I will tell you straight and true that I do not think of Christ’s birth this time of year because with the consciousness he sought to impart, which has awoke in me leaves me at odd ends with the way followers chose to tell the story and how it lives ever-present in me. The Christ within has a different story to tell me.

When I think of his birth, I have never seen a child born in Winter but who was carried on the promise of Spring. Christ, my Christ, was a life cast in a message of rebirth, renewal, and boundless vigor, hope, wonder, and expansive possibility. For this is how Christ has healed as it has entered my life.
As a result, I can’t think of his life beginning in the dead cold nights, even though the fables say it so. I am his close companion and he says he is as much a he as he is a she…which is the deeper mystery no one dares speak for fear of being called a heretic or blasphemer…

Historians point out that there was a supernova that occurred in the Spring of his birth year. It was a bright star shining for a time in the night sky that may have been the portent the magi used to get them looking for a king not of our world, but the one who sits with his queen enthroned in a kingdom few seem to describe well, apart from the bliss they heap upon those who enter the secret bridal chamber. But so scandalous was that idea that no mention of it was to be found in the canonical Gospels. I could almost forgive them for not knowing. It was, though, the only apt image to describe what happens when that dove descends.

It’s that it’s a reality that isn’t seen or known well, that it’s less about being prim and proper as it is about a sensuality that is explosive…and I have always been left at odd ends when I hear words like the pagan Rumi instead of Mark or Luke echoing in my being.

So I am thrilled to let Christmas be….to let the event it has always been just BE, which is a way to break up the cold night in order to share good food and celebration with family and friends. It’s just that it’s an earthy festivity to do this and stop pretending we even know what our fables try to tell us is even true…

The mystery of Christ runs so deep and asks so much of us, but it asks only once it has penetrated to the very depths of us and whispers how it is there to take us whole, in order to redeem us in the great incandescence that is the love of the Source, our tripartite God, our Trinity where the goddess is shrouded as the holy ghost….and we go eagerly, consumed as we are from the start.

So like a pagan I enjoy Christmas for its earthy pleasure whilst feeling Christ alive in me rioutus and sensual, still and deep, using all of me to reveal the greatest of mysteries to me that I can scarcely explain or describe….
So I don’t. Or if I do, I do so so feebly that it’s like a joke that I even try. For me, it’s almost enough to sink back into that incandescent depth and have a sip of wine. Well, almost enough.

I await what I know was your birth in Spring, which is the same as my own. Born on the cusp of when everything turns green and springs into life and leaps up in promise and unbridled joy, I find your physical echo firm and sure, simple, and quite lovely.

So you can call me a sinner or lost soul if you must, but I am hardly moved by lessons so poorly formed in our past, the fables hardly pass the test for truth, or even poetry. I meet my Christ in Spring as we both run naked in flowering woods unafraid and with no spit of shame, just like the children he described when he was alive and staring onto our world. He says it was as though  whispered  because it was in his day a blasphemy; I am one with the father and the mother….
These two, who merge in us and create the sacred third, the cosmic consciousness, the Christ consciousness have as their means a union of their seeming opposites to birth the transcendent in us.
They are the cosmic lovers who beget us when we each become Christs. We come about by way of their begetting, their cosmic love which we come to know as our own birthright. This was the good news so many sought to change and fudge and clean up because of shame. We come about spiritually by way of a spiritual begetting. This was much to big and too shameful an admission for the early church fathers to admit so they hid it and chose a version of the truth. Winks.
I try to make peace with this past as I live in the vibrant wave that fills me and has remade me, and continues to do its work as my devotion only deepens for its great work.

That is how lovely my Christmases are….

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