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Drunk Santas

The Spirit of the Season? Probably Paraffin.

As we come to the end of yet another ‘spin around our sun’, I tend, as most do, to indulge in reflection on the events of the last year – and, indeed, Life, itself.
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It’s as good a time as any.
The cycle we traditionally hold to is approaching its ending and beginning phase.
Death and rebirth.
Gods in many cultures, before Judaeo-Christian scriptures or even the Sumerian times, (predating the former by 3-4000 years), have customarily plunged into some ‘underworld’ and been dragged back into ‘life’ a few days later.
And ‘virgins’ give birth to ‘hope’ in a messed-up world.
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Thing is, times have changed immensely in 6000 years.
Yet, in some ways, not all that much.
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We have advanced, in technological terms, almost to the stature of gods, ourselves.
We can manipulate life at the sub-atomic level, we can call down hail, deluge, drought and fire from the heavens. Our destructive capabilities would put the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah on the level of a puppy’s fart.
We can ‘see’ virtually any location we choose to, we can speak with just about anyone no matter how distant and we define truth from fakery simply by declaration.
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And, while our schemes and endeavours have created the potential to bring health, education, comfort and nourishment to every, single, individual member of our entire, world-spanning race, twice over, the spoils of those schemes go to only a fraction of a fraction of the population.
A tiny percentage, with so much worldly wealth that the word ‘wealth’ is rendered irrelevant, could choose, if they wished, to turn this world into a paradise for all. They could be lauded for all time as the saviours of the world.
They could.
But, they never will.
In this way they exhibit their ‘godhood’ by deciding to use their power to decide who lives and who dies; who is punished by starvation, war and sickness and who is rewarded by comfort, safety and privilege.
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Which is just as well, since the ‘wealth’ they cleave to so desperately is, like most faiths, an illusory concept; a group delusion that must be believed in, wholesale, in order to maintain mass control and, naturally, the elevated positions of the high priests.
What they fear most is the day when the followers see the true nakedness of their kings:
“Hang on… you’ve been giving us numbers of life-value to live on – and charging us interest on any extra numbers you let us have – which you just made up out of nothing – so that your own imaginary numbers will get bigger? …But, if you want to make more numbers all you do is just type them in? And you’ve been making this shit up for how long…?!”
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In the early days of my ‘waking’, I naively thought these machinations could be halted simply by pointing out the obvious to enough people.
I underestimated the immense power of cognitive dissonance- of the human capacity to avoid rocking the slave ship for fear of the slavery getting ‘worse’: “But, if we throw the captain and the drums overboard, how will we know when, or how fast, to row? We’ll be stranded and adrift!”
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So, no, I have very little confidence that my race will will wake up before they are corralled in that box canyon; tagged and labelled to be more easily controlled and, indeed, culled at will.
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And, still, they will continue to bicker and blame each other for their degrading conditions without ever once looking up.
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To me, the Christmas season, more than any other, yields outstanding examples of how lost we have become, despite our apparent advances. After all, what use all our advances in technology if our consciousness; our spiritual, moral development hasn’t kept pace?
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A brief period of unbridled consumerism and temporary, faux ‘community’.
A season littered with trite messages of ‘peace’, ‘goodwill’ and ‘love’ pre-printed on saccharine-pictured, mass-manufactured pieces of card. Just place your mark at the bottom and tuck it in the envelope provided and make us all feel validated. (Just don’t forget anyone or there will be hell to pay, right?)
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Those who, for the other 51 weeks of the cycle, drool over the idea of blood and destruction raining down on their fellow beings; who would sooner piss on the less fortunate than offer a hand, appear on all our social-conditioning outlets talking about how their gods command us to love our neighbours – how devoutly they pursue – even embody – peace, love and kindness to all living things.
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And then the season of ‘goodwill’ ends and with it the fickle pretences.
You see, spite, unreasoning hatred, gullibility and hypocrisy are too deeply bred into our collective psyche. History will repeat and the big business of war, hate and ill-will to all mankind will resume.
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After a recent, mild ‘Grinch-grumble’ of mine, a friend said, “But it’s a time to get together, eat nice food and show love and compassion; a time for peace and forgiveness and to help the less fortunate and give to others to show how much they mean to us. Why isn’t that a lovely thing to celebrate?”
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I replied: “You describe ‘lovely things’ that we should, surely, be aspiring to achieve every single day of the year, don’t you think? Why does it take a religion/corporate-serving festival to inspire such noble practices? And just for just a few days each year?”
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If you’re looking for the true ‘Spirit of the Season’, you might find it tucked at the back of a dusty shelf, hidden behind all the latest ‘must-have’, life-enhancing gadgets.
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But, personally, I wouldn’t bother looking…
Its well past the use-by date and contaminated to fuck.

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