[thoughts from ~burning woman~ by Sha’Tara]
I was born and raised in a very Christian environment. It wasn’t American, even Canadian, it was European, actually, Breton. That’s a conquered Celtic province in the northwest of France that was once an independent duchy with its own royalty. The last royal was a queen, Anne de Bretagne. Her husband, fearing for his life, deserted her. Hoping for a male heir, she had several children, all of them girls. Finally, in order to save her country from being destroyed in bloodshed by the French, she abdicated and let the French take over. There was no choice, you see. She then entered a convent, so the story goes. That was, like 700 years ago. Thought I’d throw that in. It’s my history, in the genes, the DNA, the bones. Another story of another conquered race by another empire. How many of us understand this, know this, feel this?
Most of “my” people today don’t remember, don’t want to know don’t care. Like so many, they just want to live, get the best they can from what’s left of “the empire” or “the corporation” and make it to the end with some sort of value attached: a house, an apartment, a car, a family, some retirement money, anything that says, I mean something, I’m worth something… or… I won’t be living on the street when I reach 70. Like me. I sort of own a house. It’s mortgaged, of course, but I can cover the monthly “rental” from the bank, as long as there is enough money to cover all the other expenses of owning a house, and a vehicle, and… you know what? It’s all shit.
We are slaves. Face it, admit it, and stop long enough to really feel your feelings when you realize it: I’m a slave. I’m not in iron chains, my owners wouldn’t spring for the cost of chains, plus they’d slow me down on the assembly line. I’m a slave to the ATM, the debit card and the credit card. I’m a slave because I was stupid enough to believe those who taught me to be a good citizen; to trust, to work hard, to berate myself if I lost a job or failed to secure a new one, or two, or three on permanent part-time minimum wage no benefits basis.
I left the church, of course, long ago. I couldn’t afford it. I can’t make ends meet now, why would I worry about eternal life insurance? Screw that. If God is that cheap, maybe I don’t want to ever meet him. At least hell has warmth and when the power is cut off and the gas is turned off in the middle of winter, some time in hell with a drove of old friends doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. I’m sure we’ll come up with ways to make the best of a tough situation. Are you kidding? We’re from earth, we can party in the middle of a bombing raid; fuck while the shooting in the streets rages; hold a sub-machine gun at the ready while burying our youngest child. We can hold our tears for another, more convenient time; we can let someone else shed them for us while we busy ourselves with our necessary vengeance.
Yes, I know all about heaven and hell, I was suckled on the concepts. Hell, that terrible place of eternal burning torment designed by God for those who wouldn’t kiss his divine ass. Heaven, that blissful place of eternal whiteness. Ice and snow and winds blowing through taut harp strings from which moans of music flows. Angels in white gowns and white wings frozen stiff as garden statues, standing on frozen white clouds and ghosts, billions of ghosts whom, after spending their life’s savings buying eternal life insurance got into heaven and remain there, bowed in frozen worship before the grimmest gargoyed deity, its grin carved in eternal green-hued ice.
Heaven, where nothing bad ever happens because nothing can ever happen. Sick.
Being raised in Christian beliefs isn’t my problem. My problem is that once upon a time I learned to read and I found a Bible and I read it. I read the horror of it and the promises of it, the lies of it and the truths of it. In my child’s heart, I only saw the truth, and I wanted that more than anything else. Christmas and Easter were particularly poignant times, times of hope and times of utter despair. Christmas didn’t tell me about a god being born to save my soul, it told me about man’s cruelty to man, particularly to the poor. The ensuing story of a young man helping people and teaching them to love each other as best he knew how was my hope. But the “church” caught up to the young man before he had a chance and they crucified him just as effectively as it crucified my child’s heart. They had collusion and help of the government and the banks, as usual, and as now, just as my church had the help of the school and the village to crush my hopes of a just society. Sick.
I thought, well, they just missed it and all I have to do is remind them that the Jesus they claim to love and follow actually would condemn them all in a heartbeat if he’d showed up in any of their fancy decorated churches with the fancy choirs and music and siren-song sermons purporting to be all about him. Gag me, yes really. I did tell them the truth of it, showed them the written words. They did not repent, just made sure I paid for my effrontery. Don’t… Ever… Question… the Status Quo. There were punishments, that goes without saying. Sick.
From his times on things didn’t get better, they got worse. I watched it through my own eyes as they roamed the last two thousand years of history to culminate in today’s current events. That land where the young man walked, taught and did his miracles is a land of oppression and bloodshed, the war crimes and genocide taking place there aided and abetted by those who claim to be that young man’s followers and disciples. Depraved and sick.
Christmas, the absolute worst time of year. Christmas, a time of extreme hedonism; of orgiastic pleasures, of blind self-indulgence and pathetic attempts at pretend love and charity with skinflint donations to charitable organizations whose bureaucracy eats up the lion’s share of donated funds to maintain themselves in luxury as tax-free business corporations. Sick… sick… sick.
I’m glad that I found out some years ago that Earthians are not humans at all, they’ve just been conned into thinking they are. Pseudo-humans the Teachers call them, with a slight chance of entering the human race in the distant future if they survive their own sickness, their greed, lust, hate, vanity, pride and egotism. Survival, they said, remains in the very low percentile. That should lighten my angst. After all what’s dying and about to die is less worthy of care or concern than flora and fauna. It’s nothing but a useless and life-sucking predatory species of artificial life. Knowing the nature of Earthians should make it easier to bear my awareness of their current suffering and eventual demise. It should, it does not.
What would drive me mad if I hadn’t entered into a different mindset than that of those who once were my peers? The simple and obvious (to me) fact that being kind, gentle, caring, self-effacing, openly loving, open-handedly generous, self-sacrificing and ever compassionate is the greatest reward any Earthian can give her/himself. There is no greater return on any kind of investment. If only… if only they would get it. If only they would just try it on for size and wait a bit for the amazement to cover them over like a mantle of blissful well-being.
But they won’t. They will choose to consume themselves in consumerism and die of consuming consumption. They will gorge themselves, laugh, make “love,” the richest giving each other redundant gifts that will be denigrated because more and better was expected. Christmas, indeed, in deed.
There will be exceptions. There always are. They are necessary drops of oil on the cogs of the machine. They will do some good, then they will give credit to their gods, their churches and their charitable organizations and whatever good they accomplished will pile up more propaganda (power) for the machine to create a greater circle of injustice.
Christmas: spare me your good wishes, they are a curse to the awakened mind.