Thursday, January 5, 2017

DAY TWELVE: THE FEAST OF THE EPIPHANY/TWELFTH NIGHT





TWELFTH NIGHT, AND WHERE HAVE ALL THE PARTIES GONE?

Twelfth Night is a bit confusing, as far as the chronology of events is concerned.  Since the Eleventh is the Feast of the Magii, and the Twelfth is the Feast of the Magii's visiting the baby Jesus, when did they actually arrive and see Him?  As the story goes, the baby was born, the Hebrew infants were massacred, Jesus was circumcized, the Wise Men got directions from Herod, after which they finally visited the Boy King and blew off King Herod, who'd asked them to return to him and tell him where he could murder the--er, visit the Messiah.  But, really, it's a rough timeline, the order of which different regions and denominations disagree on, intermingled with older, Pagan traditions and New Year celebrations, and such.

The point is, it's all a party.  Exept for the horrid slaughter of the innocents, and the martyrdom of Stephen, only good stuff is being celebrated, here. Even these events had their silver linings--the Little Lord Jesus escaped Herod the Great, and martyrdom is genuinely considered to be a great thing (if not the best), being a one-way ticket to Seventh Heaven for the martyr themself, and an inspiration to us all to not compromise our principles.  Plus, the Sun/Son is returning, the end of Winter's death and chill is nigh, so let the parties roll (!), is the general idea.

As for the particulars of Twelfth Night, I can tell you what happens in Spain and other places in the present day: January 6th is when the kids get their Christmas presents, not Christmas Day, and they are brought by the Three Kings, not by the roly-poly Man In Red (if you know your marketing history, he is both roly-poly, and red, because he drinks Coca Cola).  Spanish kids know all of the “Wise Kings’” names and faces.  The children fill their shoes with straw and leave them out for the Kings’ camels, exactly the way the Old Norse would leave straw out for Sleipnir, Odin The All-Father’s flying eight-legged horse, or the way we leave cookies and milk for Santa Claus and his flying eight reindeer.  As in some other places, the Spanish make an Epiphany cake, into which they bake a small figure or plastic toy, or a bean.  Whoever gets the piece with the bean/toy is declared King, and gets to preside over the festivities.  In merry Old England, the King/Queen had the honor of leading all attending the Twelfth Night party in songs and games.

At some Mexican friends' house yesterday, they served a "Baby Jesus" cake.  Nevermind that the eponymous plastic figure was whiter than a Viking's bottom and looked  like an extraterrestrial, and that the hostess had placed one in every piece (negating the whole "king of the party" idea), it was a touching inclusion into their party and culture.  Anyway, there are those who believe Jesus looked like a northern European, blue-eyed boy, and other who think he was an alien, so....there.  Ethnic variants aside, the point, again, is--it's a party.


In Spain today, controversy has ensued over the recent inclusion of Santa Claus (Papá Noel) in their pantheon, as evidenced by an article forwarded to me by a native Spaniard urging his nation to reject the Man With The Bag and retain the Three Kings as the bringers of gifts and bearers of Spanish culture.  We shall see how that turns out; it depends whether the Spanish have it in them to fight off the sugary, caffeinated spectre of Coca-Cola (they are coffee drinkers, so there is hope).


I’m glad I don’t live in Bulgaria.  There, they throw a crucifix into an icy cold river, and the first one to fish it out receives a special blessing (and good health for the family, they say).  But even if you avoid volunteering  for polar diving, you might be one of the men dancing in the same freezing waters to inaugurate the “crucifix ritual”...If you'll notice, though, everyone in that icy waterway below is smiling.


In the British Isles of yore, Twelfth Night parties are when people pulled out all the stops for one last, grand hurrah….That is, after they had disposed of all the Christmas decorations.  Wreaths and holly garlands, the mistletoe were consigned to the fire—any holly spine left unburnt would turn into a goblin!   Bonfires are also a thing--because how else were you going to burn all that green?

In echo of British celebrations, two hours from Denver, in a park in Eagle, Colorado, they hold a huge bonfire to burn all their Christmas trees, along with free ice skating and hot chocolate.



According to an English newspaper, the Daily Mirror, it was a folk belief that spirits lived in the holly and greenery used to decorate for Christmas. The festive season provided shelter for the spirits, but they needed to be released when the season was over. If the custom wasn't followed, it was believed to cause agricultural problems in the spring (similar to not Wassailing).



During the subsequent festivities, “All the world are Kings and Queens.  Everybody is somebody else; and learns at once to laugh at, and to tolerate, characters different from his own by enacting them—all conspires to throw a giddy splendour over the last night of the season.”



Sounds great, doesn’t it?  Jolly old England!  Is it still?  How jolly is the U.S., in comparison?  Well, have you read Barbara Ehrenreich’s book about the history of communal celebration (Dancing in the Streets: A History of Collective Joy)?  You must!  The gist of this book: through the history of our ‘civilization,’ the amount of time devoted to revelry has been whittled down to a sliver, and the nature of our carousing has been toned way down as well.  People used to, as Eddie Murphy sang “party all the time”.  I read somewhere that the Romans had 175 festival days a year—a bit like our weekends and holidays, but with more punch, and dancing. 

At one time, even churches lacked bolted-down benches and doubled as party halls, with dancing and singing.  Imagine!  This was in the days before the joke: “Why don’t Christians have sex standing up?—Because it might lead to dancing.”.  You couldn’t have gotten a laugh with that one before the Puritans—because, before the bloody Puritans, nobody had thought to prohibit dancing yet (or Christmas.  The Puritans banned Christmas!).  Full-throated merriment was still OK in God’s eyes.



But societies' pampered and paranoid elites progressively banned such revels, because as the rich become richer the poor get poorer, revels turn to riots, and heads will roll. So--no more parties in the church!  Bolt down the benches, and you are like a kindergarten teacher who has successfully arranged her room like a maze to minimize overly spirited tikes' room for sprinting--exept, in the church, what you have removed is the celebrations that formerly rang out in that space.  You have made church a solemn and sober affair that many would eventually and instinctively avoid.  I suspect this is how atheists were born--and why the guillotine was invented.

The elites have been so successful at curbing revels in churches that I cannot even google an image of a church with chairs pushed aside so as to hold a party in it.  This, even though I have successfully browsed to images such as Twelfth Night celebrations in Eagle, Colorado--??  

I guess my point is, in this case as in many others, I’m all for turning back the clock and extending our celebrations, making them merrier and more meaningful.  This is why I love the Twelve Days of Christmas (really fourteen counting Christmas Eve and Christmas Day—and you have to).  Even if I don’t have a bunch of Old English friends with which to carry on for these two weeks, they do give me more chance to reflect, and they have given me at least more opportunities to celebrate with my American friends and family.  I hope in the future they give me even more.  What’s else, I hope that you, reader, faithful and tireless (which you certainly are, if you have read all my twelve days’ worth of posts), are there to celebrate with me.

PLAYLIST, available on YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLdartdqjh56BbrHf5hAkhxSMC_iBBTLhw: 

Eddie Murphy - Party All the Time

Aaaaaand, turns out there's plenty of songs called "Epiphany"...

Andrew Rayel - Epiphany (Extended Mix)
Epiphany- Staind Unplugged
bare: A Pop Opera - Epiphany
Mark Petrie - Epiphany
Tinush - Epiphany
Epiphany: Bowling For Soup
Visionate - Epiphany (Original Mix)
The Ocean - Epiphany

DAY ELEVEN--FESTIVAL OF THE THREE KINGS/EVE OF THE EPIPHANY



DAY ELEVEN : EVE OF EPIPHANY/FESTIVAL OF THE THREE KINGS
 (Celebrate the Magi, Herod, the slaughtered innocents, and the Baby Jesus in you!)

 https://render.fineartamerica.com/images/images-profile-flow/350/images/artworkimages/medium/1/bible-wise-men-the-magi-arrive-1920-mike-savad.jpg

The Eleventh Day of Christmas celebrates the Magi, the “Three” Kings/Wise Men/Astrologers who gave gifts to the baby Jesus.  For this reason, the 11th Day carries the additional title of "Little Christmas" (but, as we will see, in some countries IT is the Big Christmas, or at least Big Christmas Eve).  Despite our mathematical certainty about the 3 Magi, even to the point of assigning a name to each, the number of these…persons is not clarified in the gospels, only the number of gifts.  Nevertheless, legend fills in the blanks where myth leaves off, and we assume one gift per Wise Man--therefore, 3 Wise Men.   

So then there were three, their secret identities revealed in this way: Caspar, a Turk,  is old, normally with a white beard, and gives the gold. Melchior is middle-aged, giving frankincense from his native Arabia, and Balthazar is a young man with myrrh from Yemen, although beginning in the 1100’s the Yemeni has been replaced by a dark-skinned Ethiopian (because black lives mattered!).

Long story short, Herod tried to get the Three to give the Baby Jesus up to him, but a dream warned them off, and Herod then massacred everyone’s newborns after the Magi had skipped town.  Even so, the poor babes’ fate is traditionally commemorated on the Third Day, Childermass, December 28th, when it could have been no earlier than Jan. 7th—if we take the Birth on the 25th, December, as gospel (For the whole story on the Three Wise Men’s encounter with the bloodthirsty and paranoid Herod, see my blog on the 3rd Day of Christmas—Childermass/Holy Innocents).  

 https://www.thetimes.co.uk/imageserver/image/methode%2Ftimes%2Fprod%2Fweb%2Fbin%2F1430196a-0908-11e9-abe2-4909b2eb0130.jpg?crop=3048%2C1714%2C137%2C269&resize=685

A thought experiment: let’s say that Herod represents the “ego”.  At its worst, this “egotistical” part of the psyche is a constellation of all our entrenched habits (and the ruts they are stuck in).  This part of self, a sort of gatekeeper, really, has no or limited access to vast areas of the soul-self unless it steps aside and watches the show—when the ego would rather run the show.  Humility, Zen, mystical experience, true reverence, any new habit, or even mental peace may threaten the ego; and in fact it by reflex thwarts any such novelties.  The overblown ego thinks that it is king, and fails to realize that it is merely a small but bossy part of the brain-self in need of the support and resources of the other 99.9% of the whole human being for its very existence.

Further, say that the Nativity represents a breakthrough of heroic energy: a bundle of joy, the result of spiritual and psychological Stuff which is wider, deeper, higher and more central, all at once, than anything ever experienced before.  The “innocents” whom Herod slaughtered represent ideas flowing from this new and greater way of being.  The first reaction of the ego is Herod’s: to kill off those ideas.  Stab them!  Slaughter them.  Or, what’s a more likely scenario today: set them in front of the TV, and hope they go away.  But, in casting such a wide net, Herod confuses the ideas with their Source, the all encompassing Self, with a capital “S”—who gets away, because it is basically the unkillable center of all being.

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiojFoeyRphh98CRywpQZ6Bn6Qxro62DyEk56oZGnjALF3lLIAb43J_RguS_kRPBz7wwH-k9Ubw3hBB0u2kURpcHtutxsK8GxOlzaIscpbiN0nLPceNL5SmV9OKWI02IBahXjqOeqMkeic/s1600/nativity-wallpaper-1.jpg

I had always thought that “Coventry Carol,” is hauntingly beautiful, and that the “bye, bye” part was not a literal goodbye but some medieval word with a different meaning, or a rhythmic nonsense syllable.  If only: in this song, Hebrew mothers are bidding their barely-born and newly murdered sons adieu forever….

Lully, lullay, Thou little tiny Child,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
Lullay, thou little tiny Child,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.

…So it’s heart-rending, actually.  I need not milk it, but it’s also quite sad the number of divine stirrings within—intuitions or feelings of big love or noble actions—that have been ignored in a person’s life, and whose time may have come and gone.  What ideas arising from your very core are you killing off this lovely Christmas season?  Which of her baby inspirations is your Great Internal Mother grieving?—To put it another way, if you were completely daring and secure, if you could not fail, what would you do (or not do)?

The story says that the Source of all those anxiety provoking promptings will not be killed, which means the ideas will keep on coming, which means you have to engage in some compulsive behavior or other, or they will catch up with you (‘Tis the season, traditionally, of compulsive shopping—but why limit yourself to the last of December; or, for that matter, to just shopping?).  When they do bite you on the donkey, you will realize that you-as-ego are not a king at all, more like the bossy clerk at a local hotel which may or may not be The Ritz. 

What’s more,  if you are lucky you will realize also that this is a very good thing, that there is more to you than the dog tricks you have learned to perform in response to the old master, fear.  Perhaps you will get that “there are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” and you will see that the Wonder Child, the conduit of all those inspired promptings, is constantly reborn within us where the humble meets the exalted (where angels, for example, fly singing their hearts out over a barn full of the sweet stink of animal manure).

 https://kevindmonroe.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Bright-Idea_epiphany_AS.jpeg

To support this Birth within yourself, make a habit of doing something every day that feeds your soul-self, your Newborn King (or Queen): follow your Bliss; remain quiet and still (don’t just do something—sit there!); feed yourself ideas that are hard to accept but are nevertheless true, like “the Divine lives in me”; if you find yourself in a rut, leave it the same way you would leave an unhealthy yet familiar relationship (kicking and screaming, if you’re like me); give up a resentment; meditate on what unprecedented action you might take (or precedented one you might not take), and see what bubbles up.  

 The Christmas Story, and the Festival of the Kings in particular, would have us pay attention to our dreams...Didn’t dreams protect the Divine Child’s life, not once but twice, and keep the Holy Family from splitting up before it even got off the ground?  Of what are our dreams warning us, or what in our lives are they asking us to feed?  Write down your dreams, check out a book on dream interpretation, and start figuring it out….

[Pictured: Joseph hears the angel's warning about Herod's massacre.]

 https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/55/Joseph%27s_Dream_in_the_Stable.jpg

Last night, I had a dream about an elite Brazilian athlete (jiu-jitsu, probably) whose woman was "with child".  For some reason, they intended to abort the child, and I made all kinds of plans to adopt it, instead.  I thought, what a waste.  The child has a great chance of being athletic and beautiful.

I puzzled over this, wrote down some possible associations, but nothing clicked until I saw an affirmation my wife had prominently displayed on the shelf over the kitchen sink:

"I am a divine creation, healthy and whole.  I praise every part of my body for its intrinsic ability to heal and restore."

I realized that feeling healthy and whole and beautiful is something foreign to me.  My healthy, beautiful Self might as well be in Brazil, hidden in the womb of someone I have never met and whose language I don't speak.  This dream is telling me to "adopt" that language, and that attitude.  The time for fear and self loathing is over.  The Christ is born--or the Buddha Nature, the Atman, the capital-S "Self," if you prefer.  The Wonder Child or the essential Self is a concept that transcends any particular religion, or even the lack thereof--or even the final frontier: one's habitual attitudes towards oneself.

The Wonder Child being born can represent almost any unrealized potential.  I am fifty-three, and nothing will make me 18 again, but I can certainly do some yoga, or whatever, and feel ten years younger in an hour or two.  So I will do that, and repeat the affirmation to myself today: you see, I am; and you, dear reader, are a divine creation, healthy and whole.

In naturalistic tribes, when a person gets depressed, they might be asked any of four questions:
When in your life did you stop singing?
When in your life did you stop dancing?
When in your life did you stop being enchanted by stories (including your own life story)?
When in your life did you start being uncomfortable with silence?”
 Follow the clues, if you are depressed, and buck the trend, I say.

READING LIST: “The Gift of the Magi” by O. Henry, available in PDF form here: http://www.ibiblio.org/ebooks/Henry/Gift_Magi.pdf


We Three Kings Of Orient Are : Kings College, Cambridge
Barenaked Ladies - "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen/We Three Kings" Feat. Sarah McLachlan
James Blunt - Wisemen lyrics
 O Come, All Ye Faithful - Pentatonix
O Come, All Ye Faithful (Adeste Fideles) at Westminster Abbey
My King and My God (Wise Men's Song) - Todd Koeppen
Such Wise Men! - The Glory of Christmas Musical
What Child Is This? - Martina Mcbride
Christian Rap; The Cross Movement: Wiseman (Christmas Rap, Jesus, Nativity)
A Feast of Songs - Journey of the Magi
Peter, Paul & Mary - The Magi (The Heart Of Man's A Palace)
Anaïs Mitchell - Song of the Magi