The
biggest jokes going around on the Internet are about how today is predicted as
the end of the world per the Mayan calendar. Of course, most of us just see it
as a joke since we’ve gone through many such dire predictions during our
lifetimes.
No, it wasn’t always the Mayans, it’s was usually some fringe
religious group who claimed to have a direct line to God’s ear. Their feelings
were usually expressed as “the world is
going to end because we’ve turned into a cesspool of humanity” and "we" or possibly "they" deserve to be cremated from the face of
the earth.
I
have to admit that I haven’t felt too well the past week and sure haven’t had
time to give any credence, much less joke time, to the Mayan end of the world.
As far as when that event is going to happen on a global basis, I guess I’ll
just have to go with what Grandma Whittle told me when I was a child and rumors
of the “end” were rampant. “Not even the angels in heaven will know that date,”
Grandma assured me. I believed my grandma more than I believed some fanatic
holding a sign, and my faith was well founded. The next day dawned just as
beautiful as any other day.
Now
the Mayans, on the other hand, have always fascinated me. I first read about
them in social studies in elementary school. I couldn’t think of anything more fascinating
to see than the Mayan structures, unless it was the pyramids of Egypt. I
dreamed of wandering through a jungle and coming up moss-covered ruins.
Is
it any wonder that when my son and daughter-in-law invited me to Mexico several
years ago that I was luke warm to the idea until they mentioned we’d be staying
close to the Mayan ruins? Then I was all eager to go and number one on my list
of things to see was Chichen Itza, or Chicken Pizza as my son called it. Of the
four of us, I was probably the only one who was thrilled to be wandering around
in the sweltering heat and pushing past the droves of locals hawking cheap
tourist trinkets.
Always
one to push the lure of Mayan culture to the limits, I went to a closer
attraction the next day on my own. Unfortunately, that day was the closest I’d
ever come to heat stroke and that took a little bit of the fun out of it for
me.
But,
on day one, I had absorbed a lot about the Mayan culture. They were violent
people who believed in rewarding the victors of “ball games” by allowing the
team leader, or captain, to serve as a sacrifice to the gods. I’m thinking that
my heart wouldn’t be much in a game if winning meant I would be beheaded.
The
Mayans may have seemed like mythical, powerful people with a vision of life,
but they were selfish people who used their superior power to inflict
unspeakable pain upon others to promote their beliefs. They built their
temples, buildings, and structures to benefit the elite group of leaders.
Sounds
impossible, doesn’t it? Or maybe not so much if you just look around. Here at
home, now, we just witnessed an unspeakable disaster in an ordinary community
and rather than respectfully allowing the families to mourn, we are intruding
with the media. Politicians are scrambling to make their point as to why their
political stance on constitutional rights or gun control is the answer to
preventing disasters in the future. I’ve seen this disaster blamed on
everything from lack of prayer in school to not allowing teachers to pack side arms
with their lunchboxes. If the truth is told, there is no simple answer because
this isn’t a simple problem. A lot of worlds ended at Sandy Hook, and it wasn’t
because a Mayan calendar predicted it.
All
I can say is, that if I didn’t believe my Grandma Whittle and figured that if
the angels in heaven didn’t know when the world was going to end, I wouldn’t
have any money left in the bank today. Nope. I would have spent every blasted
penny and had one heck of a good time in the process. I wouldn’t be sitting
here at home; I’d be with my family sharing every happy memory I could.
Obviously,
since I’m just watching TV…not something that even gets close to the bucket
list…I’m expecting tomorrow to be just another day. As long as I don’t have
visions of jungles, winning ballgames, or watching heads roll, I plan to have
just another ordinary night and wake up to a new day tomorrow. While I’m at it,
I’ll just thank God that I’m not a Mayan.
Copyright
© Dec 2012 by L.S. Fisher
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