Christmas, Seen from the Universe

From the universe’s point of view,
Christmas is not a holiday.

It is not a date circled on a calendar,
nor a tradition bound to religion, nation, or culture.

It is a frequency.

There was a moment in human history—
one of the darkest, loudest, most brutal moments—
when that frequency broke through.

In the middle of World War I,
trenches carved the earth open like scars.
Young men stood facing one another as enemies,
trained to kill, conditioned to obey.

And then Christmas arrived.

Not as an announcement.
Not as a command.

But as a memory.

Carols were heard across the frozen ground.
Weapons were lowered.
Hands that had held rifles reached instead for cigarettes,
for photographs, for small, human gestures.

For a brief span of time,
the war forgot itself.

What exactly happened that night
is briefly recorded in history books.

But there were things that went unrecorded.

The moment wet gloves were removed,
and hands met bare skin.
The brief hesitation
as frozen fingers recognized another warmth.

A span of time
when names were unnecessary
to know that a person was a person.

It must have been warm.

Because what was laid down first
was not the weapons—
but the boundaries.

From the universe’s perspective,
this was not a miracle.

It was recall.

A deep biological remembrance—
older than nations, older than uniforms,
older than the idea of “enemy.”

Love is not merely an emotion humans feel.
It is a stored intelligence.

Encoded in cells.
Embedded in the nervous system.
Waiting for the right signal to awaken it.

Christmas is one of those signals.

Not because of doctrine,
but because for centuries it has carried
the resonance of pause, of mercy, of recognition.

A reminder that violence is learned—
but tenderness is remembered.

When the universe looks at Earth,
it does not ask whether humans are good or bad.

It asks a quieter question:

Do they still remember?

Christmas is when the answer flickers back to life.

For a moment,
people remember that survival does not require cruelty.
That strength does not demand domination.
That connection predates conflict.

This is why, even now,
when the world feels fractured beyond repair,
Christmas continues to soften something unseen.

Why strangers grow gentler.
Why grief becomes speakable.
Why hope—however fragile—returns.

The universe does not interfere.
It does not intervene.

It waits.

And on nights like this,
when lights glow against the dark
and voices lower instead of rise,
it recognizes the signal.

The ancient one.

Love remembered.
Violence interrupted.
Humanity, briefly aligned with its original frequency.

That is Christmas,
seen from the universe.

⁂ Recorder’s Note

So perhaps, just for today,
consider this.

What if you paused—
even briefly—
all the wars unfolding outside of you,
and all the ones quietly raging within?

Just for today.

Because today is Christmas.
A day where miracles are allowed to exist
without explanation.

Merry Christmas.
May every form of good fortune
find its way gently to you.

May Melanie △