Green IslandThe trip to Bethlehem and Siberian Shamanism
December 23rd 2008 06:11
Notice Jesus is looking a bit trippy and mushroom like
Christianity is an Eastern magic mushroom cult that turned into a mainstream religion that flourished in the West. Somewhere along the line the festival of Christmas got mixed up with Siberian shamanic rituals and the result is the odd juxtaposition of the story of a married couple making a journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem followed by the birth of Jesus in a cave or stable; and Santa Claus, who lives at the North Pole, visiting people’s houses via the chimney and leaving presents. And indeed like all contradictions in religion and culture the average Joe finds no difficulty in paying lip service to both narratives – the media, church and school re-tells the nativity story every year while at the same time millions of households get a Christmas tree and hang up stockings for Santa. Similarly at Easter we learn about Christ’s crucifixion as well as the Easter bunny. To even the most casual observer it is apparent that although society pays lip service to momentous religious events, it is the pagan activities of eating, drinking and present giving that really fire our imagination. We all vaguely remember the occasion when we stopped believing in Santa, but who remembers when they first started or stopped believing in Jesus Christ?
Below is my attempt at re-working these two entirely disparate narratives with the aim of entertaining as much as elucidating the mysteries of Christmas.
[
B]Joseph’s diary - December 15th[/B]
I knew I shouldn’t have married. Brides are nothing but trouble. Sure it’s nice to get a bit of 12 year old action but these young strumpets nowadays just can’t be trusted. I waited a good few months until she started menstruating and before I know it she tells me some son-of-a-whore gets there before me. What am I meant to do? Tell everyone my wife is going to have a bastard. Not likely, I’ll be a laughing stock down the local taverna. It’s much better to keep my horns to myself. Just wait till I find out who that bloke is. I’ll strangle him with the intestines of his favourite goat. And as if all of that is not worry enough those bloody bureaucratic Romans have to go and hold a census which means we’ve got to hike 90 clicks to Bethlehem to pay some dumb-arse tax. Why can’t those Romans just fuck off back to Italy or wherever they are from? And to top it all, my dear cheating wife claims that her child is actually the son of God and we should call him Jesus and Immanuel. Poor kid as if one faggy name is not enough; the lad is going to be lumbered with two. He’ll no doubt turn out to be one of those long haired fairy types who skip school to get high on cannabis and mushrooms and enjoy sodomizing the other long haired fairy kids. I was much better off just being by myself. Making the odd table and crucifix for the Romans and blowing a few shekels at the weekend at Babes-aloynia next to the Laughing Sheep pub. But bloody Jewish law insists I get married.
So off Joseph and Mary went to Bethlehem. Due south. First they descended the high hills of Galilee then crossed the plain of Jezreel and past the settlement of Megiddo (Meggido is the prophesied spot for the final show down, Armageddon – the time when Bruce Willis will pit his wits against the fallen angel, Lucifer). Two days later they made it to the village of Nain where Jesus was to bring Lazarus back from the dead. The following day they climbed Mount Gilboa and entered the town of Dothan; a town famous for its market (Jacob was sold into slavery by his brothers in Dothan). Next day Mary and Joseph left the Jewish areas and made it to the Samaritan city of Shomrom-Sebaste. They rested for a while before continuing on to Shiloh which had sadly declined as a town since the Ark of the Covenant was stolen from the temple by the Americans and left in a warehouse in Hawaii. Not stopping at Shiloh they finally made it to Bethel, the place Jacob many years previously had had a dream of angels using a ladder to get to heaven. The next day they make it to the metropolis of Jerusalem where they received a warm welcome from Mary’s cousin, Elizabeth and her husband, Zachariah. Elizabeth had just given birth to John (later to be John the Baptist). With only ten miles to go to Bethlehem the couple felt relieved that they had nearly completed their arduous journey and they were grateful Mary hadn’t miscarried. They stayed with Elizabeth and Zach for a couple of days while Joseph organized some exit visas and then struck out early in the morning to make the 4,000 feet ascent to reach the hilltop village of Bethlehem.
Amanita Muscaria or fly agaric in Siberia
The Tale of Siberian Shamans
Early in the morning on the eve of the winter solstice the Siberian shamans gather the big red bulbous fly agaric mushrooms that grow in abundance under conifer trees. It is a great and profound mystery for them that these mushrooms seem to spring forth without seed. Surely it must be god’s own spermazoa from the sky that fertilizes the ground.
It’s literally freezing at that time in the morning and so the shamans obviously want to get a nice hot cuppa and a few shrooms in their systems to keep them going. If there’s a wild reindeer nearby they are in real luck. Eating Amanita Muscaria is a dodgy thing only experts should attempt – quantities and preparation is the key to avoiding a deadly trip. However, if a reindeer can be found nibbling the red shroom with white freckles then a number of safer options are available. You can drink the reindeer’s piss, milk the reindeer and get high or even slaughter the beast and get baked from the meat. There’s nothing better than getting high with a full stomach to keep you going. On this occasion the shamans spot a reindeer with an unnaturally red nose, lurching around the trees and follow discreetly at a distance with a large water pouch. From years of experience they can tell when the intoxicated animal is going to have a whazz. They carefully approach the animal. One shaman lassos the beast, another tries to calm the wild creature with a bit of mesmerism and the third shaman gets under the beast and positions the pouch ready for the piss. Within a minute steam surround our intrepid shamans as the reindeer lets out a powerful stream of urine.
After releasing the reindeer they inspect the contents of the pouch. The liquid contained therein is an orangish red signifying they are in luck. Chuckling good naturedly, they make the usual jokes about taking the piss and pass around the potent warm piss and glug away. Then they have a couple of dry biscuits for nourishment before busying themselves collecting firewood and fly agarics.
Siberian female shaman wearing her favourite 'fly' top
Joseph’s Diary – December 25th
That was one weird day. We arrived late afternoon in Bethlehem. My feet were killing me. I knew I should have got a donkey for the journey.
So there we were in Bethlehem. I had a pregnant teenager wife about to pop a sprog any moment and I couldn’t find a room anywhere for love nor money. I knew I should’ve left Jerusalem sooner but I just couldn’t drag Mary away from her clucking cousin. Besides, Zach was a good host who had got in a few bottles of choice red and a big bag of weed to make the evenings pass pleasantly. He also took me for a night on the town. Jerusalem sure as hell pisses on little old Nazareth. We had a few jars in this up market Roman place with dancing eunuchs and then went on to a Canaanite late night spot where it was all smoky and dark. Most of the patrons were pretentious students who swayed provocatively on the dance floor, trancing out to the Syrian jazz drumming. After a couple of strong hookahs we were baked. We sat in our dark booth and watched the young men and women gyrating. It soon gave us the horn. So we headed off to the edge of town and found a couple of buxom desert gypsies. After doing the business, we strolled back home in the early morning and caught a falafel store just opening and gorged ourselves on fresh pita before stumbling home. Naturally Mary and Elizabeth were already up and they gave us a real ear full before we could finally slumber down in Zach’s study. Ah gee what a night. But because of that we were a day late and all the accommodation had already been taken.
England's most famous mystical poet took so many shrooms that he thought Jerusalem was somewhere near Eton
Eventually in the Indian part of town I met an enterprising hotelier called Ganesh who recognized the plight we were in and offered us space in the cave behind his hotel. He took 5 shekels off me, but what choice did I have?
So, thoroughly fed up, we dragged our bags behind the hotel to a cave smelling of fecal matter. Just to make matters worse Mary’s water broke. Just then Ganesh popped around with candles and blankets and told us that we could use as much hay as we wanted. I quickly piled loads of hay and spread out the blankets and not a minute too soon because Mary was screaming with pain.
Legs akimbo she panted and shouted and pushed for what seemed an eternity. It was giving me a headache. The cow and 4 sheep huddled in the corner. They seemed very nervous. Eventually she let out a deafening long scream and the infant’s head popped out all slimy and pink. I carefully extracted the baby and cut the cord. Then I gave the infant a quick wash to get all the gunk off. I tried to get fatherly about the kid but I just couldn’t help noticing how pale the wee thing was. Now I’m a healthy swarthy colour like all good Jews but this child was a milky colour like those pansy Romans.
I was just going to kill the bastard when some shepherds turned up uninvited. I thought they were going to berate us for scaring their animals, but instead they all went down on their knees before the child. Then they told me this cockamamie story about an angel appearing to them while they watched their flocks. Apparently this angel told them to come to the cave to witness the birth of the new Messiah. Those shepherds – they’re all sheep fuckers and mushroom heads. The upshot of it is that I missed my opportunity to dispose of the shameful bundle for when they left Mary insisted on feeding the pale thing.
Oh well I had better turn in for the night. No doubt there’ll be long queues at the census hall tomorrow. At least in a couple of days we’ll be back in Jerusalem and I can get myself some more of that gypsy tail.
Bethlehem
The Tale of Siberian Shaman continued
Within one hour their sacks are stuffed with fungi and the fire is dying out. By this time they are tripping their nuts off and getting all kinds of strange visuals from the dying embers. However, these lads are professionals all coming from long lines of shamans and have learnt to stay disciplined and not get lost in the world of the mushroom. They know their community depends on them to maintain the spiritual links with life-sustaining nature. So, ignoring the fact that they seem to have eight hands, they methodically cover their faces and hands with the charcoal residue of the fire, shoulder their heavy sacks and head back to the village.
It takes all day but the three shamans manage to visit every yurt. They carefully scale the outside of each yurt and enter through the smoke hole. The symbolism is important: they enter blackened through the chimney to signify their emergence from hell. They announce their entrance with traditional greetings and merry guffaws. The excited yurt dwellers gather around the sooty shaman and show due reverence as he doles out mushrooms to young and old alike. As the rules of hospitality dictate, they offer the shaman refreshments before he leaves.
That night merry sounds are heard throughout the village. Everyone from 15 to 50 has taken some mushroom broth and is experiencing a heightened sense of love towards their fellow man. Folk pay courtesy visits to neighbouring yurts and have a giggle. All the year-long feuds are ended with healthy doses of forgiveness and self-deprecation.
Sadly, every once in a while there is a bad tripper who starts bad mouthing away and cussing out the village elders. These bad eggs are discreetly knifed by the shamans and their bodies dumped in the forest.
At dawn the villagers gather to witness the new sun climb the heavens in the north, and so ends the short days and long nights. They dance to the shaman drumming and hoot in ecstasy until the mushroom releases them.
Ayahausca Siberian Shaman
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