Whether your preferred Symbol

Whether your preferred Symbol

Is the flaming
Chalice
of Unitarian Universalism

Or the Ying
and Yang circle
of Taoism

Or the 9-pointed
Star
of Bahaism

Or the 8-spoked
Wheel
of Buddhism

Or the 6-pointed
Star
of Judaism

Or the 4-armed
Swaztika
of Jainism

Or the Latin
Cross
of Christianity

Or the Trumpet
of the Latter Day
Saints

Or the Moon
and Star
of Islam

Or the Standing
Stones
of Stonehenge

Or an old Photo
of the Duke
of Edinburgh

Or an Image
of the Rainbow Fish
of Dreams

Or an invisible
God Particle
in the Large Hadron Collider

Or none
of the above
or diddly-squat
 
It matters not.

It really matters not.

Believe me.

Christmas - not for the squeamish

Symbol of power. A Cathedral in Spain.

Inquisition

Christmas 

is about religion. 

Religion 

is about power. 

Power 

is about money. 

Money 

makes the world go round. 

What has the mindset of the biblical psychopath who supposedly created the universe and habitually makes his points by means of dire punishments such as death by flood* or pestilence or other unholy catastrophe involving unbridled cruelty spiced with ruthlessness whenever humanity fails to obey his so-called instructions, his convoluted so-called instructions which are even harder to grasp than how your computer works, to do with Christmas? 

At this time of year we celebrate, if celebrate is the appropriate word, the miraculous virgin birth of the psychopath's alleged son; or the birth of the first of five brothers and two sisters to a middle-aged carpenter and his young wife. 

The special son was born approximately 2,000 years ago at the time of the conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter or some as yet unexplained astronomical event, perhaps a supernova. 

The superstitious consulted their charts and did their calculations and worked out the location of the event, as they do in the Himalayas to this day when searching for the birth place of the next Dalai Lama for example, and then they journeyed to the place bearing the usual gifts.  It was a place under Roman rule. 

The consequences were as dreadful as they were inevitable. Thousands of babies and children under the age of two were put to the sword. The method the Roman soldiers habitually used to dispatch babies and infants was to cut them in half.

It seems there can be no saviour without mass murder, bribery and torture. 

The psychopath who created the universe allowed his proxy son and the humble carpenter and his wife to escape the horror. The family went into hiding and nothing more was heard of them for thirty years. 

God's serpentine and perplexing A to Z Manual on Psychosis and Sin states that the family fled to Egypt. Some historians argue that they made it to India. 

The substance of the message promulgated in the so-called holy lands thirty years later does I suggest incline more towards India. 

When we celebrate the birth of one special baby we celebrate the slaughter of thousands of innocent but potentially dangerous babies. That is the true meaning of Christmas. We'd be wise to never forget it. 

*Your Original Poet-in-Residence Christmas Cracker Riddle. Accept no Imitations: 

Q. How did the kangaroos get to Noah's ark? 














A. With a giant leap of the imagination. 

My 2002 Christmas Tree

I made a sketch of my 2002 tree. This year, in the spirit of the times, we'll do without. 

Candles on our Christmas tree

The dove of peace on top 

Baubles on the ends of branches 

Queues in all the shops 

moonbeams

above the sleepy town (6) 

the moon (2) 

pale ghosts of light (4) 

revealing now (4) 

black dragons in the sky (6) 

They

Venetian youth
enjoying an evening in Paris
- when they struck
with their bombs
and their guns

and Valeria was killed
with others who were there
in the city of love.

In the city of Hemingway's Moveable Feast
they gorged on the blood of the innocent young
for the sake of their cause

which cannot be right
in the sight
of their God

whatever they think.
Valeria's remembered
and will be
for always

- they won't meet her
in heaven
for they are now damned.

The Silence Echoes

trees 

grown bare

now 

silence reigns 

yet, 

something 

drips 

yet 

something 

drips 

with silent 

echo,

silence 

echoes 

these misty

woods

Dr. Lawrence Krauss on the poetry of the universe

More sense than 100 preachers.