Fairy Tales Revisioned,  Patriarchy

Is Santa Claus a Woman?

The first and instinctive answer to spill forth from my tongue is an emphatic NO, but I always like to poke and prod around at those reflexive answers that have been planted like seeds somewhere deep inside probably out of self-preservation and ancient DNA remembrances of the patriarchal wounds and burning times.  Is Santa Claus a woman?  Now that would make one hell of a statement during our feminist, Goddess rising times wouldn’t it?  The sound of those words makes me smile cynically and deeply into my home brewed tea prepared for me by my sacred masculine partner, one of those rare jewels you find wondering about on an oasis in this desert of good men.  I start to transform myself into her, into Ms. Claus to see whether or not if it were my story to tell that Santa was indeed a woman?

                At first glance I see the traditional Saint Nick walking in with dripping boots and myself bending down to help him pry them off and place them lovingly by the fire, hand him a cup of hot cocoa as his elves cheer “hip, hip, hooray” for another Christmas success.  My stomach revolts and I shrilly laugh in a maniacal way, “oh HELL no”, that’s not my Mrs. Claus, so I begin again.  Now I see it, Mrs. Claus meditating on the deepest heart felt desires of all of the children on earth, a gift of the season special and unique to only them, it’s the same way that we mother our own tender babes. If you think clearly back to your childhood, who in your house was really SANTA?  I know with 100% certainty it was my mother, which was so much more obvious as a young adult from the sheer, authentic surprise on my father’s face as he watched us open each of our gifts.  Mrs. Claus becomes a litter bit clearer, her long red silky sleeves are rolled up, and there is sweat beading on her beautiful crone brow as she immerses herself right along with those magical elves to co-create a beautiful shiny object meant to dazzle and please young twinkling eyes.  She barks orders of lists of things to get done, and has Mr. Claus scurrying around to help her.  He sits back, not as a king on his throne waiting for everyone to pack up his sleigh for his glory day, but as a watchful helpful eye for this is my version of Mr. Claus after all.  He’s the rock to her creative roll, and she toils and troubles and boils and bubbles up the most magical Yuletide she can muster, she wraps each package just right, and then sends Mr. Claus off to do her bidding and deliver them down each home’s hearth.  Hearth, well now that’s a traditionally woman’stool now isn’t it?  Even ancient Brigihd was Goddess of the hearth and sacred tender of the home’s fire.  Do you think it was his idea to shove his fat ass down a chimney?  Think again, it was most definitely hers, but she is ever so grateful to have him as her partner to help carry the load, so I ask myself again. Is Santa a woman?  Well I suppose it depends on your perspective.  Is it she who orchestrates and organizes the holiday behind the scenes, she who conjures up the gifts, or him who lugs and delivers the packages themselves?  It’s a bit of both to me, kind of a non-answer after all of that musing to say SANTA is everything just as he/she should be a little of both Mom magically finding the perfect gifts, and Dad packing up the old Volkswagen sleigh to head over to Grandma’s house.

                Resurfacing back to now and away from the North Pole I ask myself so what’s underneath in America’s subconscious that raised this movement up? Again, I smile a wry smile deep into my cup of tea as I feel the Goddess rising beneath my feet.  With all of the women’s movements in motion I can see the patriarchal hammer slamming down on all of the heads of those Shakti, kundalini snakes as more and more of them emerge from underground.  A losing game of Wack-a-Mole as those padded hammers attempt to beat them back down underneath, where eventually there will be more snakes than the sky gods can control, and when that day comes, well an even more empowering and blasphemous statement will be made.  Forget Santa folks, for cries of joy will ring out as we will once again shout “Hallelujah the face of GOD is once more a WOMAN.”  Praise be to the season.  May your miracles shine brightly, your gifts be glittering with the ever-present lights of silver and gold, and your holidays be blessed.  Namaste.  -Tara Nordstrom

Please follow and like us:

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *