A Purple Flower for Christmas

My Christmas gift this year is a flower that laughs.

It's all purple but its shade changes every other moment.

On some bright happy days, my flower is a cheerful lilac and it beams at me, all smiles and glitter and sunshiny.

Sometimes, it takes on a more solemn purple. Then, it appears wise and I wonder if my flower is really not a thousand-year old flower sheltered from the passing of ages, quietly taking in Time's movement while remaining immune to its ravages. I can almost believe it when I look at my purple flower standing aloof in all its elegance, exotic and proud, tinted with secrets not for my mind or heart.

Then there are times when it's all dark purple. That's when my flower is in solitude. It appears cast down and though equally attractive, there is no hint of joy in all its blossoms. I can only hold it in my hands, and we both are mellow... with what, only it knows.

There is only but one constant - laughter. My pretty flower laughs. Its laughter is a bell tinkling merrily when it's happy, a hearty laugh that tickles my soul and engulfs me in its joy. Its laughter is a gentle, contented expression when we travel on an emotional plateau. And when it's unhappy, it laughs a derisive and cynical laughter. It laughs at itself, at me and at everything else that doesn't cause one to laugh.

But it will laugh all the same.

I dance with it when the sun is casting its brilliance down on us and we laugh in those happy days. I sleep with it when only the owls and the moon are awake and sometimes, we visit invisible lands only our minds can travel to. And we laugh quietly in our dreams.

My pretty purple flower, my Christmas gift... Merry Christmas to me.

As I continue to hold it in my hands, I wonder how to take care of and protect my purple flower, my Christmas gift - both strong and fragile, bright and dark. My flower that laughs.

Which is The Glass House?

The Glass House is one where your dreams are given the breath of life. Here, they swirl in pretty colours your imagination can barely get a glimpse of. Every moment is one of sweet intoxication, when your senses are all caressed to heightened pleasures and comforted with reassuring warmth. Yes, in The Glass House, you reach ecstasy and remain in a safe embrace all at the same time. All you do is sit back, relax, and enjoy...

Outside the winds are dreary. Winds I am all too familiar with too. Winds that once surrounded me like I'm the eye in the storm. Winds that roughened me and toughened me up. Winds that began icy cold only to prove too comforting in its own familiar way.

As I look out the window at leaves dancing with the wind, I know, a part of me wishes to dance that way again. To leave the shelter of The Glass House, to exit from the warmth into the cold, to escape from safety into tougher terrain, to choose potential hurt over security.

I miss the dance.

It's all I know and it's all I long to do.

I just want to dance.

At least in the dreary winds, I can dance.