The vanished time
Do you dislike Christmas? Then read about the vanished time.
(PORTUGUÊS) (NEDERLANDS)
There are quite a few people around me who are not happy about the Christmas season. I also notice that they are more often men than women. They feel increasingly downcast, out of sorts, irritated, touchy, grumpy and inwardly angry. And all these emotions translate into resistance to anything that hints at Christmas. I've always wondered why that is.
Maybe it's unpleasant memories of the eternal family quarrels during the darkening days?
Maybe because the focus is more on Santa than on themselves?
Maybe because it can all cost a lot of money?
Maybe it's too much out of the daily rhythm and they are out of control?
Maybe they see through the hypnosis that leads to all the consuming?
I don't know.
Christmas hecklers would prefer that on 24 December, time skips to 6 January the following year. I even know someone who would prefer all time to disappear on 6 December. Then there is no suffering for them and life can go on its normal course.
Way back when the lunar calendar was leading in the western world, these eleven days did not exist, I read in Rudolf Steiner's Anthroposophical Weekly Proverbs. I received this booklet as a present in 1982 and I read it almost daily. I didn't understand any of it at first and now it's beginning to dawn on me. Especially now that philosopher Mieke Mosmuller has produced an edition entitled Kalender voor de ziel (Calendar for the Soul) in which she explains the week's proverbs in more modern language. Her reflection on week 37 from 15 to 21 December I do not want to withhold from the hecklers:
The inspiration of the soul, the bond between soul and body, becomes perfect in midwinter. The inhalation that began in summer now becomes complete and earth and man hold their breath from 4 December in the night until the New Year when on Epiphany (6 January) the exhalation begins again.
Very earlier, people felt that in these remaining days of the year, the divine order retreated, they were like empty days and nights in which dark forces could easily flow in. In those times, the people took measures to give the demons no chance. They made a lot of noise, burned candles and incense and set off fireworks.
Until the time came when a child was born on December 25. The story goes that it was born to protect us forever, in all the time of solitude of Earth and Man, as long as they will both live together. Since then, the nights have become 13 in number, from dusk on 24 December to the full day of 6 January. They have become sacred because Christ and the earth are closest together in these days and nights.
The Catholic Church used the pagan fear of those dark days to make people come to faith with the introduction of the birth of Jesus, and it also allowed old rituals to exist. Cleverly done. Marketing avant la lettre. But that's a whole other story.
I come from a family where Christmas was fully celebrated with a walk to midnight mass, Christmas breakfast and a grand dinner of stuffed turkey and plum pudding for family, entourage, lonely neighbours and friends. All on fancy and glitz and glamour. It was hard work for us and lots of washing up while singing the Christmas repertoire. No one complained. It invariably ended in games (because all generations were present) and laughter. That changed after the death of the pacesetters of it all, my parents. Beautiful memories that I cherish.
These days, my Christmas time carries the energy of peace and reflection. I love this vanished time. It gets quieter and quieter. Outside in nature and inside me. There is no restlessness. No one needs anything or has to do anything. So the hecklers around me are content and no longer radiate resistance.
Today, the minimal Christmas decorations come from the attic with my mother's stable and with her sternly taught lesson that Jesus should be in the manger only after his birth and not already now. If someone visiting her asked her why that manger was empty, she would look up in surprise with that one eyebrow raised and ask, ‘Why do you think?’ She did give you some time to think and no one had the right answer. ‘He is not born yet yeah. Not until Christmas does he get to go into the manger!’ And all this time that pitiful little doll was hidden behind the stable.
I wish you, my very dear reader, follower and supporter, a beautiful Christmas or, if you like, the unique experience of living in the vanished time.