Posted in Uncategorized

Breaking up with Writer’s Block

Dear Writers Block,

It’s not you, it’s me. I have become lazy and undisciplined about my craft. I have allowed you to think it was okay to stay here when really, it’s not good for me. I should have told you sooner, I know but my sloth-like behavior got the better of me and I became comfortable with you being here. I have several projects that desperately need my attention and your presence here isn’t really helping at all, it’s hindering. My problem is my brain, it used to be set up perfectly for writing—now it’s a fog of racing thoughts and overwhelming doubt.

As I said before, it’s definitely me. I think I allowed you to become an easy excuse to avoid these projects (one of which I’ve been working on since I was fucking 16—talk about procrastination..) because I guess I’m scared to finish it. What’s next? What if it doesn’t amount to anything? Why did I spend all that time and all those years obsessing over every detail? I have never done well with the future, it gives me anxiety—I don’t know what’s going to happen and that scares me to the point of procrastination. I figure if I draw out the process it will give me a chance to predict what’s going to happen, which is dumb because the universe is, in it’s very nature, unpredictable. I know I have the talent, I know I’ve worked my entire life at this, I know that I can do it but the ringing voice in my ear is like trying to have a conversation at a death metal concert.

I want to write, I want to create, this is what I live for—but fuck it’s scary. I now know why so many artist struggled with depression and other mental illnesses—and why they drank so much. It’s because the very act of creating is a trial by fire, a battle within the soul, and you’re relying on nothing but your passion to guide you. I can’t do it while you’re here Writer’s Block. I need to do some soul searching by myself and I need to clear the fog within my mind. I don’t think I see us getting back together, I can’t say we won’t have a one night stand every now and then but I don’t wish to continue this relationship. I hope you understand, I need to create, I need it to survive. I need it because I want to write like I’m running out of time. I wrote my way out of you, now it’s time to write my way out of my fog.

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To the little girl who always dreamt of this day.

I had always hoped in the deepest part of my heart that I would get a chance to see Wonder Woman brought to life on the big screen. I never had any idea who I wanted to play the role, but I did know that I wanted a woman to direct it. Hollywood being chauvinistic, I didn’t think it would be for a quite a while.

Then it happened. They announced it. Wonder Woman was coming to the big screen. My heart soared and I proceeded then on with cautious optimism. That is, until I heard that a woman was directing it–then I knew it was going to be everything I could want.

But why? Why does it matter who directs it? I’m glad you asked.

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When I first heard these words spoken to my 11 year old self something stirred in me, I was 11 so I had no idea what but for years it never left. Several years later when the TV series became available on iTunes, naturally I bought every one of them, I was able to revisit this feeling.

Men are tortured by this awful demon called masculinity, this causes them to look down on women because that is what their forefathers did, and their forefathers. They have to be strong, brave, and tough. So for a woman to take up the mantle of strong, brave, and tough–this throws off everything they have been taught. Superman saved Lois Lane, not the other way around, Gwen Stacy couldn’t save herself from the Green Goblin she needed Spider-man to do it for her.

When the 50’s came around female representation became that of the housewife, no more Rosie the Riveter because the men have returned and want their jobs back; the women didn’t need to be independent anymore they had their husbands. Wonder Woman was stripped of her powers, and became more interested in fashion rather than stopping Ares.

Enter Gloria Steinem.

A woman who basically saved Wonder Woman from being completely removed from comics. She fought for her to get her powers back, and with lots of wading through patriarchal bullshit she succeeded.

I could go on and on about how I worship at the alter of Gloria because of what she did for my girl Diana, but I digress.

Female representation is important because it benefits everyone. There’s a balance in this world, and instead of being divided because you’re a man and I’m a woman, lets try to even out the seesaw. Feminism isn’t about women ruling the world, enslaving men, or becoming the superior sex; it’s about equality and love and acceptance of everyone. That’s scary because it throws off this toxic masculinity that everyone has come to accept as normal. Change is scary, change means that everything you know is going to become something other than what you’re used to. I get it, I personally am terrified of change when it happens. But when you accept that it’s something that is out of your control, when you allow yourself to sort of bend with the wind instead of fighting against it–wow, it feels so much better than constantly trying to be a wall.

So to every little girl who is going to see Wonder Woman, know that I was there with you. I looked upon her with admiration and love (still do!). Every single person who has played her I respect and occasionally fangirl because damn did they get it right (I’m talking to you Lynda Carter and Susan Eisenberg!). Now we have Gal Gadot in the ranks, and I can honestly say that wow, did they hit the nail on the head with that casting. Wonder Woman is a warrior, but she’s also a humanitarian and a politician. She is the embodiment of love, peace, and strength. Gal Gadot just gets it.

Wonder Woman has always been a special part of my life. My mother was my real life Wonder Woman, when she died I only had Diana Prince and she filled a little bit of the aching void that was left behind. Wonder Woman showed me that I am more, I am enough, and my gender shouldn’t matter when it comes to doing what I want to do.

So thank you to the cast and crew of this exceptional movie.

But most of all, thank you Wonder Woman.

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Posted in Uncategorized

“And she lived.”

A lot can happen in two months….

I sit here in a dear friends house in the outskirts of Pittsburgh. I have taken back my life and I’m in a place now where hope doesn’t seem so far away.

Around this time in January I began to feel myself spiraling back into depression. I wasn’t happy with my situation, and I felt so powerless…I thought that I would remain stuck, that I would never truly find contentment. I cried, a lot. I wasn’t sleeping, and I was starting to get scared. What if this time I ended up in the hospital instead of just in outpatient? I didn’t want to go back to 3 South, but I felt so hopeless and lost.

Then I called my sister. My sister has always given it to me straight, she has always comforted, but never coddled me.

She told me “You’re not happy here. You have a chance to change everything, to go somewhere else. You’ve been sitting on this opportunity for a long time, and it’s time that you’ve taken advantage of it.”

She was right, I had a gateway that I had been avoiding because of one thing: fear. Fear had kept me prisoner, even with all that I had learned, all that I had accomplished, I was still afraid. I was afraid to take a chance, I was afraid of doing something without my mom there. I wanted freedom, but I didn’t want the risk that came with it. Fear is a demon that came with my depression and anxiety, it had wrapped itself around my heart and was beginning to take root. I had to take a chance or I would wither away.

So I began my journey by taking baby steps, then eventually I began to gain the confidence I needed to fulfill my goal, which was to get the hell off the Shore. Now I don’t hate my hometown, but I found my heart there and it was broken there. I needed to find a place where I could begin again. So with the encouragement of my friends, and my family I packed my car and I drove to Pittsburgh with a feeling of hope and happiness that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I’ll let my poem tell the rest:

Purple-pink sunsets dot the sky as I load the last suitcase in the trailer.

My whole life packed in the back of a U-Haul attached to a grey Ford Escape.

Escape…

Is that what I’m doing?

I turn,

And I see my entire past before me–

My entire world painted on a canvas

That is battered and torn as I slam the door on my past.

“There’s nothing for you here…”

She says.

“This place is like quicksand.”

This Shore, this is all I have ever known.

The pungent smell of marsh,

The taste of salt;

The soft cattails and marsh grass that tickled my feet.

My childhood was built upon the foundation

Of sandy beaches and marshy ditch banks.

Maryland is in my blood–

Yet I have cemetary dirt under my nails

And an unwanted voice in my soul.

No matter how hard I scrub

(Out, out damned spot!)

I cannot remove the grime of her passing.

No matter how much I will it

I cannot erase his stain

From my body.

Maryland is in my blood,

But the past hangs over me like

Vampire bats in their lair.

The Shore raised me,

And the Shore broke me.

Now,

I take my broken pieces

And try to make some sense of my life up to this point

Through gnashed fingers and hands.

For thirty springs,

Thirty summers

Thirty falls

And thirty winters

I have endured–

I have survived.

Surviving is overrated.

You’re not living.

I want to thrive!

I want to breathe the air of release.

I want a day without the barrage of

Reminders of the cemetery dirt

And the stain on my skin,

Of the forked tongue spilling lies

And the groping hands, unwanted, tracing my skin.

The bats,

They will follow me.

However instead of vampires they will be insectivores!

Cleaning my infected mind of moths and insects

That cloud my future.

For you see the past is a chapter,

And I am the book;

I am the author.

I will write my narrative from the road–

I will take in all of it’s glory.

This chapter is complete, it is time to close it.

By the time the ink dries on this page,

I will be gone and the line will read:

“And she lived.”

Posted in Uncategorized

How to Say a Million

I recently collaborated with the amazing Molly Likovich in writing and performing a slam poem. Please check out the video! I’ll post the text version of the poem following the video. Check out Molly’s website, and support her on Patreon because she’s amazing and deadly with the pen.

 

Come the tan-faced, the brown, the black, the white, the cream, the coffee, the beans and the burn of it all. Come over the rainbow with a chunk of it in your pocket–you are the pioneers

now. Come the vulvas, the uteruses, the unwanted organs. Come with your registry papers and your languid convictions clutched in your
sinews–you are the pioneers now.

Come to the alabaster seas and let their honorable hands find
fruit, let the flaxen-haired mongrels find washed-up woman–
hood. Let them know you’re mouth is made of lilies and hemlock–now

you’re the pioneers. You are the daughters of un-burned witches. You are salt and gritty bones. Come you who can drown oceans. Washington
has no lifeboats–you are now the pioneers.

There will be no time to turn back. You inherited this wild
west. The souls need action–you are the pioneers.

January pavement, you ache to walk
in a room–talking to Maya Angelou.

Feasting on pomegranates, you know no one
will sing for him. Yellow-starred, and pink-triangled.
We get there together, or not
at all. We are the pioneers now.
Do you dare disturb everything?
Daydreamer, and lollygagger. No more hitting send.
Now, you walk, pioneer.

 

Posted in Personal Post

A Woman’s Place is in the Resistance

To the women who marched on Saturday, I would like to take a moment to offer my heartfelt thanks.

You see I was unable to march because of a cold, my doctor strongly advised that I stay inside if I wanted to get better. I was planning to attend my local Women’s March in Ocean City Maryland, but I chose to abide my doctors orders.

I want you to know that you marched for me, you marched for my rights. I love you for that. I love each and every one of you: Black, White, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, Arabic, and those who wish to not conform. I love all of you both gay and straight, transgender, and non-gender specific. You took up the banner for me, a complete stranger and carried it willingly.

Why does it matter so much to me?

Because I am a survivor of sexual assault.

Because I have been discriminated against because of my gender.

Because I have made less than a man does for doing the same job.

You marched for me, you marched to make my voice heard so the least I can do is thank you for doing so. You stood at the Alter of Gloria in triumph!

Now, I will do my part.

I will take up my pen in solidarity with you. I will used my power of the written word to strike down those who say this is nothing but a phase, those who would demean our movement. I will write my local representatives. This is what it takes, this is what our battle looks like. So I will take up my weapon and ready it for war with you my sisters.

To those who say they don’t “need” this march, I say this: You do not get to decide what is good for other woman. That’s why we march: to decide for ourselves what is right for our bodies.

Thank you my sisters, thank you from the deepest part of my heart. I truly respect and honor you. Let’s keep fighting.

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Advice from a Young Writer to a Younger Writer

I’m far from an expert, I’m of the mindset that I will constantly be reaching for that goal because there is always something new to learn about writing.

I could save us all the time and simply give the advice that I was given when first starting out:

WRITE EVERY SINGLE DAY.

It’s a valid piece of advice, after all a craft needs to be kept at its sharpest if one wishes to become an “expert.” However there are those that can’t simply sit down and write for five minutes, sometimes people need prompts or a little boost to help them get their creative juices flowing. There are times when I am one of those said people, some days the brain just doesn’t want to wake up or it just feels like it’s scraped thin. In which case there are dozens of resources at your disposal, I’m going to name a few of my favorites.

The 3 A.M. Epiphany is quite possibly the most essential book that any writer should have. It has concrete, challenging, and engaging exercises that give your mind the freedom to wander. It’s a work out for your brain, making you think about things that you wouldn’t normally think about and challenging you to stay within a word limit. The exercises cover various topics like Point of View, Time, Imagery, Humor, Travel…there’s no limit to what this book can do for you. Some people would consider this a book for those who are a little more experienced writers, but I think that most writers can use this book and get a lot out of it. There is also a follow up book (which I do not own yet) called The 4 A.M. Breakthrough to whet your appetite if you so wish.

The San Francisco Writers Grotto became known to me when I found 712 (More) Things to Write About. This is a wonderful diary to keep and the exercises aren’t as time consuming as Breakthrough’s. These exercises can range from the serious to the wonderfully ridiculous. They don’t take much time, and very little effort in some cases; the book was designed (in my opinion anyway) for the writer who is always on the go, the writer who has a day job, and the writer who just needs that five minutes to escape.

My next piece of advice is to change your setting once and a while. Sometimes sitting in the same place leads to stagnation. You’re looking at the same wall, the same desk, and perhaps the same people. It gets boring. So if there’s a coffee shop or even a bar nearby see if that offers a host of new inspiration. People watching is the greatest form of inspiration. Set up in a corner with your laptop or notebook and let the show begin.

Another thing that I do is that I talk to myself…a lot. If you’re a fiction writer or even a poet, think out loud. When the place is appropriate of course…I wouldn’t recommend talking to yourself in a public space, unless you’re whispering or something. Even then I think you’d merit a few stares to say the least. But talking to yourself in the voices of your characters sort of solidifies them, makes them more real. Walking around your writing room muttering to yourself may merit a label of insanity, but who will have the last laugh when you hold that Pulitzer Prize for Literature?

Finally, I have this to say:

Write every day. Be humble, accept that your craft is ever changing and there is always something new to learn. Did I mention write every day?

Now get out there, grab a pen and a notebook, and start writing!

Posted in mental health, Personal Post

Shelter

My first post in the new year is going to talk about a short that I discovered last year that impacted me in such a way that I am just now coming to terms with how much this piece of art is important to me.

This short tells the story of Rin,  a 17-year-old girl who lives her life inside of a futuristic simulation completely by herself in infinite, beautiful loneliness. Each day, Rin awakens in virtual reality and uses a tablet which controls the simulation to create a new, different, beautiful world for herself. Until one day, everything changes, and Rin comes to learn the true origins behind her life inside a simulation.

Now why would something like this impact me so? Why should you care? It’s quite simple really: It all goes back to my mental health.

If you haven’t watched the short, do so now. I will be venturing into spoiler territory beyond this point.

Rin’s journey, is my journey. I lived in a world where I thought everything was fine, repressing everything that I was feeling and running from my past. I was trying to create a world where I didn’t hurt, where I was safe. It was like a trying to paint over a black wall with white paint and expect it to not bleed through. Eventually no matter how much paint you add, your wall will always be black.

When Rin finally learns the truth, that her father sacrificed himself to save her, she is devastated. The memories are painful, they wash over her like the ocean waves.

That’s how it is with me.

See I have my own share of painful memories, from my mom’s death to being sexually abused by a teacher at my high school. Those memories haunt me, and even though I can’t fully comprehend my sexual assault yet–it’s still there, like a dormant volcano. The memories become overwhelming, they hit me like a truck and knock me in the mud, then they drag me through said mud and leave me there to rot. That’s when the depression hits, that’s when my demons come out and tell me I should just end it all and escape from this ocean of pain and misery.

The thing about the ocean though, is that it waves to and fro, the waves always recede back to the ocean. That’s what I have to remember, is that those memories are a part of me, they formed who I am, but they are not me. Those memories of my mom give me strength, they’re what keeps me here–they are responsible for that tiny dollop of hope that I have in my darkest times.

Even if those memories make me sad, I’ve got to go forward believing in the future. Even when I realize my loneliness, and am about to loose all hope, those memories make me stronger. I’m not alone…because of you.

As I type through my tears, I want you all, all who are struggling with something, to remember that it is worth it. I know it sucks, it hurts, and it doesn’t seem like it. But, to quote Samwise Gamgee, there is something good in this world and it’s worth fighting for.

Whatever that good is, fight for it. Find shelter in it.

Posted in mental health, Personal Post

Farewell my Princess…

I don’t think I’ve been this upset about an actresses death since Liz Taylor and Lauren Bacall.

NPR broke the story for me, it popped up as a notification on my phone. I had to pull over and cry. Luckily I was on my way to my therapists appointment so she understood why I was a little late. See Carrie Fisher meant more to me than just Princess Leia, just like Lauren Bacall and Liz Taylor I related to her. I adored her. I grew up with her.

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I can’t really remember how old I was when I first saw A New Hope, maybe 6 or 7, but I remember vividly my reaction to first seeing Princess Leia. I was enamored by her! At first it was “Wow she’s so pretty!” then I saw her kicking ass and taking names with the Stormtroopers and I was done. It impacted me in such a way that I only now realize, Princess Leia taught me that gender didn’t matter when fighting for what was right. She taught me that I could be that little girl who saved the galaxy. Let’s face it, Han and Luke would’ve been lost without Leia. Han probably still frozen in carbonite and Luke falling towards the Dark Side. You know it’s true, don’t deny it.

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Not only was Carrie Fisher a bad ass in movies, but also in life. She was unapologetically outspoken and in many ways, mirrored Leia’s personality on and off screen. She didn’t care who she offended, if you couldn’t take it leave. I loved her for that.sub-buzz-350-1482868843-3

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But as I grew older, I began to realize that I loved her for a much deeper and more meaningful reason: Her strong, outspoken stance against the stigma surrounding mental health.

See Carrie Fisher struggled with her own mental illness for most of her life. She was an alcoholic, and suffered from bipolar disorder…which probably lead to the alcoholism in the first place.

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Now I have depression, anxiety, and PTSD, I’m not bipolar but I have met people in my journey who have suffered from it and from what they tell me, it’s basically like a roller coaster ride from hell. That’s simplifying it of course, but I can’t in good conscience talk about something that I have no idea what it’s like. I know what it’s like to feel like you have this demon on your back constantly telling you how worthless you are, how stupid you are, how you are not enough no matter how hard you try. I know the crippling fear one faces while they’re in the midst of an anxiety attack–the feeling of gasping for air right as you’re about to hit the floor but you never do, it’s that feeling of falling without any resolution. I can imagine that both of those fall into play with bipolar disorder, and dealing with it takes immense strength and courage.

To speak up as a woman, and take no shit for it means you’re always under scrutiny of some kind. Carrie Fisher didn’t give a flying fuck about it, she was as real as they came. That is why I’ll miss her, that is why I love her. My life was impacted in a positive way by Carrie Fisher.

I’ll close with the first line of her obituary–as she would have wanted it:

Carrie Fisher found dead in moonlight, strangled by own bra…

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May the Force be With You, General Organa.

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Posted in Uncategorized

Unplug, or you might get Stuck

I thought I would divert from the political climate for a bit and talk about another issue that seems to be pressing: How much time we spend “plugged in” to our devices and games. I began really marinating on this topic when Sony announced Playstation VR, a futuristic headset that allows anyone who wears it to become immersed in the game they are playing. I know that there are other VR headsets out there, Samsung being one of them, but since I am a Sony Playstation fan girl, I really only feel the need to speak of that particular headset.

I can’t help but think of movies like Wall-E when it comes to this particular topic.

Then I really start to delve deeper into my thoughts, and remember that there have been countless dramas warning us about the potential harm of VR. Though I hate to admit it, the show Sword Art Online comes to mind…

Now I am one of those rare people who is actually on the fence about this show, joining my favorite YouTuber Arkada, I love the first few parts of it but hated the latter half of the first season and didn’t even bother with the second. So I’m just going to talk about the parts I watched and enjoyed.

Here’s the synopsis from Crunchyroll:

n the near future, a Virtual Reality Massive Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game (VRMMORPG) called Sword Art Online has been released where players control their avatars with their bodies using a piece of technology called: Nerve Gear. One day, players discover they cannot log out, as the game creator is holding them captive unless they reach the 100th floor of the game’s tower and defeat the final boss.

Now I did leave out one key plot element of the story: If the players die in the game, they in fact die in real life. I won’t go into the fact that they completely screwed this up and didn’t use it to it’s full effectiveness as the show went on, but in the beginning they used it very well. Death as we all know is permanent and they really made this fact weigh on our protagonists in the beginning.

I believe that shows like SAO and Wall-E are, much like Brave New World or 1984, cautionary tales for the twenty first century. See we spend SO much time on our phones now, I won’t lie I’m guilty too, that we tend to put these blinders on and only see what we want to see. We don’t really appreciate things as much; things like a hand written letter instead of an email, or a flower growing in between the cracks of the sidewalk (something I always thought was a great metaphor for nature vs industrialization). We are too busy playing Pokemon GO to realize that there are actual animals out there we can go see (though I wouldn’t recommend throwing things at them), sure it got people outside and off their butts, but it didn’t solve the underlying problem that we spend way too much time plugged in.

I know that it’s hard to not be plugged in. After all this world is fast paced, and just about everything is digital. Hell I wouldn’t be able to do this blog post without being plugged in. But my point isn’t to just drop everything and become a goat-herder in the Alps for the rest of your life; it’s to realize that there are much more beautiful things out there. Think about the last time you saw a sunset, or felt sand between your toes, or went on a stroll through the woods; what did you feel then? Chances are you didn’t feel the weight of responsibility that our digitized society places on you. You were in that moment, mindful of everything around you: the feel of the breeze, the smell of the ocean or earth, and the way the sun danced on the horizon.

Jon Kabat-Zinn is an author that I discovered a few years ago. His book Wherever you Go, There You Are talks about mindfulness and meditation. The practice of mindfulness has helped me immensely in my struggle against depression and anxiety, and it’s something I encourage all of you to start practicing. The great thing about mindfulness practice is that it can be done anywhere, from your cubicle to your car.

Be in this moment. This world is fast-paced, and people will run you over. But remember that there are things in this world, beyond your screen, that are worth your attention. Those things are precious, so don’t loose sight of them.

Posted in Personal Post

Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus

I can remember believing in Santa right up until my double-digit years. My Mom was responsible for instilling within me a deep love for the Holiday season, I’ll never know the strength and endurance it took for her to keep up that faith.

My mom died in 2001, and that first Christmas without her was hell. It was just awful, everyone was walking on eggshells because they were trying so hard to make it special when it just couldn’t be special anymore. It hurt more than anything I could imagine, my heart was broken and there’s still a few cracks in it.

But as I got older, and the years kinder, I began to realize that my mother instilled within me all the tools I needed to make Christmas special. She made sure that we always spent it with family and friends, and, while presents were exciting, it was the time spent wrapping those for others that was more important. I still ache for her, I still long to hear her voice and have her wrap her arms around me, it still hurts. It will always hurt, but the pain becomes more bearable I suppose.

But back to Santa.

See it wasn’t really Santa that I believed in, it was magic. I believe in magic. I believe that there is something in this sometimes shitty world worth fighting for. What that something is, well that varies person to person. There is a lot of really awful things happening in our world right now, but I beg of you please don’t become jaded or cynical. I know it’s awfully hard, but here me out.

Francis Pharcellus Church was a newsman, in 1897 he received a letter from an 8-year old girl, Virginia O’Hanlon, asking if there was such a thing as Santa Claus. Now Church was a newsman, he was probably weathered and maybe a little jaded himself; after all adulthood wears on us all. He could have just as easy tossed this letter aside, forgetting about it and disregarding it as a silly childish whim.

But he didn’t.

Something moved Church, maybe he was a father, maybe the childish scribbles on the page before him moved him to think that this was the most important piece he would ever write. For if children can’t believe in Santa, what hope do we have for the future?

On Sept. 21, 1897 The New York Sun printed the letter and Church’s response to it, it has become the most famous piece of newspaper editorial ever. Allow me to quote it:

DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.
Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
Papa says, ‘If you see it in THE SUN it’s so.’
Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

VIRGINIA O’HANLON.
115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET.

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

You may tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart

I’m far from a person of religious belief, such as a Christian or what have you, but I am someone who believes that there are things in this world that we just aren’t meant to understand. There is an inherent good in this world, there is beauty, and there is love.

This Christmas do what makes you feel love, peace, and remember: Yes, there is a Santa Claus.