Christmas Anarchy

Christmas anarchy is not, contrary to what some might believe, a house filled with screaming children ripping open presents. Followed by them running and screaming around the house, showing off gifts to each other, parents and relatives. It is not dogs barking and chasing after the children while cats and some adults attempt to escape to quieter spaces.

Christmas anarchy has everything to do with all of us. It has nothing to do with material things. As much fun as it may be to open Christmas gifts.

Whether we choose to make it our Christmas present to ourselves or a gift we give ourselves each day of our lives, spiritual anarchy is one of the best gifts we are able to give ourselves. Our personal spirituality has nothing to do with any state religion. Many of us Americans are in this country because our ancestors were persecuted for their religious nonconformity in their own countries. Governments and official institutions do not like citizens running amok with their own ideas of what they believe. Whether that be politics, religion/spirituality or other. Institutions require institutional orthodoxy.

Conformity is everything.

That is why I am and have always been devoutly nonconformist. It is why I have always been a spiritual anarchist.

In the days when I was a Benedictine monk one of the senior most members of my monastery called me a maverick monk. While he had known me many years before I entered, he had no idea how true that was. He had no idea about my true spirituality above and beyond Catholicism. That may have changed when he died. Unfortunately, his soul did not cross over into heaven when he died. He remained behind even though his body had died. As much good as he may have done for others while he was alive, he was nonetheless something of a rascal. Because of that, he held back out of fear. Several months after he died I was at the monastery. Seeing him still there when I stopped by the cemetery, I opened the Tunnel of Light and sent him Home to heaven.

He may have had a touch of the scoundrel in him, but no one ought to be stuck here when they could be in heaven. It was time for his next gift, courtesy of a maverick monk.

It is because I am an anarchist — like some of my ancestors — that I was able to do for him and others what needs to be done. I admit to the fact that I love being able to do what the world says I cannot do by helping souls through the Tunnel.

It’s like getting a Christmas gift every day!

It’s a miracle to me that so many more of us are willing to openly speak about the Spirit’s gifts to us than have done in hundreds of years. Some spiritual anarchist somewhere got the ball rolling. Strangely enough, I was told at an early age that I have many spiritual gifts that even my parents and siblings don’t possess. But as a child I was warned to tell no one. At that time it was something no one dared discuss.

People who were spiritual or religious outliers in mid-twentieth century America were about as popular as they were in Salem in the seventeenth century. That is still the fact of life with much of America and our world. The reason I was finally told to speak as a middle-aged man was because I had developed the spiritual tools necessary to deal with people. Whatever their opinions.

If you are going to be a spiritual anarchist at Christmas, New Year or any day of your life, it also helps to have a thick skin. Something akin to the vaults at Fort Knox is a start.

There are Christmas songs about angels singing on high and coming to earth and all sorts of wonderful miracles. Those aren’t just songs. They’re songs about everyday reality. How many of you can join me in saying that you have seen the same miracle? Maybe every day of your life, like me. Maybe once in your lives for a brief, fleeting, wondrous moment. Or yet to be seen if you have yet to open your heart and soul to them.

And isn’t it a miracle simply to get to see the angels?

Isn’t it a miracle to set aside ourselves enough to hear God? To see God?

God is not just a one and done affair. Somebody who happened to drop by to see some ancient prophets or some long dead holy person. Holy people are convenient when they are dead, but go read history. Whether Joan of Arc, Elijah or Rumi the world was not terribly impressed with them during their lives. Once they were dead and conveniently incapable of providing any further embarrassment, they were safe for establishment approval.

Live dangerously.

Live a fully, wholly, completely spiritual life of mystery and unspeakable joy. We don’t have to spend every day at the carnival to enjoy quiet lives of deep joy. Living spiritually simple lives is its own reward.

Dare to be your own gift.

Every day of the year.