Nothing Against Christ but...
not a fan of Christmas.
There's a joke that goes something like, “The proof that Christianity won the religion wars is the fact that most all the world operates as though it's the year 2023!” Which is a good point! Think about it. What year it is, is a human construct. And, at the moment, most of us are acknowledging Jesus’s birth every single day by writing 2023 everywhere we need to.
Yet the Hebrews say it’s 5784 and the Hindus say it’s 2080, and I’m sure there are other dating systems (aside from Tinder and Spiritual Singles) I have yet to learn. Which has me wondering what I would choose if I could. Maybe 2024 will be Year 1 for me. I’ve just gone through my Chiron Return (ok, still emerging out of, but I’m optimistic I’ll make it), so it feels like a rebirth. All those childhood wounds resurfacing for resurfacing or reupholstering or outright removal…sheesh kebab! I’m fo sho ready to start again!
At any rate, back to today, Christmas. And, here again, we get into the relational nature of spacetime in that I’m currently in the future, relative to my rellies (Aussie for relations) in the Americas and Europe, for whom it’s still Christmas Eve.
And it’s blazing hot and sunny here in Brisbane, Queensland. The only Christmas tree in sight is the poinciana whose red blossoms are nearly gone by now. In Aotearoa New Zealand the pohutukawa, with its Dr. Seussian fluff flowers, is the stand-in.
When I do a quick search of Christmas words they all have to do with the cold climes I grew up in, like mistletoe, evergreens, reindeer, snow, and holly. So how does one understand all that in the climes of rainforest, eucalyptus, kangaroos, sand, and quangdong berries?
Weather is a small example of relativity, versus the big one I started with. The year so many of us claim it is, that so fully rules our lives we don’t even see it, is relative to one man’s birth. And he was born in a land now torn apart by those warring over whose religion is more right. We’re celebrating the birth of a child who stood for love, compassion, and forgiveness, while untold horrors are wrought upon thousands upon thousands of Palestinian children, adults, animals, homes...
How riotous would it be to start fresh by taking away our dating system? How would we know what was what if key events in collective HIStory were suddenly an entirely different year? How confused we’d all be! I delight at the idea of such chaos…
Another thing I don’t like about Christmas is the pressure. I detest being told what to do. I’m capable of giving gifts and co-creating ceremony any ol’ day of the year. But because everyone insists on this day, nearly everyone gets either stressed or depressed. Not to mention the immense commercial focus on buying yet more stuff, stuff, stuff.
I’m more of a solstice celebrating pagan gal. I’m keen to honour the higher powers that make our lives possible: The Sun that is just that perfect distance to make life on our precious Earth possible. The Moon that influences all waters on Earth, most obviously the tides. These 3 celestial bodies are enough of a trinity for me.
But let’s not stop there. This morning Mama Bear and I went to sing to the water, to thank it for everything. And to delight in the tadpoles in the water, the tiny emerging froglets on the land, and the raucous colourful parrots and cockatoos in the sheltering tree above, busily dropping half chewed berries on our heads.
Curious neighbours I hadn’t met yet stopped to wish us a merry Merry and, likely, curious about the bulky bags we were carrying (concealing medicine drums) asked where we were headed. Keeping it light, I said, “To visit the tadpoles in the creek.” I don’t want to be waylaid by heady discussions of the value of singing to the water by those who may not yet understand.
I appreciate all the human prophets for the reminders they bring us. Most religions, at their roots, are about honouring life, celebrating community, and being kind. Yet we humans get so dazzled by our own constructs that we can fail to see the damage we do in the name of the light, love and forgiveness that we stress ourselves out to commemorate. Or feel so excluded we drop into the darkness of depression brought on by the societal pressures we struggle within or against, that we, once again, miss the light.
Nonetheless, and no matter what you call these holy days or what you choose to celebrate, or even what year you decide it is, may you find joy, wonder, love and kindness not just today, but all days and all ways. And may any benefits you receive benefit all beings (and by that I mean ALL beings). We all have a place.
Mistletoe,
Mox
(get it? Mox under the mistletoe?!)
