Watching The Birth of a God

All the historical references and the origins of Norse and Pagan, Celtic, and various other cultures is more than adequately recorded by much more academic historians than I. What I am writing is an observation, and a growing belief that it is in fact the birth of a God I am seeing, not the entrenching of a tradition.

Our children, for the first time in all of our growth as sentient beings, are now bombarded with films, TV serials, pictures,text,instagram and facebook images and a dozen other methods, of a Santa. Whose life, behaviour,traditions and dress have slowly detached themselves from history, from religious bases,from the green clothing of the historical figure and the many attributes of Pagan cultural influences as well as any of the Abrahamic birthed religions under the Christian umbrella.

This new Godlike being known as Santa, is magical, wears a red suit, has a huge belly and an equally huge laugh. He is all giving, peaceful, kind, generous and considerate. Forever understanding and gives every child and sometimes adults, wishes, second chances and never, ever punishes. His white beard is luxurious, he is middle aged with a wife but has no children of his own, except occasionally when he has a son or a daughter who are going to take over his business as Santa one day, but then disappears in the next film and Santa is then looking for a child to adopt.But because he is Santa it is understood that no one really knows the truth. He is the epitome of goodness and love and lives in a mystical and invisible place near or in the North Pole.

He is a world wide cult figure being slowly assimilated into many eastern countries traditions as those countries become involved in the mass production of toys and plastic figures of Santa, Decorations of Santa and Candles and various items of clothing mimicking his suit for Fancy Dress.

Children from different cultures whose families have moved into Western based countries are also assimilating his myth into their worlds and many children celebrate the Christmas Traditions of gift giving and enormous celebratory meals and parties , if not the religion behind it. The actual celebration in a commercial sense is absorbed, so that they are not different from their peers. Families are brought under pressure to 'let the children celebrate the tradition of gifting' and so they give in and bit by bit, Santa is known throughout the whole world.

Even charities get in on the act, collecting 'Shoeboxes' a collection of small useful gifts such as colouring books and pencils, combs and mirrors, little things, all packed into a shoebox and gift wrapped'. They are then shipped off to places like Africa , India and often war torn or ecologically challenged places .Here children from society are missed out by consumerism. Third world countries whose economy cannot support such consumerism also become beneficiaries. The children are gifted the shoebox present and the idea of Santa.

It is the Media where the ideology is becoming presented to the world as a different format from the original. Here the films, the programmes rarely mention St Nicolas, though in some countries Santa does bear that name. Yet throughout the world Santa Klaus, Kris Kringle, Santa Claus, Chris Cringle, is known to the children. they share their hopes and ideas between friends on Face book, learning of new names, ideas, traditions from each other as those friends encompass the whole wide world.

Our children and our grandchildren are not buying into the religions, they are buying into the consumerism and the factory bosses, the bankers, the shops, will do all in their power to entrench the ideas. The added bonus of increased food spending on luxury items, the decorations, the trees and lights, especially the lights. Only increases the desire for the traders to keep alive this growing phenomena.

With a world of children to sell too, a world wide market, it is in the fiscal interest of many to keep Santa alive.

He will soon become a 'person' in reality, his, is the only culture who is represented by physical beings. dressed up to look like him, given societies blessing to mimic him and the children understand he isn't the 'real' Santa, but one of his helpers. They are warned about going near a stranger to save their lives and their purity all of their lives. Except at Christmas where they are encouraged to go sit on a complete strangers lap, give him their dreams and tell him where they live.

Santa will grow stronger over the years, he is a cult figure who doesn't carry a gun or a knife, doesn't harm or hurt, is beneficent and good throughout. He is the single figure throughout the worlds history who crosses boundaries, judges no one for their status, standing or social presence. He finds even the loneliest of children to bring them a present or a dream or hope. He creates harmony where there was disharmony. he has the power to stop wars on his special day the 25th December as was witnessed on  the front line during two world wars. He is....Santa.

Eventually, this once upon a time man, who became a Saint, who evolved into a magical figure, will take over the world. Children will follow his banner, keeping his sacred day safe, celebrating him, reluctant to give him up, because he is the only male figure, the only iconic image and the only adult in their entire world, who though he has a naughty and nice list.....never leaves out a child, never harms them, does not approve of war, of bullying of cruelties..he is All Good.

You know him, you tell your children about him, you make him fun and good and sweet and gentle, you make him magical. You take your children to see him with his elves and his fairies.

You uphold him.

Santa is the name for God on the lips of many children, he provides , he cherishes and he protects and he also gives you the presents you asked for...every year.

He isn't becoming a god, he is one, you make him so, every time you buy your children a present in his name.

In Love With Being Alive

Why a hat ? well have hat will travel or maybe , just maybe, because buying this hat as a gesture of joy and happiness was the first day I realised just how much I love life.
Last Friday was a dreadful day, my son lives in France, was out of touch and literally I froze with fear. I had no idea if he was in Paris that awful night, he goes to Paris with friends occasionally, its a random event. I was afraid for 12 hours until he contacted me, marked himself safe on Face book and reassured me. His village is filled with troops and police presence and he is OK, he is alive, he is...my eldest boy and precious to me.

Relieved about his situation, I remained, as did the world, horrified at the carnage. I am not going to rant here, there would be little point. Enough to say I share the horror and the fear equally and remain...very glad I am alive.

Being alive and feeling alive are two distinctly different experiences, I have existed for the last few years in a brain fog caused by various factors. I have simply rolled with the living that seemed possible, never enthusiastic, or awed or any positive emotions, just...existing.

Recent changes in my health regime which included adding turmeric to my world caused vast emotional changes, positivity came along and booted the brain fog right out. Reactions and responses changed, my perspective altered. The more positive the actions in my thoughts, in my physical world, paid into further improvements and now...I am alive. Its a first for a long time, its beneficial to everyone if I am positive, alive, in touch with and expressing y emotional contentment. I am the head of my family, what affects me, affects my children, my grand children.

The world events affect us all, that is indisputable, the ripple effects of whether or not someone you love is caught up in a world event becomes negative or positive as the events unfold. Recently a friend was caught up in the terrible hurricane that swept across South America. I became aware of his danger and affected by his situation. Concerned and relieved when he marked himself safe on an emergency contact provided by social media.Another friend was in Paris, the relief when she marked herself safe, again through social media was palpable.

The direct connection between my son and I and his 'possible' situation had me in a blind panic of fear and reactive to the least little bit of news, names, video posts. Watching each and every video posted on line to see if my sons face was on there. Eagerly seeking information from every avenue, frightened and revolted by the carnage created by such selfish individuals. Afraid and at the same time becoming passionately involved in the entire situation as I saw acts of bravery, events I hope to the highest of heavens I am never personally , ever, involved in. So very glad I was safe,secure in a situation far removed from such diabolical events.

I woke after a genuine nights sleep so alive, so aware of the freshness of the air, the feel of rain on my cheeks, the crunch of leaves under my feet. I felt.............alive. The near catastrophe of my sons well being avoided, no longer present, created an awareness of my love of life and my enjoyment of its being has increased a thousand fold.I am grateful I am were I am, happy within myself. Incredibly moved by events unfolding in the world scene, scared and afraid of the events possible and yet to be. Aware in a way I wasn't before.

Fear and factors of terror, implied threats and dominating violence's throughout the world, are not a reason for feeling happy, they are however, reasons to be grateful its not in my back yard, not in my experience.

I feel for those in Syria, Iraq,Libya,Paris , I have compassion for Ethiopia and African states now suffering drought. I will engage with any and every possible support it is within my power to help. I am more aware politically than ever before. I am studying the world political stage as never before. I am unafraid of my own life and my own living, I am grateful, happy to be alive and actually living my life, not existing.

To 'come alive' at this time in our world stage, to finally be able to engage with living after so many years of existence has been a huge wake up call. I remain, content and happy I am that living person, someone who is grateful and actively engaging, that the world stage has displayed such agonising issues is something I cannot alter on my own, but I can and will join the vast humanity who will make their voices heard. I will engage with the call to stand and be counted. I won't make a huge difference on my own, but as a member of the human nation I can, I will.

I want my fellow man, to feel happy to be alive, grateful for their world. It won't happen in my life time, doubtfully, but it may begin in my lifetime. My children and grand children are inheriting a world of pain, old wars of black v white, your religion v their religion, slavery, domination's, border conflicts and oil wars...old ways, old wars. I want that to stop. Only by retaining my love of life, of living can I continue to enable where possible a fight for a peaceful world where countries don't bury food because of its misshapen appearance while whole families die of starvation across a sea. I want.equality for the worlds citizens, I want them too, to feel glad to be alive.


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Choosing To Live Alone

Choosing to live alone is apparently unusual. That choice is one I made the day my ex husband ran off with his two bottle peroxide personage, half my age! (not that I am bitter ha ha) that was over 25 years ago. I lapsed around eight years ago for a two year period, which was disastrous for both me and my long term boyfriend of ten years. We love each other, absolutely, but our differences, the very things that attract us in each other, also make it virtually impossible to share the same living space.

We agreed  we needed to stay together as a couple, but in our own homes, which has worked rather well ever since. Nothing like being on your own to really test the waters of conscience and commitment. Happily we continue in our personal connection and our own unique way of being 'us', but I still prefer to live, alone.

I swore I would never be dependent or in need of aid from another human being ever again. When my ex did his little runner, it left my family in complete and total disarray and it took me twelve years to work off the debts and the issues he left behind, There was a great deal of emotional damage to sort out for my teenage children and an equal amount of personal identity searching and ego re-training for myself. One person, caused so much hurt and pain that it completely swamped my every day life for years and the choice of being alone came into being with a great deal more strength.

The aids available now, for anyone living alone, were not in existence when my journey first began. Now we have Skype which means I see and speak to my eldest son in France whenever I wish. He has taken me on tours of his home, the land he lives on, introduced me to friends and close extended family all via the Skype app. I can chat to my Mother and a host of others by the same method.

Daily I swap information with people on Facebook who are hundreds, thousands or just a few miles away from where I live. Twitter puts me in touch with more people. E mails again, fill out any empty moments. I can watch TV on my laptop and I can interact on chat rooms in real time, expressing my opinions or simply engaging in a little conversation.Regular contact via my mobile phone enables connections with any number of family and friends if I so desire.

Alone now, is not what it was when I first set out to be that condition. My first Christmas alone, was exactly that, no people, no telephone or computer or mobile phone or even a TV. I had a radio which enabled me to listen to BBC4 and I had my cat, that was it. I filled my days with sewing my grand daughters Nicole and Toni, hand made dollies. I made candles and cakes, painted, drew pictures and created a few small sculptures and generally spoke to not a soul.

Once a fortnight I would go to see my Mother and sister who live together, occasionally I would walk into town or a local shop, but in general it could be 5 or more days before I would speak to another person.I would chat away, unaware that it was overkill. Words would teem from my lips, speeding up as I hastened to get everything 'said' before I would be on my own again. I had not truly come to understand the dark side of choosing aloneness, I suffered the consequences without understanding.

Years passed, I spent two years living in my car, with no outside contact other than the obligatory payment for petrol. No pets, nothing to distract me, I painted with a passion, wrote reams of books which were diaries more than anything. Burning them all at the end of the year in a self created rite of cleansing the past away.

I came to understand that conversation, real live exchanging words with someone to actually hear them. Was preferable to speaking to the dog, the wall or shouting at the TV because I didn't like something I had seen. I discovered a need for human connection but on my terms.  I realised that the 'oddity gene' in me, the bit of me that didn't like being too close to people, had always been there. But that it needed regulating if I were to stop myself from becoming 'the mad woman ' in the end house. Or the weir-do in the woods or whatever else society would label me for wishing to avoid complete contact with them.

When my husband had left, and despite my choosing to live alone, I had interacted with people. I had disastrous relationships which only entrenched the idea of being alone. I made poor decisions and equally stupid actions as I struggled to redefine myself. Eventually I discovered my own self. Found where I felt comfortable and then the world wide web made its presence truly felt.Here was my ability to connect together my personal physical aloneness and my need to communicate, to create a beautiful balance.

Mobile phones could now access the Internet, it opened up a new world. I attended college, found a new career and began to look for a proper home. I am still looking. I have lived in my car, a caravan, flats, houses and currently am in the middle of nowhere. Up until four weeks ago my nearest neighbour was two miles away. Surrounded by forests and a river and a zillion ancient trees. I have lived a solitary life for over 25 years with the unfortunate abysmal lapse of two years aforementioned.

My disastrous two years with the BF taught me just how much being alone actually means to me. Going to bed when I wish. Rising when I choose. My choice of programmes, music,food,dress code. My choice of literature and when and how I read a good book. I missed my moments of curling up with a book, a cup of coffee and the peace and quiet of a good read. I missed my bed being my own. I was too far gone in the 'alone' stakes to enjoy sharing.I wanted to laugh out loud uproariously without getting frowned at. I wanted a bath at 2am and none to tell question me. I wanted......my freedom again.

So we parted, still friends, still together but swearing to never live 'with' each other. My slide into 'aloneness' began again, this time with a great deal more certainty. I chose to not only live alone, but to cut off from society as much as was possible. I deliberately isolated myself. I walked my dogs very early or late to avoid human contact. That sort of thing. Now I have different needs. I have to choose to rejoin society for personal reasons.

I am soon to return to the concrete jungles of normal society. From living here, and ten years in particular in beautiful Harlech alongside the sea in splendid isolation of building and neighbour alike. I will enter the dreaded zone of society. The Town!

I am afraid of  it. I will be rubbing shoulders with a real neighbour, other people, streets full of cars, houses,people, noise and disruption. I am to return to this society to be closer to my Mother and sister. Yet I will find a lot of society difficult to deal with.  I can't stand crowds, and hatred of general noise will be a real issue. The loudest thing I have dealt with for over a decade has been the cries of the local birds as they sing the dawn chorus.

Eventually I will isolate myself again. At the appropriate time, I will find a place, away from the world and his wife. Find my inner sense of peace and safety. I don't like the human race very much, an awful lot of people seem to want to hurt each other, judge each other. I like my quiet, with the occasional foray out to do a spot of shopping and a chit chat...Then back to my womb like home with its gadgetry and capability to speak to the world...or turn the electric supply off and reign in supreme isolation. Queen of all I survey and not a human subject in sight. I love, living alone.

Facebook My Enemy My Friend

Today I read about Cecil the Lion, about Cob in Bulgaria,Cameron and Tax Credit Cuts, the Heathrow T5 Club and First Class Passengers Lounge, about Marianne Azizi and her attempt to display cruelties in Israeli children taken from their parents, about Ellen DeGeneres and miracles and a plethora of other inviting and sometimes offensive posts.

What struck me the most is the diverse interests of so many people. When the post about Tesco in the UK putting security tags on their plastic bags was made . There was as much interest in that post as there was about the terrible crisis in Indonesia and the awful fire creating so much devastation. Political posts are vying with little videos of grand children saying Gan Gan . Diverse and on occasion frustrating or thought provoking, but never boring.

Tupac singing is as liable to  rub shoulders with an old print of Princess Diana as a modern post of Prince Harry and the likeable baby pig snuffling a bowl of food.
Such diversity is the gift of Facebook and other social media. I find it fascinating and avidly read for a couple of hours a day the variety of posts made by my friends and those marked for public view.

What I dislike is the tremendous amount of false images or stolen images with spurious captions. One particular photograph, stolen from a newspaper article about a little girl injured by her playmate. That particular one had a huge written comment, 'press like if you'r against child abuse' and at the bottom of the image F***  you if you can't press like.

What on EARTH did the creator of such an image think they were doing?. The poor parents of this child are the focus for a real campaign from ignorant people. The child herself will grow up with constant references to this image the 'is this you' stuff. The person who stole her image gave no thought whatsoever to the trauma they are storing up for a little girl, or her parents. All for what?

Discovering posts being created purely to hit at peoples emotional responses, worries me. There is seemingly no barrier to the depths of depravity or despicable displays that some will stoop to. For some it is the need for recognition. The desire to be 'popular' and for others it is to have the most 'likes', the most shares or the most comments. I fail to understand why such posts are allowed. There has to have been more than just myself reported the ones that mislead, misguide,misjudge.

The harm done to people through posting pictures of a man and claiming he is a paedophile. No proofs offered, just an anonymous post. It could well be the act of a vengeful girlfriend, or someone with a grudge. But how many people immediately click 'like' or share and make a comment about the person should die? without checking first..

The same for some of the videos, Parents making a video of their child swearing in language that would make a Liverpool Docker blush, isn't funny, or at least I never thought so myself. Apparently, it amuses some. Which too me is incomprehensible but as they say, different strokes, for different folks.

Yet I am addicted to Facebook, to Twitter (a different post one day) to the newly popular Medium and the Instagram and other such social avenues. They have become my 'latest news' items. Not what the News 'is' on programmes costing thousands of pounds to create. The news as perceived as important, by the ordinary man and woman, costing no more than the time they use to say their piece.

I can judge almost to the last 'like' what will receive a comment, a click of the mouse on various posts I make. My rants usually get lots of attention, unless they are 'social awareness' rants. If its a rant against animal cruelty I don't think many on my friends list miss an opportunity to click on it, make a comment about it.  If I post a family issue, something I am proud of like Ellie and Abbie my two grand daughters, currently in local news for charity efforts, then I have lots of lovely comments from Mothers and members of family. Always nice to read. If I select a piece of music, then my 60's and 70's rock seems far more appreciated than anything else.Even the occasional classic gets attention.

What is happening, is that I have become an observer of social mores, social attitudes and awareness or otherwise of political knowledge. Of the massive disparity in education in various strata of society. I became horrified at how little my younger friends understood about how important the vote is, especially for women. Delighted when posts brought about a change as with Cecil the Lion and his tragic death. Pleased when Anti hunt posts gained enough popularity to create genuine actions.

I am happy to see social changes, awareness and education being used, as much as I despair at the puerile, offensive and sometimes bigoted posts that can blight a good hours reading.

All in all, social media sites are both my friend and my enemy, in some ways, possibly one of the best things to be created since the world wide web came into being. In other ways a great evil can be created as much as a great good can be wrought. I remain, an avid reader of social sites and a very blessed user of them and their sisterhood, the blog.