Say goodbye to Santa Claus

We're now well into January and have left the Christmas festivities behind for another year.

Like most adults, we tend to feel less and less "Christmasy" as we get older, and the excitement of our childhood becomes a distant memory.

Quietly reminiscing one day, I realized how the recognition of our true nature, or rather the realization that we are not a person, is very similar to the day we learn there is no Santa Claus.

Until (fill in what age you were here), we firmly believed in Santa Claus: that he was a person who existed.

We thought he brought us presents each year via the chimney, but only if we had been good, written a letter, and left him a biscuit and a glass of milk.

Then one day, our parents informed us, directly or indirectly, that he was not real!

In my case: One Christmas Eve, as I was putting the glass of milk on the mantelpiece before bed, my Dad said, "Did you know Santa prefers whisky?"...then it clicked.

In that instant, I realized that Santa didn't exist, never did exist, and, perpetuated by society, was just a figment of my imagination.

In other words: just a thought.

Then, there was a second realization that from now on, no matter how often I heard about Santa or met others who believed in him, I would never be able to believe in him again.

Of course, I could pretend to for the sake of societal norms; but for me, there was no going back.

As with Santa, so with ourselves.

There is no separate person: (Insert your name here) is just a figment of your imagination.

Who tells us this?

Infinite being.

It reveals itself in its divine timing, and when it does, there's no going back.