Dear Family and Friends,
The above link might have the story with more elegant formatting. May you have a wonderful holiday.
With warmth and light,
William
Here is the story below, too:
The Veiled Bear: A Christmas Legend
William Dolde, Christmas 2012
Prefatory Biographical Remarks
Billy loved his stuffed animals. As he grew towards teenagerhood, he lined his bedroom carpet with masking tape to create football gridirons or baseball diamonds; on these fields Pengy and Leo the Lion would step forth as cynosures of excellence, sportsmanship, and endurance. Eventually Billy flowed into Bill, and the animals dispersed to share light and joy with other children. Then came Freshman year at Yale: Calvin the stuffed polar bear arrived to share his light with Bill, who carried him around more than an undergraduate might be expected to. While Bill (who was also known as Herr Dolde and Willi from his German classes) would eventually read Brideshead Revisited, this did not provide the initial impulse for Calvin's proximity. It wasn't anxiety. It was definitely eccentricity, quirkiness--and perhaps Romance, Love, Idealism. Perhaps carrying around a stuffed bear was the perfect next step to allow everything else to come to flow into Bill's experience. More polar bears came. As a summer mentor for high school seniors, Bill discovered that the fluffy polar bears soothed mentees and allowed them to relax into their social and academic potential. Out of this came the stories "Murray and the Tornado" and "Murray and the Christmas Story," and a tradition of yearly Christmas stories. Before Nicolas and Hershey, remarkable retrievers who regarded all stuffed animals (and boots, and food, and Christmas Geese, and bagels from strangers) as property of dogs, encouraged the polar bear family to migrate and spread their joy elsewhere, Jon Miller--Bill's comrade from his literary grad school days in Iowa--presented Bill with Gorey's print, "A Future Unremembered Poet of the 17th Century Receives a Christmas Cookie from the Great Veiled Bear." When Bill became a Waldorf nursery and kindergarten teacher, children called teachers by first name--sometimes inserting a "Mr."--and "Mr. Bill" lacking the gravitas one might hope for from a teacher of young hearts and minds, William was born (or reborn, since this was always also his name). Christmas Stories persisted, though without polar bears. Now, almost 20 years after Bill received the Gorey print, Murray the polar bear has reconnected with William to explicate.
The Legend of the Veiled Bear and the Christmas Cookie
There had been many before him. His great grandfather's great grandfather, living the miracle of clear fur on black skin that shines white to the eye, already knew that Light is always around us. A stream of love, well being, joy is there for us to allow in. This news must be spread, so down from the snowy mountains he ran to tell the villagers (who were toiling in the Dark Ages). "A monster!" they screamed as they fled in terror.
His grandson realized that too much joy all at once, like too much light on our retinas when we awaken in a lighted room, can startle. It is OK to cover the light; the light always flows when you are ready for it. He sewed a veil to soften his brightness and tried to spread the good news again. "A monster in a veil!" screamed the villagers as they fled further away.
That bear's grandson knew humor and wonder would help the villagers laugh, relax, and be able to see the light, so he invented ice skates and learned to twirl and flip. Now, surely, the villagers could get the message. So down to the village he skated in his veil. "A monster in a veil that flies across the ice!" they screamed as they fled further away (fortunately for the bears, this was before the days of trains, cars, or airplanes, so the villagers were never able to move that far away).
As that bear's grandson grew up, he heard stories of a child born in a stable who would bring light to the world. This child's light was always there; people celebrated his birth every Christmas to remember that the peace and joy is always there for us. This wise bear realized that the villagers fled not because they were scared, but because they had not asked the question yet: we hear what we are ready to hear. So instead of traveling, the veiled bear baked Christmas Cookies. Lots of cookies: abundance is everywhere. "Let those intrigued by the aroma come to me," he thought. The cookies would preserve the light; we can let it in now, or choose to wait to eat our cookies. While most villagers remained aloof, a poet sallied forth. He made the trek to the home of the Veiled Bear. In calm elation, the Veiled Bear presented him with a Christmas Cookie, confident that the villagers would now know that the light was always already around them.
The poet, alas, was born 200 years too soon. Had he been a contemporary of Romantics like Keats and Shelley and Byron, we might all have known how much light and joy and goodness is always ready to come to us, if we just turn to it--as slowly as we need to--, if we just find joy in the simple act of nibbling of a cookie. Constricted by the poetic conventions of the 17th century, overshadowed by Milton's masterpieces of Paradise and Inferno, this poor poet has long been forgotten. Since that time, fortunately, bears have learned to write, so they can now send assurance that all is well, light is flowing, joy is here. We don't have to let it all in at once. Like grandmom's fruitcake, we can save the Christmas Cookie for as long as we want to; it is always there for us.
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