EVIL IN THE NAME OF GOD ....

In my opinion, there is no God in any of the worlds religions of today or yesterday.

Religion is a man made item created to explain things that defy logical explanation. Organized religions are social organizations with doctrines, a pecking order of leaders, and a value system of behavior and practices. The leaders and rules are determined by the education, race, ethnicity, geography, culture, and social standing of the group. Members of religions are promised rewards of a peaceful after life, a reincarnation, a paradise, or a harem of virgins if they remain loyal. The main requirements are to faithfully follow the rules, leaders, tithe, and work to convert others.

In a fog of magic blended with blind faith and optimism, people are lead to accept the reality of fantastic people and events. Otherwise intelligent people are required to accept events and persons that range from downright silly to void of any common sense or scientific proof. Throughout history religious groups have become so zealous that acts of war and horror have befallen others in the name of God. The mix of religious fervor and politics has proven throughout history to be a particularly deadly combination. The Crusades, Holocaust, Reformation, Inquisition, and Jihads are  examples of the insanity and mayhem created by religious differences and intolerance. In my opinion, an element in most wars can be traced to cultural differences between people, and a critical element in cultural differences is religion.

Surely there is a Supreme Force or God which created everything and controls everything. I believe in that Supreme Power. However in my opinion, one need not associate with religion to believe in God. Religion demands a degree of surrendering ones free will and common sense to conform to a set of beliefs and rituals. While there are wonderful people, even saints, in some churches there is a larger number of members that present danger from their deep devotion which tends to intolerance. Over history religions have convinced too many people and civilizations to do war, rape, murder, and pillage in the name of God.

When I was a child my religion taught me my faith was the only true faith. I would get an easier route to paradise then all my non-Catholic friends. I was told it was blasphemy to consider the ideas of other religions. Like many, I became a church member as an infant before I could think of any options. Additionally, as a child my religious training gave me a bucket load of guilt and sins to consider in my every "word and action." I think my religious indoctrination was a typical experience many billions in the religions of Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Judaism, and Hinduism have shared and suffered.

My advice is to believe in God in whatever form He or She might take, but steer clear of religions and houses of worship. Finally, I believe the real God is not a member of any religious organization and is probably very unhappy that His or Her good name is associated with the rabble of churches and religions that plague the planet.

                                                                  

TODAY I KILLED A BABY

Spring is my favorite season.

I like it for all the usual reasons;  fresh spirits rising after the gloom and damp of winter, the calendar space when new life and color bursts forth in forests and fields, and little creatures hatching  scurrying and hopping to life. It's a grand time and an occasion to thank God for allowing new life.

Last Spring after motoring for miles and enjoying the sights and scents of a warm day I made the last turn for home. I noticed ahead of me in the middle of the road a family of bob whites. Proud parents leading the way followed by a half dozen tiny chicks fleeting across the roadway. Naturally, I slowed and then proceeded after assuming all had safely crossed. For some reason I glanced into my rear view mirror and was horrified.

In the track of my right rear tire was a tiny lump. It was so small I never felt a thud. I had crushed a tiny baby bird. Feeling awful I glanced back again and saw the mother quail in the street standing over her dead chick. There was no traffic so I stopped and hollered to scare the adult bird back to her  family. She fluttered off the highway into the safety of the adjoining field and marched her family remining away.

The images was haunting.  Difficult to imagine that a newly hatched miracle of life was selected to die so suddenly. And, why did the tiny bird remain on the road once his momma, papa and brothers and sisters clear the road / Such a sad vision of the mother bird having some recognition of death standing over her killed hatchling. And, no way to undue the tragedy.

Nature is a cycle of living, dying, and survival of the fittest, but the incident was a cruel reminder of life's fragility and quickness. There will be billions of new lives this season and many will promptly perish, without warning or fanfare, after their brief twilight of life. In the grand scheme of things the little bird I killed may be remembered only because I've noted it. But is there more ?

The little bob whites quick death reminds me that life is a limited and precious gift. Therefore, we must party, honor, and embrace life at all times with great enthusiasm. Celebrating our existence and the lives of the people and other creations in our midst should be our joyous song for all our seasons.

Remember we are living our "Final Lap" and have no schedule when our light ends. Always honor life in all it's fascinating forms.

For God's sake reject convenience abortions. 

DEAR ANNETTE & MARGARET

In 2013 we experienced a sad day when we lost two very different and wonderful women who joined the heavenly stars.

First, came news that Lady Margaret Thatcher had slipped from life. Later in the day, news spread that Annette Funicello passed away.

Margaret Thatcher was the bull in the Brit china shoppe that shook England out of it's socialist funk. She was passionate and steady in her denouncement of communism and socialism. A soviet contemporary labeled her the "iron lady" either out of fear, respect, or perhaps both. She proved to the world that a woman could lead a modern nation in peace and war with great success. Despite the constant slings and arrows from the political left and a pitiful Hollywood smear movie, Margaret Thatcher was and will always be recognized as one the worlds great leaders. She ably joined Ronald Reagan in forcing the collapse of the Soviet Union.

Annette Funicello was the heart throb of the baby boom generation as a mouseketeer and later as a beach beauty. As a child star in the Disney empire she was forever perky, soft spoken, and cute. Wearing her mouse ears or in later Disney roles she was always polite and sweet on and off stage. Later, as the star of many beach movies she was the teenage queen of beauty and fashion. It was every young man's dream to date Annette. Daresay, it was every young girls desire to be Annette. Amazingly, unlike many female entertainment stars of today, Annette played it clean her entire career. She never played the slut, used suggestive language, succumbed to alcohol, or bounced around naked to gain and enhance her stardom.

In their own distinctive ways, Annette and Margaret were unique women who will be dearly missed and remembered for a very long time.  

UNTOLD STORIES OF VIETNAM - PART 2

NOTE:   Part 1 published August 8, 2010 - see Blog Archives.

Our company space was a sand pit of canvas tents surrounded by sand bags. The oval of two acres was further defined by twenty five foot sand dunes.  The sand was a fine powdery grain which swirled with the slightest breeze. Living in a sand pit surrounded by sandy hills was a continuing challenge. For the next year sand was a constant in our bedding, menu, hair style, outhouse regimen, and workplace environment. The sand was so soft wooden boardwalks were required to provide walkways. These boardwalks connected   the troop tents,  latrine, dining tent, showers, orderly room, and other canvas enclosures of the company area. The troop tents held ten to fifteen canvas and wooden beds. The tents were set in an oval which enclosed our sand rich company area. When we arrived in December of 1966 our uniforms were still the standard solid green  fatigues. There were no short sleeve shirts, short pants, lighter nylon jungle boots, or camouflaged wearing apparel. The weather was usually hot and humid or hot and dry. Sweat was produced with the slightest effort.

Each morning at 5AM the 516th would congregate in a formation of platoons to honor the flag, endure inspections, and screeching orations from Captain Tucker. Each evening before dinner mess the assembly was repeated. Men loading and unloading into diesel belching trucks also took place in the company area. Our early morning commute and late evening return from work was a bumpy ride. The sand streets were hardened by constant heavy vehicle use and the application of oil to the roadbed. The roads were defined by deep potholes in which jeeps and smaller trucks could easily get trapped. During the several mile commute in the canvassed rear of these rumbling trucks one would experience the unique taste and odor of wafting sand, cigarette smoke, and the choking mist of black diesel fuel. We worked six days a week and could work a seventh day if we wished. To avoid messy other duties and gain a few brownie points with my platoon sergeant I often worked seven day weeks.

Everyone worked unless you had an assigned duty in the company area or went on sick call.

Company duties were varied and did allow a change from the filing and typing at the personnel department. Our work  compound consisted of filing cabinets, typewriters, and mountains of forms and personnel folders. We were handling the financial and personnel records for thousands of troops all over Vietnam. There was no air conditioning so large fans blew the outside hot air indoors and blew papers in all directions.  Typical duties in the company area consisted of helping the mess hall staff, burning barrels of fecal matter from the latrines, all night guard duty with an unloaded M14 weapon,  manning the company orderly room all night, or making runs to the local garbage dump site.

Disposing of trash at the local dump site was the worst duty. This job required a few men riding in the back of a large truck filled with garbage cans brimming of discarded food, beverages and other debris. At the dump site bulldozers pushed the refuse into small hills and when conditions were favorable the trash was burned. The really gruesome part of this duty was the sight of hundreds of Vietnamese scrambling after the garbage. With their bare hands, discarded food was collected and sometimes eaten on the spot. The people were frantic in their pursuit of the trash and competed with each other, vicious sea gulls and black swarms of biting flies. There were children, adults, and old people in the melee fighting for the scraps. The stench was overwhelming. It was a terrible spectacle to behold. I wondered then, and even now, how God could allow a world to exist with rich nations and this incredible poverty. It was very clear that for many Vietnamese folk, the current wars and politics were insignificant when starving was a daily reality. Our military provided many jobs to the local population and made huge contributions of food and various supplies yet the overwhelming destitution of these people was an awful spectacle.

Then there was sick call.  Sick call consisted first of convincing your platoon leader that you were gravely ill. Next, one would be trucked to the medical aid station. There waiting in a long line you were dispensed aspirin unless you were bleeding, had a limb falling off, or needed an injection for one of those nasty social diseases. I rarely went on sick call because it seemed another army "hurry up and wait" routine to get everyone in a line waiting for nothing more than an aspirin.

Recreation was sketchy. We had an enlisted club where the beer was cheap, the fans were always on their highest setting , and the local entertainers did their best to impersonate Elvis, Dianna Ross, or go-go dancers. Drinking was popular in the early months as pot smoking had not yet become a major source of intoxicating entertainment. Sometimes we'd hike over the sand dunes into jungle thickets and find huge hissing iguanas and other slithering reptiles which encouraged us to retreat. Visits to the local villages were infrequent because one needed transportation and the personal use of a jeep followed a pecking order based on ones rank. When in a small town everything was for sale and a local beer was served that produced the most profound hangovers I've ever experienced. We had a few beach trips but of the thousands of men in the Cam Ranh Bay Area, there were probably only a dozen or two American Red Cross young ladies or military nurses. The beach was mostly a guy thing with a thousand GI's for every Vietnamese girl. We did have a giant USO show. The drama of choppers landing on a huge stage and seeing Bob Hope, Tuesday Weld, Jerry Cologna,  and other stars perform was an unforgettable experience. Church was a social occasion best used to catch a rare glimpse of an American girl.

During late 1966 and early 1967, Cam Ranh Bay was a safe place. Once in awhile we could hear heavy artillery in the distance or watch night helicopters spewing gunfire with red tracers falling in a downward spiral. In those first few months, Captain Tucker proved to be the greatest disturbance to our safe and boring existence. In the sweltering heat of a company formation, as we stood at rigid attention, poor Tucker would boom on and on about our need to be combat ready. One could almost see the metal plates in his forehead dangerously shifting and glowing as he blustered. Many of us realized he was desperate to have a heroic tour worthy of a promotion. Some of us worried we might be used to that end. Hartman, Sonderman, Peasley,  and a few other guys in my tent were genuinely concerned and considered how to best voice our worries to Tucker's superior officer.

However, once we received our promotions and pay upgrades to Specialist E-4, our mutinous conversations evaporated. Soon after our new chevrons of rank were affixed to our sleeves some of us were deployed to less safe places in Vietnam. But, that is a curious twist to my "remington raider" saga which would materialize in the coming months.