Last night was a dark night ... the night before the moonless night. But in Kathmandu, Nepal, outside the "Pashupatinath" temple, there was a huge celebration. A celebration of the night of "Shiva," or Shivratri. Shiva is the "God of destruction" in the Vedic trinity. Pashupatinath means "the lord of beasts." What a beautiful celebration life is ... this night reminds me that even the moonless nights and the destructive forces are to be celebrated, are to be revered.

We cannot choose. The one in the shape of Om is every place and at every time. Our purpose is to sing ... to celebrate the gifts given to us. At all times ... good and bad. Until we see clearly that there are no bad times. There is only goodness. Then we celebrate Shivratri, day and night. That is the essence of Ekonkar!

A personal story too ... Shivratri is important to me personally for two reasons: (1) I was born on Shivratri in Kathmandu, Nepal around midnight. (2) But more importantly, and with it gains significance as my Guru has gifted me the understooding of the purpose of life. I sing the night before the darkest of all nights because the purpose of life is to sing Ekonkar. That all is one. Good, evil and otherwise.

Paul Laurence Dunbar was the first African-American to gain national eminence as a poet ... and here is a poem about true Christmas spirit ...



Christmas In The Heart

The snow lies deep upon the ground,
And winter's brightness all around
Decks bravely out the forest sere,
With jewels of the brave old year.
The coasting crowd upon the hill
With some new spirit seems to thrill;
And all the temple bells achime.
Ring out the glee of Christmas time.

In happy homes the brown oak-bough
Vies with the red-gemmed holly now;
And here and there, like pearls, there show
The berries of the mistletoe.
A sprig upon the chandelier
Says to the maidens, 'Come not here!'
Even the pauper of the earth
Some kindly gift has cheered to mirth!

Within his chamber, dim and cold,
There sits a grasping miser old.
He has no thought save one of gain,--
To grind and gather and grasp and drain.
A peal of bells, a merry shout
Assail his ear: he gazes out
Upon a world to him all gray,
And snarls, 'Why, this is Christmas Day!'

No, man of ice,--for shame, for shame!
For 'Christmas Day' is no mere name.
No, not for you this ringing cheer,
This festal season of the year.
And not for you the chime of bells
From holy temple rolls and swells.
In day and deed he has no part--
Who holds not Christmas in his heart!