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GROUND XERO: LIVE FROM L.A.
The Christmas 'shroom

By Xanadu Xero | RAW STORY COLUMNIST

“For most of us the truth is no longer a part of our minds; it has become a special product for experts.”
—Jacob Bronowski

Scoot your wing-chairs to the hearth, madams and sirs; I’ll add some pine cones to the fire. Don’t they burn with a luscious smell? Comfy?

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Have another cup of wassail and relax; its time for Cousin Xan to help you bid a fine, feathered ‘How-do-you-do?’ to the magical Christmas season!

Christmas is a special time; a gilded melding of old and new traditions. For instance…

NEW: Nowadays we englut our credit cards, begging our master, the Vampire Debt, to escort us, bleak and schmaltzy, into the new year.

In doing so, we (a.) falsely reflect the spirit of giving, and (b.) slide into the fetid Muzak-induced hypnosis that Church and State have crafted, holding hands. Once we lull to spiritually null, we’re easy to whip up, like eggs, and whisk into their homemade fear/guilt/doubt mix — an omelet of puppet souls.

OLD: Happy Birthday, Lord and Savior! A whole day to celebrate Goodness. Even though, really, slicing up ‘time’ is man’s conceit, and a ‘day’ of extracting/inventing one’s ‘higher self’ is a flick of snot at Gaia.

We also celebrate our blessings on Christmas, and strain to see that half-full cup. Even though, really, only some are half-full. Others brim over, and some are shale dry, depending on, um, who the fuck knows? Of course, God works in Mysterious Ways. Phenomenally mysterious.

But screw that. Think of Santa! The flying reindeer. The elves, the sleigh. The tree, its bulbs, its crowning star. The presents. The festive red, white and green. The strings of popcorn and cranberries. The Wassail bowl. So sweet, my frown is turning upside down.

Do you know, boys and girls, how our Christmas traditions, old and new, began? How they relate to Christian dogma? No?

That’s because they DON’T. None of them, NONE OF THEM, were calved from Christian history. None. Correspondence to Jesus came after the fact.

Santa, reindeer, sleigh, tree etc…. these snuggly Christmas traditions are all, in fact, paeans of devotion and thanks to the profound, transforming, mystical powers of the Amanita muscaria mushroom, a potent psychedelic. Yes, you heard me.

Fruitcake, anyone?

The Bwanas of ChristCo, Inc. cobbled ‘Christmas’ together in the conglomerate’s early days, cut-and-pasting from more ancient religions and mythologies.

In fact, the whole Church was cobbled together. “The Virgin Birth, the incarnation of God, the sacrament, Christmas, Easter, etc. have been adopted/stolen by Christianity as its own” writes James Arthur, entheobotanist, Tibetan Buddhist, and ordained (waaay non-practicing) priest.

‘Christianity’ was invented with gain in mind, just like “Desperate Housewives”, or the Bush presidency. ChristCo was the brainchild of founder and first CEO Emperor Constantine I of Rome (ruled 306-337 A.D.) Constantine had ‘the smarts,’ as my Grandpa Harry would say.

This Emperor, Arthur explains, “knew one of the most basic tenets of government was the control of its people” which “becomes much easier and effective when that government is able to also assume a ‘divine’ authority.” ChristCo swiped concepts from “Egyptology, Mithraism, Hinduism, Buddhism, The Torah and many others… finally compiling their own plagiarized (and altered) writings to create the new Catholic (one from all) Bible.”

Illuminati, The Prequel!

With shocking synchronicity (cough), Constantine also had a portentous dream. Christ commanded him to put signs of the cross on his soldiers’ shields. This was the birth of Guerilla P.R.

The Amanita muscaria mushroom is that cute red one with the white dots that you see in fairy tale illustrations, a staple of enchanted worlds. They abound in Christmas imagery. Elves carry them and sit upon them. Sprites tie them with ribbons and hang them on doorknobs. They’re little houses. They peek from Santa’s sack. They line snowy paths. They’re squeaky toys. They’re hats. They’re tree ornaments.

In Pre-Christian times, Man didn’t need no stinkin’ agent to merge with God. No grifter middlemen in goofy dresses. No one controlled your access to the Divine, or put conditions on it. A Shaman — a teacher — helped you navigate and realize your path. He shared collective knowledge so that each person was spared the drain of reinventing the wheel.

But… independent thought leads to independent action. God Forbid — literally. Does this ring a bell? The friggin’ dots are so close together, you don’t even have to connect them.

Santa Claus is, of course, St. Nicholas, the Christianized Siberian Shaman, who may or may not have lived in the fourth century. Before a mushroom ceremony, these Shamans entered homes through a roof opening, their fungi stuffed in a sack. Mushroom-gatherers wore ceremonial red and white outfits.

St. Nick’s shtick also borrows from more ancient gods, like Thor, Odin and Poseidon, some of whom flew o’er the earth in chariots, notched down for us drone bees to sleighs.

We put presents wrapped in red and white under the Christmas Tree, but why? Amanita muscaria mushrooms grow under pine trees. These were the original ‘presents;’ holiday colors honor this. Who knew? Bulbs replace the tree’s earlier décor of apples, which were ‘shroom symbolic.

Reindeer adored the mushrooms. They would chow down, then prance about wildly in the God Flow, hence symbolic ‘flight.’ The strings of cranberries and popcorn are stand-ins for the red-and-whites, strung up to dry. The wassail bowl resembles a fully mature Amanita, when its round top inverts and points skyward. Some believe that the mushroom was the true Holy Grail.

All Christmas roads, you see, do not lead to Rome, but to fungi.

When you’re with God, I hear, you flow with All; not the Pope, or TBN. To paraphrase Erich Fromm: In the twentieth century the problem was that God is dead. In the twenty-first, the problem is that man is dead.

Don’t load for bear, man, I’m just the messenger.

 



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