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Christmas Conspiracy !!!

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posted on Dec, 24 2010 @ 02:52 AM
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The story begins in ancient Egypt – a place of mysteries and intrigues and curses. A place of pyramids and sphinxes and Pharaohs. A place, too, of slavery and oppression and suppression. A whole nation were kept as slaves. Today they are known as the Israelites or the Jews. But then they were just called the Hebrews. Despite their oppression they grew in number. And the authorities feared revolution. So a genocide of baby boys was ordered.

Imagine. You are asleep at night when suddenly the door bursts open. Soldiers pour in. Today they would be wearing masks, helmets, pointing guns with lasers. Red dots would spin around the room, alighting ominously on its startled occupants. Then babies were ripped from their mother’s arms and ed.

Job done. Papers stamped. File closed.

Except that one family found a way to avoid the soldiers. They made a basket of reeds, covered it in tar and placed their baby inside. They place on the Nile and set their daughter watch. It floated downstream until it bumped up against near the bank where the Princess of Egypt was bathing. A gurgling baby, a helpless look, a faint smile and the Princess was won over. she decided to bring the child up as her own.

You may have heard of the baby: it was called Moses.

For years he was known as Moses the Prince Moses. Or Moses the Pampered Prince when he wasn’t around to hear. Until he killed a man in rage, fled the country and became Moses the Shepherd. Then one day he saw a burning bush, heard a strange voice and found himself living a new life. He became, somewhat reluctantly, Moses the Liberator.

He called on the authorities to the Hebrews slaves go free. He brought plague after plague on Egypt. Finally every firstborn child was killed. Finally the authorities let the people go. Even then they changed their mind, sending troops to recapture them. The slaves found themselves with an army behind them and the sea in front of them. But Moses brought his down on the sea and it parted for the people to cross through. When the Egyptian army followed, it fell back utterly destroying them. The slaves were free. Free to be who they were meant to be. Free to worship. Free to be a nation.

Those facts everyone agrees on. But from here on things get murky.

As the years went on a rumour began to circulate. Another liberator would come. He would liberate from oppression and evil and injustice. But this would not be just any old revolution. It wouldn’t be the sort of revolution in which one load of oppressors is replaced with another. More than that, this liberator would liberate us from ourselves. Do you know what I mean? We can’t be the people we want to be, let alone the people we should be. We can’t keep our resolutions. We’re trapped by our selfish desires.

A liberator like Moses. A liberator greater than Moses.

Of course the powers that be didn’t like the sound of that. All their power slipping away. A military threat was bad enough. But a liberation in the heart was more than anyone could control. So they suppressed the rumour. They tried to hush it up.

And then 2,000 years ago a group of disreputable shepherds in northern Palestine starting spreading the rumour that the liberator had come. They claimed to have seen angels in the sky. They claimed the liberator had been born in a shack. A group of astrologers arrived in Jerusalem saying they had seen it in the stars. The place was buzzing with rumours. Revolution was in the air.

The authorities were troubled. They moved to suppress it. They did what the authorities of Egypt had done all those years before. They ordered a genocide of baby boys. More police. More night raids. More heart-broken mothers.

Job done. Stamp the papers. Close the file.

But it wasn’t long before they were dusting off the files, re-opening the case. There were more rumours. This time of an escape to Egypt (how ironic). The boy that lived!

Thirty years later. The rumours were no longer rumours. There was the boy, now a man, claiming to be king. Promising a new world. Promising a new life. Promising a new heart.

This time the Romans got involved. And when the Romans got involved things got done. Never mind bungling MI5. This was like the CIA coming in. They knew how to sort out revolutionaries. Some wood and a few nails. A man hanging on a cross. A public spectacle to quash the rumours. Check he’s .

Job done. Stamp the papers. Close the file.

Three days later. More rumours. Extraordinary rumours. How can this be? The file says he died. The checks were made. Yet the rumour is that he’s alive. The liberator is at large. It’s not long before the story is spreading across the empire. Soon little groups are springing up all over the place. Revolutionary cells. Groups of people committed to liberation. And what can you do to a movement started by someone back from the ; a movement that doesn’t fear ?

And so ‘the Christmas Conspiracy’ was hatched. It was a very clever plan. Out went the military option. In came the propaganda machine. It was time to retell the story, but with some important changes.

Out went a king; in came a cute little baby. Out went angels that make you fall down in ; in came chubby little cherubs. Out went talk of liberation; in came Father Christmas and reindeer. Out went the slogan: ‘The liberator has risen’; in came a new slogan: ‘It’s for the children’.

That’s how Christmas as we know came to be.

And it’s all very lovely. But it is the Christmas Conspiracy. It is propaganda. It’s not the full picture. It’s not the real story. They don’t want you to know the facts.

Job done. Stamp the papers. Close the file.

But the rumours still persist. Revolution is still in the air. The liberator is alive. There is even a rumour that the liberator may be coming back.




posted on Dec, 24 2010 @ 06:54 AM
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Originally posted by Utopian
The story begins in ancient Egypt – a place of mysteries and intrigues and curses. A place of pyramids and sphinxes and Pharaohs. A place, too, of slavery and oppression and suppression. A whole nation were kept as slaves. Today they are known as the Israelites or the Jews. But then they were just called the Hebrews. Despite their oppression they grew in number. And the authorities feared revolution. So a genocide of baby boys was ordered.

Imagine. You are asleep at night when suddenly the door bursts open. Soldiers pour in. Today they would be wearing masks, helmets, pointing guns with lasers. Red dots would spin around the room, alighting ominously on its startled occupants. Then babies were ripped from their mother’s arms and ed.

Job done. Papers stamped. File closed.

Except that one family found a way to avoid the soldiers. They made a basket of reeds, covered it in tar and placed their baby inside. They place on the Nile and set their daughter watch. It floated downstream until it bumped up against near the bank where the Princess of Egypt was bathing. A gurgling baby, a helpless look, a faint smile and the Princess was won over. she decided to bring the child up as her own.

You may have heard of the baby: it was called Moses.

For years he was known as Moses the Prince Moses. Or Moses the Pampered Prince when he wasn’t around to hear. Until he killed a man in rage, fled the country and became Moses the Shepherd. Then one day he saw a burning bush, heard a strange voice and found himself living a new life. He became, somewhat reluctantly, Moses the Liberator.

He called on the authorities to the Hebrews slaves go free. He brought plague after plague on Egypt. Finally every firstborn child was killed. Finally the authorities let the people go. Even then they changed their mind, sending troops to recapture them. The slaves found themselves with an army behind them and the sea in front of them. But Moses brought his down on the sea and it parted for the people to cross through. When the Egyptian army followed, it fell back utterly destroying them. The slaves were free. Free to be who they were meant to be. Free to worship. Free to be a nation.

Those facts everyone agrees on. But from here on things get murky.

As the years went on a rumour began to circulate. Another liberator would come. He would liberate from oppression and evil and injustice. But this would not be just any old revolution. It wouldn’t be the sort of revolution in which one load of oppressors is replaced with another. More than that, this liberator would liberate us from ourselves. Do you know what I mean? We can’t be the people we want to be, let alone the people we should be. We can’t keep our resolutions. We’re trapped by our selfish desires.

A liberator like Moses. A liberator greater than Moses.

Of course the powers that be didn’t like the sound of that. All their power slipping away. A military threat was bad enough. But a liberation in the heart was more than anyone could control. So they suppressed the rumour. They tried to hush it up.

And then 2,000 years ago a group of disreputable shepherds in northern Palestine starting spreading the rumour that the liberator had come. They claimed to have seen angels in the sky. They claimed the liberator had been born in a shack. A group of astrologers arrived in Jerusalem saying they had seen it in the stars. The place was buzzing with rumours. Revolution was in the air.

The authorities were troubled. They moved to suppress it. They did what the authorities of Egypt had done all those years before. They ordered a genocide of baby boys. More police. More night raids. More heart-broken mothers.

Job done. Stamp the papers. Close the file.

But it wasn’t long before they were dusting off the files, re-opening the case. There were more rumours. This time of an escape to Egypt (how ironic). The boy that lived!

Thirty years later. The rumours were no longer rumours. There was the boy, now a man, claiming to be king. Promising a new world. Promising a new life. Promising a new heart.

This time the Romans got involved. And when the Romans got involved things got done. Never mind bungling MI5. This was like the CIA coming in. They knew how to sort out revolutionaries. Some wood and a few nails. A man hanging on a cross. A public spectacle to quash the rumours. Check he’s .

Job done. Stamp the papers. Close the file.

Three days later. More rumours. Extraordinary rumours. How can this be? The file says he died. The checks were made. Yet the rumour is that he’s alive. The liberator is at large. It’s not long before the story is spreading across the empire. Soon little groups are springing up all over the place. Revolutionary cells. Groups of people committed to liberation. And what can you do to a movement started by someone back from the ; a movement that doesn’t fear ?

And so ‘the Christmas Conspiracy’ was hatched. It was a very clever plan. Out went the military option. In came the propaganda machine. It was time to retell the story, but with some important changes.

Out went a king; in came a cute little baby. Out went angels that make you fall down in ; in came chubby little cherubs. Out went talk of liberation; in came Father Christmas and reindeer. Out went the slogan: ‘The liberator has risen’; in came a new slogan: ‘It’s for the children’.

That’s how Christmas as we know came to be.

And it’s all very lovely. But it is the Christmas Conspiracy. It is propaganda. It’s not the full picture. It’s not the real story. They don’t want you to know the facts.

Job done. Stamp the papers. Close the file.

But the rumours still persist. Revolution is still in the air. The liberator is alive. There is even a rumour that the liberator may be coming back.

Yes, you're right - sod Santa, I want the King!
(And the scary wonderful angels...)
Vicky



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