There’s something about these days over in England, where everything is turning into red and yellow and the trees gradually get spidery and bare. Where there’s a hint of smoke in the air, and bangers going off, and it’s damp, and the nights are drawing in, and Halloween’s next.

It’s just so fucking romantic - no other word will do. And, from my own life anyway, the greater and more touching stuff often seems to happen around this time.

Gradually it’s Midwinter, and we’re all cosied up, and full of good will to each other, and it’s Ding Dong Merrilying on High and we think of previous years and old friends.

There’s the spirit of family and friends and a bit about the possible birth of a child who went on to teach love for one other, and got chopped for his pains. Whether we’re ‘religious’ or not, we dig the vibes and maybe think this is something of what things are deeply about.

And this, of course, is the real Santa Claus, the allegorical way of explaining to children the spirit of togetherness and kinship and extended family which we as humans generally quite dig.

And even if Santa might nowadays possibly be compared to the head of a multinational off-shore conglomerate, turning out mass-produced gifts at extortionate rates via an army of exploited elves, the thing of sharing gifts together is not wholly lost.

And the invisible friend is really that quiet voice inside us, which we hear when we tone down somewhat from all the outer squall, and can hear ourselves again. Which is firm and friendly, not necessarily always to our liking in what it says, but always wise and on our side.
It sounds like us, but at the same time has that ring of a bit more, like ancestral or God inside us (according to our individual conceptions).

The common feature of Santa and the invisible friend is love. That thing which we humans hold in highest place, and which we share together and instinctively live towards. And that inner voice - of conscience - seems to be the core of love inside us.

In this life we get fucked about and disappointed by human expressions of love. Those people we place on high pedestals can have feet of clay or surrender to much which is on a baser level.

However, the spirit of shared human love remains a reality and an aspiration beyond all temporarily fractured dreams. It is as ongoing and beautiful as the change of the seasons. And the inner voice is still maybe our key to our fundamental selves.

Whether all of this is an evolutionary realisation or an ongoing link with the ancestors, we maybe decide individually. However, it seems a unique part of our human nature, and key to our sense of wholeness and well-being.