Another day, another dollar. Another year, another shekel. Every year when it comes time to reflect I say the same thing. Maybe you do, too. Boy howdy, ain’t the current year a humdinger? There’s a lot of us out there that maybe don’t feel there’s much to be thankful for. Not even turkey. Or gravy. Or whatever else normal people eat on the Day and feel bad about the next.
I’m lucky. With my family I share an understanding. When CoVid became a thing two weeks to fatten the curb ago in 2019 (it was a big leap year) it didn’t take me long to betray my Dissident leanings and maintain my standing as token black sheep. I asked all the wrong questions at all the wrong times. (Which means I only had to bother asking.) Luckily, and I mean that. It paid off. A lot of my family members have started asking questions. I don’t like where they go for answers, but the questions are good. And my relationships aren’t irreparably damaged. So, I’m giving thanks for my +10 Anglo Diplomacy bonus which remains constant despite rolling a d20 crit. fail on respecting the limits of other people’s psychologically conditioned mental handicaps.
Will the wonders ever cease?
My wife with her family, was not so lucky. Like many folk across the dingdong world, she also failed to respect the ever shrinking boundaries of the emotional barriers of others. If you will, she auditioned as a shorter, Whiter, blonder and prettier impersonator of the pwn libs with facts and logic guy. The one that looks uncomfortably like a male version of that whiny weaselly looking woman from V for Vendetta. What’s his face. Shapiro. That’s it. Anyway. Turns out when you own da libz, they A. refuse to acknowledge their status as being kept, and B. resort to petty manipulation and dirty ad hominem tricks. The long and short is: this year will be a very uncomplicated one in Seaxenhausen. Not many visits.
Anyway. The point I am trying to make is, in a way, today is a day where my hobbyhorse comes in handy. That vast array of ‘stuff no normal human being worth her weight in Celtic sea salt cares about.’ Esoteric gobbledygook.
The exoteric reason we celebrate Thanksgiving is family. Ergo, with a depressingly high volume of souls alone this year, I think it’s important to perhaps evaluate the esoteric. Before we do: extend some good will. It ties into the esoteric value. I tried inviting some Singletons to Seaxenhausen for turkey, but most are working. We will be making a delivery of Thanksgiving dinner to some sick friends who can’t currently taste how good my wife’s cooking is. La-dee-dah.
Thanksgiving, despite popular pretence, is an English-American Holiday. It marks a number of events, and not just the popular narrative of Chief Squatting Donkey teaching John William Dourlington the art of indigestion via corn product. That’s some kindergarten spooning we can grow out of.
Thanksgiving echoed earlier English harvest festivals reaching back to potentially much further than the conquista of England from the Britons only for the globalists to turn her back into Britain again in another blogpost. (Maybe.) The English have always been deeply, unconsciously conservative about some things. And so it became doubly important to graft things we felt important into Catholicism. That spirit didn’t end with Anglicanism, or even with Puritanism.
So. Thanksgiving was a date to carry the ancient pagan harvest tradition, heaped upon with Christian veneer and further glossed over with Puritan piety. Ironically, if you read the intent of the Governor of the new Bay Colony, his rationale sounds a lot like a Pagan land-taking ceremony. And here we are. Our ancestors survived the boat that brought them, the winter that cursed them, and the Indian summer (s) to come.
We did that.
Its hard to believe now, when you consider tomorrow is Stunning and Brave Friday, and where February comes early, at least five poor twats aren’t going to survive their trip to Wal-Mart to be enriched to death either by stampede or stabbing. Or maybe this year’s Darcurious Friday victims will die creative deaths that aren’t really funny and could have been avoided. Time will tell.
So anyway. Thanksgiving. In a way, it might behove us to think about what potentially involuntary, or at least inconveniently voluntary journeys we have had which made us stronger. We might take the time to think of how we turn dark times into bright ones, even if the light in the dark is dim. I’ll tell you what; throw enough fireflies in one field, and it becomes daylight once again. So don’t be thinking your dim light ain’t that bright. Its all a matter of perspective.
Our, or at least my, Ancestors arrived on a rinkydink boat at a tough time. They came knowing they likely wouldn’t go back. Crossing Rubicons is something our people have made history doing. That’s what history is, sometimes, not looking back. Others have been aping that English daring-do ever since. But why did they come? They wanted their Ethnostate. The Puritans wanted a slice of land for Englishmen and Englishwomen of good character to follow their conscience. And maybe a tax break. All sympathetic goals. None of them commercial fluff, and it had nothing to do with Chief What’s His Name.
It’s a great time to take stock of the tribe. Who do you know, whom can you ask? If you haven’t been building a tribe, one you can trust as near to unconditionally as this life allows, what could you be doing differently to do this? Holidays are an excellent metric for loneliness. And loneliness is an excellent metric for widespread social health or dis-ease.
If on this Holiday you find yourself unhappy, take stock and plan changes. In the end, you don’t have to be alone. And whatever damages ZOG occurs against your family, the ties that bind us, you can still be working on building that tribe. And on the Day, work on changing your mind if you need to. In life we find the sorts of people we can share a soul with, it’s a self-fulfilled prophecy, but it’s true. Whether your explanation is mystical, biological or in between.