Of Boomerangs and Swastikas and Pyramids

 

The speaker caught me by surprise, just like I would like to catch you by surprise. He wanted to test his audience, as I will now, as to how boomerangs, swastikas, and pyramids are linked.

You see, when I say boomerang, you will likely think either of Australia or Rolf Harris; swastika, and Adolf Hitler comes to mind. Pyramids, of course, are associated with Egypt. This speaker guy went on to show that these three seemingly unrelated objects had a common origin. But they also have a common presence all over this planet, as I write this

The link, of course, has to do with time and space. In other words, all three have been around for a long, long time, and have been discovered in many various parts of the world – not just in Australia, Germany, and Egypt.

The speaker, we'll call him Mr. Nelson, went on to show, through a very convincing power point presentation, how the boomerang – or some variation of it - is found in countries from Afghanistan to Zimbabwe. It appears that this tool has been around for thousands of years, used by thousands of hunters.

He was equally convincing about the swastika: Found worldwide, it appears on pottery, handrails, wall carvings, and many other places, and in every case it is a very positive symbol. He showed subway railings in Korea, for example, with the swastika as part of the ironworks. And I recollect it was the Hopi Indians, and their wall carvings, believed that all First Nations people had started out as one entity at one point and place in time (symbolized by the centre of the swastika), only to be scattered (signified by the four L-shaped arms) to various parts of the world.

It is a supreme tragedy that this particular symbol was hijacked by the arch-villain of the Third Reich.

The most intriguing of the three, for me, was the pyramid. Believe it or not, pyramids, or at least some form of such are in Egypt (as we all know), China, the USA, Mexico, and parts of South America, and parts of the Far East – mostly in Cambodia. They all have the same shape:

a large base that led to a small surface, a stairwell up the centre, and some sort of religious operation at the top - usually a temple. As people migrated from the alleged central spot (somewhere in the Middle East), the use and need for the pyramids changed, including even its identity.

Like the boomerang and swastika, the purpose of the pyramid varied from century to century, from culture to culture. Re-worked purposes are not new. An example today would be in our cell phones and cars. What they were used for yesteryear is different from they are used for today. Likewise, a pyramid that was once used for star-gazing (Babylon) became a monstrous crypt (Egypt), which evolved into a place for both the worship of the sun and the offering of human sacrifices (Mexico).

This Mr. Nelson laid out the time line of these three objects (and there were more, but time ran out), and how they originated from a certain area around the same point in time. His evidence pointed to southern Iraq. A migration from there to the far-flung "corners" (how does a globe have corners?) of the earth, and these primitive tools and experiences were part of the trek.

Nelson went on to strongly suggest - I would say "proved" - that many of the above and other weapons and habits and tools originated from a place we know as the Tower of Babel. Both Alexander the Great and Saddam Hussein knew the significance of such a site, and both attempted to replicate it on the spot. Even a casual Google search lends credence to this theory.

His sources were anything but religious, which somehow (wrongly) gave it more credibility. The historical-biblical account shows that after the Great Flood there was one people, speaking one language, scheming with one purpose to "reach up to heaven." They had congregated on these particular plains in Iraq, and had gone ahead to built this massive structure, which became a prototype of a pyramid.

Through the hand of the Divine, this group was broken up into different language divisions. This caused them to gravitate towards each the same-language people and away from other people who didn't speak the same language. As they moved out, they took their weapons and habits and tools (for example, boomerangs and swastikas) with them. Hence, the widespread evidence of a common origin.

Makes for interesting mental fodder. Some day we'll chase down the scores of Great Flood theories out there. Makes you wonder why this information has been held back from us.

So Favre, So God

 

If you ever saw me play any sports, you would realize quite quickly that I'm better suited for reading, or 'riting, or 'rithmetic. To be sure, a good athlete needs to read the playbook, write where it says "sign here," and do the math when it comes to contracts and scores; but I am still out of my league, you might say, on a playing field or on an ice surface.

I can hold my own, I suppose, so long as I don't have to put the puck in the hole with a bat. Mind you, you need to know that I was quite successful on my high school football team; I understood that I was on the offensive line: Everything I did was offensive.

I was told that I was playing any one or all of the following positions: end, guard, or tackle. Then I found out I was supposed to sit at the end of the bench, guard the water bottles, and tackle anyone who came near.

My interest in a sports theme this week is because of two unrelated stories in the religion of sports. Both involve professional football players, so I suppose there is a token link. The one is the ongoing saga of Brett "will-he-or-will-he-not" Favre, and the other is a relatively unknown Cory Boyd.

Favre, as you know, plays for the Green Bay Packers; sorry, the New York Jets; oops, my bad, the Minnesota Vikings. A man desperate for a Super Bowl ring will do anything with anybody to keep playing until he can get a trip to the Big Dance, with hardware to match - even if it means "divorcing" team and "marrying" another one.

Mr. Boyd currently plays for the Toronto Argonauts. Like his team, he is experiencing a resurrection of sorts: A recent web story recounted his past: the death of loved ones, an absentee father (until he showed up at his mother's funeral), ghetto life, drug wars, and the like. He is tearing up the league, as I write this, and it is one of those warm, fuzzy stories that restores my faith in sports as, well, sports. It almost makes me wants to shout, "hallelujah!"

You see, sports has become not only big business, but it has become big religion. Athletes are treated as god (no, Maurice, I know my grammar, but I also know my Bible and there is only one God). The way they are feted and "jetted" make me sick. The recent showcasing of Mr. Favre being flown halfway around America is a case in point.

He may be good, but he's not that great.

Cory Boyd, on the other hand, is a polar opposite example. In the words of the secular writer who put the story together, Mr. Boyd "found religion" in the last few years. It appears that whatever he found is working. It appears that his life was turned around by an encounter with God (his words), and he appears to be living a lifestyle that proves it.

Apart from my own conviction – you may say 'bias' – along these lines, I love a story where the athlete in question is not some loudmouthed, arrogant, promiscuous jerk, but is in fact a modest, unassuming and genuine article. Because the latter is so hard to find in the sports temple of our culture, Boyd's story resonates even louder and stronger with me.

Brett Favre's quest for Super Bowl glory is a noble albeit self-serving one. Note he is not trying to get there for the sake of the Minnesota Vikings. They are only the foot-soldiers, the means to his end. It is an example of hungry ambition devoid of moral balance.

What I like about Boyd is the credit he gives to his Maker, the determination to do his best for his team, and the absence of a pity-party. We need more Boyd stories, where athletes are honest and unsung heroes, religious experience or not.

If I had the legs, I would love to play end, guard, and tackle for his team.

A Moving Experience

 

There is nothing quite as exciting as moving day - not. Boxes here and there, all life's precious possessions crammed carefully into overstuffed containers. And then there's the big ticket items, namely, beds and bedroom suites, major appliances, and living room furniture. Thank the Lord above for dollies and strong-backed sons.

People move for a variety of reasons, and not all of them good. Work-related issues factor in here. Some lose their jobs and can no longer afford the mortgage or rent. Others, still on the job theme, get transferred, or possibly need to get closer to a new job that they have chosen. Cutting down on the commute makes a lot of sense. Some may even need to change the configuration of their house as they embrace a rapidly growing trend, namely, working from home.

Family matters come into play here also. Lots of people my age are down-sizing. That means the house and the toys within the house are not as necessary as they once were, so they need to get rid of the space and the things that fill up that space. Four bedrooms become two bedrooms, three living areas can be reduced to two. The kitchen and dining room could be a lot smaller.

There is often an economic advantage here: When larger is reduced to smaller, the financial difference is realized, though that's not always the case.

The most painful reasons for moving would be the other family affairs – divorce, death, and desertion. Parents split, but the one remaining with the kids cannot afford to hold on to the house. Death could produce the same dilemma, though there may be a life insurance policy to help smooth things out. And desertion is possibly the ugliest of the three "D's" because there is so much uncertainty and loose ends.

On the positive side of the ledger, people move because they are able to sell the house for more than they bought it, and purchase a different one at an affordable price. Or at least that's how it should work. They somehow got a foot inside the housing market, then monitored house sales, mortgage rates, and their financial stability. The general order is condominium, bungalow, and then on to the acreage or just a bigger house in the 'burbs.

Too many people have gotten themselves into deep, deep financial woes because they have extended themselves too much. That was clearly one reason why the recent and on-going American recession kicked in. It is a vicious circle: The couple sees a house they want, but they can't quite afford it, but they can afford it with both parents working. With both parents working, there are then other ramifications, what with latch-key kids, chores, holidays, work demands and simple daily exhaustion.

I suggest that no house is worth that toll on the family.

A healthy economic strategy would aim to be mortgage-free, or as close to it as possible. The word "mortgage" has in its root form the word "mortal," and inherent in that word is the thought of death or doomed to die; the Spanish link also has to do with death. In other words, a mortgage is really a death grip on the financial throat of every family.

It may be wise stewardship to down-size even before retirement, getting down to a lifestyle and mortgage that is reasonable. Renting, while not a great option at the best of times, may be a stop-gap measure to get one's financial house in order. In other words, sell the house, lock away the proceeds, rent for a year or so, all the while trying to re-align one's money matters.

So "Moving Day" conjures up all sorts of images in the mind, some good, some not so good. While I am no financial adviser at the best of times, I have moved a few times, and the two are connected. I suggest move when necessary only, and do it to your economic advantage. But also think in terms of family life, beyond the almighty dollar. Think of all the trauma that may be inflicted on the marriage and the kids, weighing all the pros and cons.

If it looks good from every angle, go for it. Then you could say that it will be, indeed, a moving experience.

Uniform Reasoning

 

I used to be a man who went to work in a uniform. I had a certain beat that I walked, five days a week. In my own modest way I would say I looked good – blue shirt, black pants,dark tie, and a couples of choices for hats. That job last somewhere between eight and nine years, even though I was already bored stupid with it after eight or nine days.

You see, it's not very stimulating to be a mailman (or letter-carrier, in today's parlance).

Men (and women, for that matter) are an arresting sight when in uniform – and I don't mean just when they are arresting you. For example, the guy doing lino in my house showed up last week in a uniform. It turns out he does maintenance at the border, and wears these real cool digs as he fixes things. It caught me off guard when he strolled up my sidewalk, wanting to come into my house. Looking back, I think he was on his way home from work, so it wasn't worth switching outfits.

Speaking of the border, I have been pleasantly surprised with the warm, personable treatment I have received in recent trips into Montana and back. Oftentimes, these guys and gals in particular appear to abuse their roles as law enforcement officers and can be very abrupt and stern. But this time we encountered officers in uniform conducting themselves appropriately. It makes it easier to respect such when kind demeanour goes along with sharp suit.

Another case in point: My couple hours at the RCMP Musical Ride recently exposed me to all sorts of peace officers in all sorts of uniforms – the regular police uniform, the sheriff's outfit, and the serge suit. Again, they were very distinguished, though I didn't wanted to get too close to them. Usually when that happens, I am handing them my driver's license and vehicle registration.

Personally, I think I liked the redcoats the best. I know they are only for show and special occasions (eg., weddings and funerals), but they really add a lot of class to the RCMP.

A few weeks ago I took some of my kids to Waterton and the same thing happened, namely, each employee of Parks Canada wore a uniform and carried out their business in a very professional manner. I was very impressed and proud of how they represented my country. To be sure, they weren't representing the law, but they were representing something, and carried out their duty with class.

While I am not going to use this as a platform for a push for uniforms for students, I still think there is something noteworthy of dressing up even for school. When I see what passes as school garb these days, I am amazed kids are even allowed to leave the house. That would be one reason why I don't think teachers should have too many dress down days during the school year. "Jean Friday," or whatever they call it, should be enough.

The same can be said for what is worn at other standard public events, such as weddings, funerals, the work place, and church functions. I am not suggesting standard uniform dress, by any stretch; however, I am advocating that we dress up for the occasion, mostly out of respect for that occasion.

Does a fireman fight a fire better when in a uniform? Does the mail go through faster when the clerk or letter-carrier is dressed for the occasion? Hardly. But there is an innate sense of respect, almost honour, when one sees these professionals carry out their respective duties. And we know that we need to show more respect for these people as they carry out their duties to serve us.

So, looking and acting in excellence is really the gist of this week's column. I personally respond positively to someone who who dressed appropriately, then acts appropriately. There is nothing worse than a well-dressed fool. I would take a poorly-dressed gentleman or lady over a fool any day.

Uniforms alone do not command respect. It is how the officer, clerk, guide, waiter/waitress or whoever conducts oneself is really the ticket here. The outward, if you will, only enhances that inward.

So, next time you take my order, pump my gas, ask for my driver's license, and serve me in some other capacity, I will treat you with the respect you deserve, so long as you are acting and dressing appropriately. I'd even add a "Yes, yer honour," to boot.