What if

what if those wise sages

necks aching from staring upward

windblown and dried out

 

after all those time

trudging through the sand toward the star

 

what if after that cryptic

and slimy contact with the

man in the throne

 

and that final hopeful rush to Bethlehem

had stared not in wonder

but in horror at the gift of heaven

 

what if they had seen in that wrinkled

squalling child of poverty

merely another peasant brat

and not the King of Heaven?

 

What if the sages were not so sage,

but with minds fill with dreams of power

and hearts filled with avarice

 

would have proclaimed the star a lie

and Micah fake news,

and turned away,

hugging their treasures to themselves

and muttering invectives?

 

it would of course

not have changed the truth

for truth is truth

 

but would they have returned another way,

or would they have trudged dispiritedly back to Jerusalem

full of resentment and lusting for revenge?

 

Blessed are the journeyers

who wander on their way with eyes that see

the glimpses of the light

that draw them further on and deeper in

 

Blessed are the journeyers

who travel intent on delivering gifts

rather than receiving them

 

Blessed are those who with wisdom

have ears that hear the truth

and can pick up the echoes  of falsehood

 

Blessed are those who, wherever their journey takes them,

find at the end

wonder

 

and with minds twirling

hearts soaring

souls dancing

 

gifts falling from their hands

fall prostrate before Love

 

and then rise

on their way again

 

their hands empty

but taking with them the light

that spills from the

illuminating the darkness

every step they take

 

as they find their way home