The traffic of this world 
swirls all around,
stirring up the grime of 
machination 
and 
frustration.
Asleep 
or 
distracted,
we bump or crash into 
the car stopped short 
in our path.
Blaming 
and 
the buried injustices of our childhood
take the reins,
pulling us back into the 
cycle of sleepiness
(only now disguised as 
hatred
and
rage) 
and we forget once again 
our origin,
our familiarity,
the divine breath of life
from where we emerged.
Even if we do sense 
a moment of clarity
in the eyes of 
the other driver, 
the attending officer’s authority 
steals it away 
with unending film clips of 
the powerless child within.

Such is the scene
when we finally 
understand
why the Grinch 
was so angry
in his cold, wintery cave
at the top of that hill – 
why he was so annoyed 
by the noise 
of joy
coming from 
the valley below – 
somewhere along the way,
he simply stopped hitting the snooze
and
unplugged the clock altogether – 
for it was easier to sleep 
alone in his bed; 
it was easier to die 
alone in his dread. 

But,
was it, 
really? 

We think not, 
for the happiness of the trumpets blasting with awareness
as he and Max barreled down that hill,
into the circle of 
welcoming Whos 
is that moment of clarity
we see 
in the eyes 
of the other driver! 
And,
we wake up,
push this world’s authority
and traffic
and injustice 
aside
and say, 
“Hey,
are you OK?”