This Christmas 2020 is the profanation of what Christmas means
According to the protocol of the elites, this Christmas 2020 I should wrap myself in my cashmere plaid on the De Sede sofa, sip a Gin Martini and say "Happy Covid" to the British who voted for Brexit. Ruggeri's Cameo
Yesterday I wrote an obvious political Cameo because I couldn't take it anymore, today I am human again, I tell how I am experiencing the worst Christmas of my life. What Christmas is it if I can't even, I don't mean have lunch, but see my grandchildren, my daughter-in-law, my children from a distance? Do not deliver gifts in person. I will never entrust my feelings to Amazon , I will never pretend to have lunch with them at a distance under the eye of skype: the latest antics that digital radical chic proposed to me.
For 10 months we have made sacrifices of all kinds, following their directives and we find ourselves at Christmas the worst in the world. A shame, but these inept are still there, babbling, babbling. I have been in voluntary lockdown for three months, I will not write the usual Christmas letter to the Child Jesus, but a Cameo, this one. It contains the reflections of a whole day spent analyzing the “Christmas Letter” of Father Davide Maria Turoldo (La Locusta 1992). Here I retrace it, using his and my words, even if mine are worth nothing compared to him.
The first line of the letter unites us, "… there is a beautiful beautiful cancer, sitting in the center of the belly, like a king on the throne". The problem is not cancer, but how much life will Providence leave us (to him, a few months). You care by writing.
This Christmas 2020, in Italy is the profanation of what Christmas means. We look at our cities, our villages, of which we were proud: they appear naked, without sky, without stars. We realize that we live in a world without childhood, that we have young people who have aged prematurely. We look at the curricula of each of us, they have aged, they are unrecognizable. We are as if stunned by the life they impose on us and which we supinely accept.
Even Baby Jesus feels him far away. With Father Turoldo I invoke him: “Jesus, come to us, but come at night, be stealthy, be prudent. These are capable of anything, even of geolocating us while we pray ”. We don't go to school, we don't work, we don't know what to say anymore. What life is it?
This is how they want Christmas to be spent, alone and sad, glued to ignoble screens. "It closes!", And we all down to earth, barricaded in the house. “It opens!”, And we all go out to buy Chinese platitudes (they are cheap, they are worth nothing). “It closes!”, Because we behaved badly. “There is a new variant of the Virus!”, Already the head! The virologists of the regime, with the ferocious faces of a kapo, are constantly beating us. And U.S? Shut up.
I cannot accept this bad habit. According to the protocol of the elites, I should wrap myself in my cashmere blanket, and stay calm, on the De Sede sofa, have a Gin Martini, and say "Happy COVID" to the British who voted for Brexit.
What to do? Father Turoldo taught me: to be tireless disturbers of conscience. Turn the voluntary lockdown into a strike. The "worker" is now a pathetic figure, if he goes on strike he only damages himself. Leaders, trade unions, parades, megaphones, violence in the streets, represent a finite world. We have few cards to play, the culture of scarcity, the fortitude, the silence. The hero of the revolt must become the "consumer". With the voluntary lockdown he goes on strike in his house, barricades himself, turns off the TV, orders nothing via Amazon, buys the minimum to survive.
His Gandhian salt march is invented to defend his freedom. Wishes!
This is a machine translation from Italian language of a post published on Start Magazine at the URL https://www.startmag.it/mondo/questo-natale-2020-e-la-profanazione-di-cio-che-significa-il-natale/ on Thu, 24 Dec 2020 06:40:18 +0000.