A Light Unto Christmas

No tradition is created in a vacuum. As we approach the Christmas holiday, it is always good to reflect upon the roots of that tradition, to better understand the symbols behind the figures involved—the process, and not only the form that the process takes. Christianity, likes its “pagan” ancestors, is based on agricultural mythology, something rarely recognized when the media focuses solely on the economics of the holiday, and political leaders throw the name of Christ around as if his importance lied in his actual human form, and not the process that he represented.

It begins in translation. As Richard Dawkins pointed out in The Selfish Gene, the translation from Hebrew to Greek rendered “young woman” as “virgin,” and hence a disastrous series of biologically impossible misinterpretations ensued. Yet the virgin motif is not new; the Buddha too was born of a virgin in some stories. Recognizing the feat as symbolic in the Christian world, Mary was an updated equivalent of the Egyptian goddess Isis, who, as Manly P. Hall wrote, “although she gave birth to all living things—chief among them the Sun—still remained a virgin.” If we treat the word virginal as meaning purity, which would move us into the realm of ethics and away from biology, then the birth of her gifted son (sun) was due to her positive nature: she was pure at heart.

More to the point, however, was Mary’s virginity representing the unplowed soil. Her son was born at midnight on the winter solstice, the time of year when the sun is furthest away from the planet. This would correlate her as a lunar deity giving birth to the sun, a very old story indeed. At the point of total and complete darkness a light is born. This is why he is destined to be a “light unto all nations,” for the star that beams into every nook of this planet, as well as what gives life to this planet, is the Sun—the Son, “light bearer,” Christ. If there were any actual creator of life on this planet, this would most certainly be the source.

The Bible is ecologically inclined in numerous ways. Not only is it a tale of the barren soil (a motif fitting for Sarah as well as Mary), it is a folklore that begins, and ends, with trees. Trees are necessary for human existence: they provide oxygen for us to breathe; they attract and retain moisture, helping to prevent dehydration of soil; they provide shade, fruit and medicines; they are, quite literally, what civilization is built by, in the ways of ships, houses and buildings, as well as assisting us in the transition from single-text doctrines on clay and papyrus to the mass production of books, so the most sacred aspect of existence—the Word—could be passed down for thousands of years. The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil was the trigger of duality, and when mankind ate of this tree consciousness came to be. This is the same tree that Christ was crucified on, completing a very important cycle: the tree, in Adam’s time, who sinned upon earth (sin=ignorance), served as the same instrument by which Christ, the redeemer, was enlightened upon. Man’s descent into darkness and his subsequent rebirthing is told through the ecology of trees.

The tree is also indicative of the spine, the pillar upon which yogis raise the sacred kundalini energy. Kundalini is said to sleep at the base, coiled like a serpent, and reveals its knowledge by standing straight at attention as a sort of rod or antenna. The “roots” are embedded in the sacrum, as well as the sexual organs, while the “trunk” of the body is the map it passes through. It leaves the crown of the head, extending beyond profane time into that of the cosmic clock, blossoming like a thousand-petal lotus flower, or the steady stream of branches extending from a tree. The leaves that form at the end of each branch eventually blossom only to decay and die, leaving the tree and regenerating the soil. If the snake remains coiled at the base, he is “asleep” or “ignorant,” just as mankind would have remained had not the snake awoken Eve, and then Adam, in the garden. The awakening occurred upon the first taste of duality, which required the union of male and female aspects of existence. It should be noted that in the yoga tradition, it is a conscious attempt of raising the energy that produces unconscious results. Through meditation and breathing techniques the knowledge of unity is then integrated into the individual, who then understands that the supposed fissure that separates was all part of a great illusion. Upon being awoken they never “sleep” again; that is, they no longer partake in the game of “this” or “that,” but understand the cohesion between opposites.

But as Alan Watts wrote, “One of the special distinctions of Christianity is that it takes evil more seriously than any other religion.” Lucifer is a key figure representative of enantiodromia—that which turns into its opposite. His passion was so great for God that he assumed the symbol to be greater than the reality, and he became “fallen.” Every extreme turns into its opposite, which is the psychological apparatus that fuels such a love to turn faithful warriors—real or suburbanized—into agents of the very force they believe to be extinguishing. It’s a vicious cycle; the suburban politicians are just as dangerous as national ones, for their votes keep certain figureheads in office. Little can they be aware of another important meaning of sin: to miss the mark. Their arrows of righteousness are the flaming specters of corruption and egoism. It is little surprise that maya, the great illusion of separateness, is derived from matr-, to “measure,” which also gave us the words “mother” and “matrix.” The unity of the virgin field, the crops which grew from it and the sun that gave it all life are parts on one process; dividing them into separate parts and giving credence to one or the other is to measure time, and thus create the illusion.

Regardless of exact historical interactions, what proves relevant are the constant themes of staying grounded in the present moment, of moving beyond profane time through the integration of opposites—a truism in yoga as much as the Christ figure. This has to be expressed in a religious philosophy, for that is the meaning of the word religion: union. If a religion does not go beyond duality, it is not of significance and can have no meaning in the union of, well, anything that seems to be separated. As Alan Watts wrote, “We must not mistake that which is beyond the future for that which is in the future.” In the same breath, we cannot confuse the historical past for past stories not dependent upon exact times and people. Mythologies do not lose power when personified; we do.

Christ’s birth, the light unto darkness, is the sun in its darkest moment, and its eventual resurrection to warm the distal skies. With its return we are fed: wheat by which to make bread; grapes by which to make wine; the body and blood of Christ. Remembering this annual occurrence is crucial, for the knowledge that the sun is the power that offers everyone and everything, and not only a select group, the power to evolve is an extremely important message. The name Adam, ADM, originally meant “man.” That did not mean a man, but men, and women, all of us. Christ’s victory in dispelling winter is the second coming of humankind. In this time of birth, remember that that event was not in the past, but is right here, and was not limited to one person somewhere back then. The power of presence is in the here and now, for the light soon arises, the fields will again be fertile, and there is a celebration for everyone to partake in while on this planet, not in the future that never really arrives

[excerpted from my forthcoming book, Sound Against Flame: The Process of Yoga and Atheism in America]