Christmas for the Godless

I'm told Christmas is meant to be a little different when you don't think the Christian god is real, or when you're not compelled to celebrate the birth of a child that he implanted a virgin. Personally, I see it a little differently. The stories are all there, like when you're a kid and the floor is lava; it's a game full of charm and wonder. I'll just stop playing when I go back to work on Monday.

For this Christmas I will be drawing on a wild variety of traditions, instead of just Christian. I'll celebrate it around the winter solstice like Orisis, an Egyptian god who battled evil, died and is now judge of the dead. I'll probably have a feast and "Yule" celebration like the Germanic pagans did too. I'll even have a Nordic tree, and decorate it like the Romans would have for fertility. I'll swop gifts like at the Saturnalia, and might squeeze in Coca-Cola's red Santa Claus. Eventually we'll celebrate the famous mother and child from the 3,000BC to 400AD Greko-Roman world, Isis and Horus.

I know it sounds messy to work so many together, but I'm going to try. Anyone with me?

Travel

They always look at you funny when you have a guitar slung over your back with no case. I think they're just in awe of how awesome it looks. These guys let me take it on, so after shuffling past people in the aisle and waiting for a lady to spend forever sorting her bag, I find two empty seats and make sure she's (the guitar) seatbelted comfortably in beside me. The "in-flight" movie is Tron, (soundtrack by Daft Punk). There is a toilet, but no one will use it.

After a mid morning transfer to a train, I settle down again, reading occasionally, dosing fitfully. I've been travelling for 24 hours now, awake for about 30, and have the sharp situational awareness that only comes from sleep deprivation. Rustling bags arouse attention. Voices in conversation, voices in urgency, voices blending together. A clock flicks another number on a platform. An inspector ambled past.

The weather has been dank for a few days and there's a misty blanket of rain across the countryside that makes the mountains farther away look like ghosts. Water trickels down the window, dragged backward by the speed of the train. Under the rain, everything green nearby looks greener, browns darker. The roads reflect the sky and shapes.

I am passenger 73591 and these commuters don't know how far I've come, but they can probably guess.