough season. I
hope all of you realize that you are loved, and that if you truly stop, quietly
listen and look, you’ll find so much to be grateful for- WE SHOULD TREAT EVERY
DAY AS CHRISTMAS. Society just decided to make an example of 25th of December.
Christmas spirit should transcend time, place, race, religion, currency and
occupation. Good cheer must extend to all humans beyond calendrical
limitations. We need to live Christmas every day. Much
love to all my fellow cave men & women, happy Winter Feast- peace on earth,
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!!
By
Michael Burns, December 2017
Sometime
During the Last Ice Age…
Nngap
left the cave, spear over his shoulder and bow in his left hand.
He
started down the narrow path off the rock face, glanced up at the darkening sky
and snarled, “Snow!”
As the
first few flakes lighted on the bristly wolf skins covering his shoulders, Grandmother’s
faint voice echoed from the cave, “Be safe, Nngap!”
He
paused and looked over his shoulder up at the wide cave mouth. It was a dark
shadow that framed the hearth fire, a dancing orange jewel that painted the
cave walls with a red glow.
“Be
safe father!” his son Alek’s solemn face peered over the edge of the rock.
“Next time, I will help you hunt for winter feast.”
His
daughter Yema’s face, smudged by the soot, peeked over the ledge next, “Come
back safe old man- don’t let the wolves eat you!”
He
grunted, managed a grimace that slightly resembled a smile, “Dark soon, stay
warm. You are still sick. Go inside!”
They
disappeared into the cave and he walked deliberately down the hill, threading
between boulders and white patches of snow. All that remained of the sun was a
faint red stain behind the dark trees at the canyon’s mouth. He picked his way
carefully along the frozen stream, breathing great clouds of vapor. The light was fading, and the flakes began
to fall faster.
“Winter
Feast,” he snorted, “Every year, Winter Feast. So many years, but so few good
ones that I remember.”
He
trudged through the snow and entered the forest. Each year, the clan worked
hard to prepare for the long, dark winter moons. They stored up roots and dried
meat, dragged great piles of fallen tree limbs close to the caves. It was
supposed to be a time of sitting around the great hearth. They would be warm,
mending clothes and carving toys while the old ones told tales and legends.
Everyone pack in close, warm and content. They would sing songs & beat the
drum, safe & dry. Far away, outside, wolves and saber-tooth tigers howled
on distant hills. Just after Solstice and the release of prayers at the great
stones, the men would go hunt and bring down a deer, maybe two. They would haul
it back that night, and the clan would have Winter Feast, celebrate they had
lived another year.
But the
last winter seasons had not been so happy, Winter Feasts had been slim. They
had survived, but the fires were small, many stomachs stayed hungry. Their clan
had split several times. They lived on the opposite sides of the rock ravine in
different caves and seldom spoke. There had been injuries, and just this season
before Solstice, both Nngap’s children had taken sick.
He was
tired, and felt all of his 39 winters. Usually, he would have already hunted
for Winter Feast, but their clan was very small now. Every day he was very
busy: cutting wood, hauling rocks up the hill for the cave mouth, ice fishing
on the frozen river- it never ended and there were many things left undone. He
felt like the world was very big and he was rather small. It was a new
sensation, and he didn’t like it.
He was
going out alone tonight. As he threaded through the silent trunks in the
forest, he heard the first distant howl of wolves, “A far cry not- if I become
Winter Feast for a pack,” he grumbled.
He
rotated his left arm, still feeling the stiff scar from the arrow wound he
received several years ago. The full moon rose, and painted the snow covered
trees silver. The heavy snow fall tinted the world blue. His toes felt cold in
the straw stuffed skins wrapped around his feet, but he focused on the faint
elk tracks on the ground. He was a dark shadow, bulky in furs, darting from
tree to tree.
About
an hour later, he approached a clearing. Everything was absolutely still. His
breath slowed, limiting the vapor cloud escaping from his mouth. He saw a faint
movement, stopped.
There
was a majestic elk. It stood in the clearing, head bowed quietly, enormous.
Massive antlers bobbed and jerked as it ripped leaves from a bush poking out
from the snow. This would feed them for weeks! Carefully and in silence, Nngap nocked an
arrow to his bow, took careful aim. There was a “twang” of his bowstring. The
Elk’s head jerked up as the arrow lodged in its neck. It writhed and then took
a great leap.
His
heart fell. He had only wounded it! It would run all night and the wolves would
get their winter feast. Nngap would return to the cave with nothing to show for
all his work.
Suddenly, there was another “twang”, then
another. The great beast took two more steps and fell. It kicked and then lay
silent in the snow.
Nngap
gasped, and strung another arrow.
Other
hunters! They were all tracking the same Elk.
He
watched and waited. Suddenly, he heard a low whistle. He heard a short laugh
from across the clearing. Nngap shook his head.
Loflak!
Then
came Gaknar’s whistle.
He
called out, “It’s me Nngap. I’m coming out.”
Cautiously,
three men slowly emerged from the dark tree line. Nngap kept his arrow nocked,
advanced slowly.
Gaknar
swung his club to his shoulder, and Loflak rested a spear across his chest.
They met in the center of the clearing, facing each other, a small circle
around the fallen elk. They squinted at each other.
Finally,
Gaknar grunted, “My shot was the killing blow.”
Loflak
leaned on his spear and swung his head, his beard bristling, “No, look. My
arrow. Right in the eye.”
Nngap
scowled, “I shot him first.”
The men
were silent, fuming.
Gaknar
spoke, “My woman is with child. The baby comes soon. We need this meat.”
Loflak
growled, “I have a cave full of young ones. We need the food and skins.”
Nngap
raised his hand, “We all need meat. We all have families. This elk is huge. One
of us can only carry some back, but together… Perhaps we could put old angers
aside. All of us just want to bring home Winter Feast.”
There
was an extended silence. Gaknar laughed. “Let’s ask the stars.”
They
tilted their heads back, looked up at the wide expanse of glittering lights.
The great bear wandered on its way across the glistening path, a millennia of
sparkling lights. The whole earth was silent except for their beating hearts
and quiet breath- great clouds ascended skyward like smoke.
Loflak
smiled, “Well brothers, I hear no argument. The stars agree. Share we will!”
Nngap
pulled out his flint knife, and prepared to get busy.
Gaknar
spoke suddenly, “Nngap, wait.” He tossed the club aside and held out his hand.
“It was a foolish argument over the bear. Truly, I am sorry.”
Nngap
grabbed his forearm, “All good, brother.”
He
grinned, “Let’s hurry, this Elk meat freezes fast.”
Three
hours later, Nngap and Gaknar trotted out of the forest, lugging huge chunks of
Elk behind them on tree limbs covered with pelts. Loflak scouted and provided
security from predators, darting from tree to tree.
“The
night is not yet too old brothers,” Gaknar growled with a smile. “Winter Feast
may still begin!”
They
paused at the river, making sure each man received the parts of Elk his clan
needed most. They had a silent moment where they clasped shoulders.
“We
should do this every season, not just on Winter Feast,” said Nngap.
Gaknar
laughed, “Agreed! But only if we hunt bear.”
He
poked Loflak in his hairy chest, “and only if this one hauls the beast out on
the wood litter.”
Loflak
grunted, waved his hand, but as he walked away, grinned.
They
parted ways and Nngap made the short climb up to his cave. The fire was burning
brightly, and the clan lay around it, staring into the flames.
It was
clear that Alek had fed the fire well, but the overall mood suggested they did
not expect a Winter Feast.
Grandmother
saw him first, “The light preserve us! Nngap brought a beast!”
Everyone
stirred and looked up at him.
He
smiled, and set the huge chunks of Elk down. He rolled his shoulders, walked to
the fire and warmed his hands. Then he walked to the front of the cave and
faced everyone, raised his hands until he had their attention.
“Clan
family, it has been a long year. We have had a difficult journey over many
rocky miles. We are all tired. I did not think this would be a good Winter
Feast.”
He
searched their faces, shrugged, “But I was wrong. The light shines on us. We
have choices. We can be jealous. The other clan has many bear skins and
turquoise beads. Across the river, they have more fish and clay pots. We can be
sad, even angry, or we can look at each other and be happy.”
He
looked around, “This is a good cave, a warm fire, and we have Elk tonight. I
see a son and daughter I am glad to return home to. We have good elders, and I
am grateful for our people”.
He gave
a long pause, looking in their faces. Finally, he asked his son, “Alek, do you
have anything you want to add?”
Alek
shook his head, “I’m starving! If I barbeque this beast, do I get first ribs?”
They
laughed, and suddenly the cave was filled with great activity as people worked
to prepare the Winter Feast.
Hours
later, Nngap rested by the cave mouth, looking out over the valley. Everything
was white under a silver moon, all except the distant orange twinkles of other
cave clan fires. Suddenly, he heard a baby’s cry echo distantly in the night.
Gaknar’s wife had given birth.
Nngap
smiled, then looked up when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Grandmother stood
beside him, smiling.
She
listened, closed her eyes, “A child is born.”
Nngap
grinned, “To Gaknar, a son is given.”
Grandmother
smiled, “A good omen… winter birth! New life for the small tribe of men and
women!”
She
looked at him, “Nngap. I see how the last moons have been for you.”
He
sighed, lowered his head. “I have spent too many hours pulling my beard in
worry instead of working.”
She
shook her head, “No, you cared for us, for the children. You took care of your
people. I know what I’ve seen and I am grateful.”
She
raised a finger, “But you must never give up. Do not act like an old cave bear
and hide in your cave. Never.”
She
gently patted his cheek, “What do I always tell you?”
Nngap
sighed, tired and a little humbled, “The light always shines on us.”
She
smiled, “Yes, but I think you are ready for a deeper truth, something our
shaman taught me.”
She
pointed at the moon, then towards the East where the sun would soon come, “The
light does shine on you. But often storms come. Some years, the great wolf eats
the sun. Too many winters, bears and lions… other clans- they block out the
light.”
She
gently poked his chest, “The greatest light shines from WITHIN you. No darkness
can put it out. All you must do is believe. It is a little light, but it will
never go out as long as you keep it lit.”
She
smiled, patted his cheek. “Tonight was a good Winter Feast. One of the best.”
Nngap
got to his feet and hugged her. “You are good, old mother!”
She
laughed, “Your beard tickles, son! Stop that.”
She
bustled away, “Time to put these young ones to sleep. A hungry cave bear will
steal them!”
She
looked down at the two kids curled up by the fire. Alek snored like a buffalo.
Yemma gave a contented, gentle burp, belly full of barley, berries and seeds.
(This was a cave girl who did NOT eat meat).
Nngap
grinned. He leaned on the wall, looked out over the sleeping valley.
They
had a great Winter Feast, he had made amends with old friends, and Gaknar had a
new little one in his family.
The
earth was quiet, resting. Tomorrow, they would all go deep within the cave.
They would mark another season, leave their hand prints and give thanks to the
Elk by painting him on the wall.
He put
a hand over his heart, “This little light, I will keep it bright.” Everything
was going to be alright.
Grinning,
he turned away and stretched, “Good Winter Feast to all, and to all a good
night!”
MERRY CHRISTMAS & HAPPY WINTER FEAST!!
Epilogue
If you are among those folks like me who are susceptible to
Holiday Melancholy and appreciate an alternative holiday story that still feels
like Christmas but includes all humanity- this story is for you. Wrote it
myself for Alexander and Emma when it was a tough year.
Here are a few tricks I learned for surviving and actually
enjoying part of these pesky holidays.
First, it's about others, PEOPLE...
Next, it's not about what you DO or WHAT you HAVE, it's
accepting yourself and loving others for who they ARE, you don't get sad if
you're too busy paying it forward.
FINALLY, Christmas Spirit should be slow speed ALL YEAR ROUND!
The point of Caveman Christmas is that love and family and
community stand outside any human holiday cycle.
Back in the paleo-lithic era, before religion or no religion
or whatever people profess, people must have come together in gratitude that
they made it another year...
Once again,
Merry Christmas...
Happy Winter Feast!
