Christmas in the Desert


It’s Christmas Eve and I am in a country with no Christmas. The Muslims aren’t big on Christian holidays, you see. And I respect that. I was talking to a guy from Armenia the other day who was complaining that the locals won’t open up their country to other religions. Which was a bit funny because Armenia is the most Christian nation on the planet. They sure don’t tolerate the other side there and they are not about to let them in.

Which is the same where I am now. And they’re right not to let in other religions. Freedom of religion isn’t just a colossal mistake; it’s a colossal betrayal, a grand deception designed with a clear end goal in mind – to destroy the local religion. Destroy the religion and you destroy the culture, plain and simple.

So I can’t celebrate Christmas where I am. I also can’t go to church, obviously. I can watch some Latin masses online, and I will do that, but it’s obviously not the same. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not crying for attention here. I’m actually really content that I find myself in this position because this is the first Christmas in my life where I haven’t been bombarded with all of the fakery. You could say that this is my first non-cucked Christmas.

I haven’t bought any presents because I don’t have anyone here to give them to. There are no decorations because it’s a little hard to purchase holly in this part of the world, let alone a good section of lopped off pine. No booze either which I have to admit is a tad disappointing. So what is Christmas about when you don’t have Christmas at all?

I suppose that it’s about the birth of Christ. About personal worship. A contemplation of the beginning of our religion all those years ago. Without all of the chintzy distractions you have to burrow down and really think about what it all means. Christmas is important but why is it important? One thing that I have recently realised is how the birth of Christ is so perfect. God, of course, got nothing wrong. There was no room for the newborn Jesus in the inn so He had to be placed in a manger, the dirtiest and lowliest place where He could come into this world. The inn is the stage of man, of gossip and being of this world. In the manger, the newly born Christ is viewed by the ox and the ass, the same animals which the Hebrews used to worship as idols. Everywhere that you look in the story, the symbolism is pure and potent.

I’d like to say that Christmas is about family but this year there are so many families that have been deliberately broken due to the great unraveling as a special gift of government threats and propaganda. When the Christmas message from the geriatric pants pooper is a direct threat against those who won’t get with the program which he fronts then you know that it’s close to Nakatomi Plaza time.

As I type these words I am listening to the call for prayer. The guy is really putting his heart and soul into it. I appreciate it when someone takes their role in life seriously. This is the year that I have really begun to take my own religion seriously. Whenever I meet locals here and the subject of religion comes up, and it always comes up, then I tell them that I am a devout Catholic. When they discover that I pray four times a day their faces light up. They think it’s unreal; a Westerner who is actually serious about his religion.

The truth is that when you find yourself in a heavily religious country, even if it is another religion entirely, you start taking your own religion even more seriously. Surrounded by daily prayer, you pray. At least I do. I take my inspiration where I can get it. And this Christmas I give thanks at my great fortune in life, at all of the blessings which God has bestowed upon me. Not least of which is the fact that He gently directed this poor sinner and former lowly atheist back into His fold.

I received an email the other day from a reader who has found his way back to the Catholic Church partly because of what I come up with here. That is the best Christmas present that I could ever have. And so I am content, and I am quiet in my happiness at my latest turn of events. And I wish all of my readers, wherever you are, the merriest of Christmases.

I just thought about the fact that I am not all that far away, geographically speaking, from where the events of Christmas took place. So this is a Christmas post from the desert, from the lands close to where Christ was born. That’s kind of cool. I’m a lucky guy.

Originally published at Pushing Rubber Downhill. You can purchase Adam’s books here.

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Adam Piggott writes about all things red pill and nationalist right. He examines what it means to be a man in the modern world and gives men advice beyond the typical 'how to pull chicks', (although he does that too.) He plays the guitar, smokes cigars, drinks wine and rum, rides motorbikes, is bad at cricket, and distrusts any man who has no redeeming petty vices. He does his best to be a reality check to any Millennials or progressives so unfortunate as to cross his path.