18 Dec

December is marching along, not as cool as is its wont, but we don’t mind that, not those of us who find shivering an unpleasant way of spending our lives – though we are equally aware of the perils of climate change and not one of us wants to diminish our fears on that front. But none-the-less December is marching along.

It carries, like the kernel of a nut, its jolly few days of Christmas. There’s always been a celebration by humans around the time of the winter solstice because it makes sense. Celebrations warm us up, in earlier times than our own they gave our ancestors an excuse to eat surplus food before it went off – and there’s not many people who don’t appreciate the odd drop of mead or wine when it’s snowing outside. So it makes sense for an intelligent species to use that intelligence and get pissed occasionally in December.

There’s no shame in it, though some ultra-controlling religions would make you think there is.

We call our celebrations Christmas after a myth that evolved, slowly, over the first three or four centuries of the first millennium after a particular infant allegedly had a most peculiar birth. The story already existed and had been around in one form or another for over two thousand years, of course, because Christianity was so good at borrowing pre-existing mythologies and adapting them that it seamlessly made this one its own.

You’ve only got to look at the murky world outside your window to see why a bit of celebration is necessary. And it doesn’t matter one jot to me if all the joy and laughter is done in the name of a fictitious manger-baby or a classical deity with a name like Horus (he of Only Connect’s eye) or any one of the other fables that we as a species seem so fond of.

Let’s lift up our knees and warble our joy to the Universe!!!

Peter Rogerson 18.12.15


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