Dies Natalis Solis Invicti

The hour shifts. Advent hath left us now in the moment of Cristes mæsse. Blind Christian fervor peaks among the hordes. Christmastide hath begun, the liturgical year completed, the Feast of Epiphany, the anniversary of the visitation of the biblical magi to the nativity and the manifestation of Christ to the gentiles looms ever near. Prizes are not borne by Sinterklaas, not by the Christkindl, but from sheep to sheep, and the flock is distracted and weaker thus. Unbeknownst among each wassailer a dark force lingers; the dim ceremonies of our ancestors are repeated indefatigably. Adoption and worship of trees, the mysterious forests, nature, all which retains life despite the desolation of winter from branches and leaves of mistletoe, holly and the like, brought into the dwellings and adorned upon the hearth to the warmth of human embrace, the pervading darkness of the three longest nights of the solar calendar, the rebirth and slow ascension of the sun, the revelry, the drunkenness, the birth of the unconquered one, the birth of mithra, the birth of all northern gods of old, the celebration of all life amidst Earth’s cruelest gasp and still they have lost their way. All have been appropriated for the God Son. The holly once celebrated the strength and eternity of life on earth now hopes to repel witches and pagans - for the leaves became thorns, the berries are blood. While the flock is thusly occupied, the yule goat remains among them. As it is customary, the goat will be sacrificed. As it is decreed, the goat will resurrect. Just as Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr offer their lives each night to provide Thor with meat, so the yule goat must burn to sustain the dark one through the season.