Death is Not the End - Unfortunately
Our fascination with the dead would leave an alien scratching his bedimpled tuckas in wonder.
Our ancestors, upon their demise, were laid to rest in the rightful expectation of being left in peace for all eternity.
Some even built large monuments over their graves to ensure that guarantee of undisturbed rest.
They were wrong.
They had no way of knowing that an anthropologist, some batty socialite or archeologist would dig them up, pull their remains and their prized possessions apart, and toss them into a museum drawer next to a tattered copy of National Geo.
Where does this disrespect for the deceased come from? As humans, some of us have a morbid fascination of wanting to know about the myriad of cultures that came before us.
That's understandable, after all, nerds have to make a living too.
Graves, it would seem, are a natural source of examinable artifacts.
However there is a cataclysmic difference between respectfully opening a tomb, cataloging its contents and returning its occupant to their eternal slumber, and the reality of what actually happens.
We can't seem to leave well enough alone.
Researchers climb to South American mountain-tops to remove mummies of children from their cold exposed tombs.
They dig up entire sections of cities to unearth an interesting ancient place of rest; place millennia old corpses found in a glacier and peat bogs in glass cases so that we, their civilized descendants, can ogle them in their most vulnerable of states.
This is not how it should be; but it used to be worse.
In Victorian times, and times prior, mummies from Egypt were dug from their tombs (by the cart load) to be the center of attention at mummy unwrapping parties back in Blighty; "ye gads Gladys he looks aaabsolutely ghastly...
more sherry darling?" Other mummies over the last millennium were ground up and drunk as health remedies.
Who came up with that idea? One wouldn't mind so much but for the great lengths that the Egyptians went to preserve their mortal remains in the sincere belief that they needed their bodies intact for the next life.
The thought of a relative of TutanKhamen ending up in a puddle of sherry-tainted Victorian post-party puke is so gosh-darn pathetic, wouldn't you agree? All of the Egyptian kings, queens and plebs who went through the post-mortem ritual of disembowelment, pickling, and wrapping prior to burial had no idea that a future generation would dig them up for the purposes of display, dissection and gastronomic bliss.
Had they, they might not have bothered with all the fuss and we wouldn't have the pyramids to photograph while on holiday.
In addition to the rulers of the Nile practically every civilization that we, in the modern world, have been able to lay our hands upon has been dug up and poked with a stick.
Indeed even our own not-so-long dead are not so well taken care of.
Many are encapsulated under the reinforced concrete of progress.
Such is the case at La Guardia airport, where our respect - or lack thereof - for the deceased is apparent in that a graveyard has been covered by one of the runways.
Other national graveyards provide a base for buildings, a mall or parking lot.
Others still are simply bulldozed out of the way to make way for such vital amenities as a new strip (gentleman's) club or liquor store.
When we die we are at the second most helpless state in our lives after our birth.
We entrust those who look after us in death to treat our remains with respect; to ensure our proper disposal or burial.
To the most part this occurs correctly in a McFuneral-like process.
This writer however finds the whole idea of embalming, preening and the morbid viewing and touching of a corpse barbaric.
Jews and Muslims have the right idea of wrapping the dead in linen or a favorite Persian carpet and dropping them into the ground tous de suite.
All done within 24 hours or less.
Next! As opposed to say the English who, for reasons only known to them, like to keep their dead around for over a week until the remains become a goopy slurry in the casket.
Hence the need of flowers to cover the pervasive aroma of decay; lots and lots of flowers.
Speaking of ugly people with bad teeth, in times gone by, the Brits would leave you in the ground for ten years - you merely rented the grave.
After that time the deceased was dug up, the bones piled into a charnel house next to the church and the grave used again.
Now there's British ingenuity for you.
It also helps explain why they have such an inordinate fondness for sheep.
To counter this re-use policy Shakespeare left a distinct warning and directive on his gravestone that he was to be left well enough alone.
"Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear, To dig the dust enclosed here.
Blest be the man that spares these stones, And cursed be he that moves my bones.
" The modern English equivalent would read "bugger-off.
" Charnelling, if there is such a verb, is a tradition used in various spots around the world; as delightfully functional as it is efficient.
One can only imagine the confusion on the Last Day (or Late Evening) as we stumble around searching for our parts.
We Irish on the other hand do, I admit, like to keep the dead around for a couple of days; with good reason.
We lament their passing, get moldy drunk and send them on their way wrapped in praise as if they were the sole remaining embodiment of Christ.
It's true, we'll have forgotten them in a fortnight, but it's the thought that counts, isn't it? In Ireland we're not so eager to dig anyone up and generally leave the dead alone.
As a culture we're also afraid of ghosts.
Really, we are; that's where Halloween came from - an ancient Celtic festival; we lit fires, wore masks and costumes to placate the restless ghouls and keep them away.
If that's not a good reason to leave the dead alone I don't know what is.
Over the centuries a number of Irish megalithic tombs have had their contents disturbed but to be fair the English are probably responsible.
They were obsessed with graves during the 800 odd years of their occupation of Ireland, attempting (in vain) to fill them with my ferocious, near-naked, tattooed and well-inebriated ancestors.
The Brits didn't fare so well and eventually gave up and left.
Good times; good times.
The sheer glee in the eyes of the modern day digger-uppers, when they find a new discovery, is like that mad look in a gold-miners face who, after 40 years, has finally struck the mother lode.
Do the the ransackers of the dead know that these are the sacred remains of a person, someone who lived and died, who is worthy of deep respect? If they do they stay mum about it; the value of the find is obviously more important to their doctorate dissertation than to any moral or ethical code.
I can think of no better argument for cremation.
Our ancestors, upon their demise, were laid to rest in the rightful expectation of being left in peace for all eternity.
Some even built large monuments over their graves to ensure that guarantee of undisturbed rest.
They were wrong.
They had no way of knowing that an anthropologist, some batty socialite or archeologist would dig them up, pull their remains and their prized possessions apart, and toss them into a museum drawer next to a tattered copy of National Geo.
Where does this disrespect for the deceased come from? As humans, some of us have a morbid fascination of wanting to know about the myriad of cultures that came before us.
That's understandable, after all, nerds have to make a living too.
Graves, it would seem, are a natural source of examinable artifacts.
However there is a cataclysmic difference between respectfully opening a tomb, cataloging its contents and returning its occupant to their eternal slumber, and the reality of what actually happens.
We can't seem to leave well enough alone.
Researchers climb to South American mountain-tops to remove mummies of children from their cold exposed tombs.
They dig up entire sections of cities to unearth an interesting ancient place of rest; place millennia old corpses found in a glacier and peat bogs in glass cases so that we, their civilized descendants, can ogle them in their most vulnerable of states.
This is not how it should be; but it used to be worse.
In Victorian times, and times prior, mummies from Egypt were dug from their tombs (by the cart load) to be the center of attention at mummy unwrapping parties back in Blighty; "ye gads Gladys he looks aaabsolutely ghastly...
more sherry darling?" Other mummies over the last millennium were ground up and drunk as health remedies.
Who came up with that idea? One wouldn't mind so much but for the great lengths that the Egyptians went to preserve their mortal remains in the sincere belief that they needed their bodies intact for the next life.
The thought of a relative of TutanKhamen ending up in a puddle of sherry-tainted Victorian post-party puke is so gosh-darn pathetic, wouldn't you agree? All of the Egyptian kings, queens and plebs who went through the post-mortem ritual of disembowelment, pickling, and wrapping prior to burial had no idea that a future generation would dig them up for the purposes of display, dissection and gastronomic bliss.
Had they, they might not have bothered with all the fuss and we wouldn't have the pyramids to photograph while on holiday.
In addition to the rulers of the Nile practically every civilization that we, in the modern world, have been able to lay our hands upon has been dug up and poked with a stick.
Indeed even our own not-so-long dead are not so well taken care of.
Many are encapsulated under the reinforced concrete of progress.
Such is the case at La Guardia airport, where our respect - or lack thereof - for the deceased is apparent in that a graveyard has been covered by one of the runways.
Other national graveyards provide a base for buildings, a mall or parking lot.
Others still are simply bulldozed out of the way to make way for such vital amenities as a new strip (gentleman's) club or liquor store.
When we die we are at the second most helpless state in our lives after our birth.
We entrust those who look after us in death to treat our remains with respect; to ensure our proper disposal or burial.
To the most part this occurs correctly in a McFuneral-like process.
This writer however finds the whole idea of embalming, preening and the morbid viewing and touching of a corpse barbaric.
Jews and Muslims have the right idea of wrapping the dead in linen or a favorite Persian carpet and dropping them into the ground tous de suite.
All done within 24 hours or less.
Next! As opposed to say the English who, for reasons only known to them, like to keep their dead around for over a week until the remains become a goopy slurry in the casket.
Hence the need of flowers to cover the pervasive aroma of decay; lots and lots of flowers.
Speaking of ugly people with bad teeth, in times gone by, the Brits would leave you in the ground for ten years - you merely rented the grave.
After that time the deceased was dug up, the bones piled into a charnel house next to the church and the grave used again.
Now there's British ingenuity for you.
It also helps explain why they have such an inordinate fondness for sheep.
To counter this re-use policy Shakespeare left a distinct warning and directive on his gravestone that he was to be left well enough alone.
"Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear, To dig the dust enclosed here.
Blest be the man that spares these stones, And cursed be he that moves my bones.
" The modern English equivalent would read "bugger-off.
" Charnelling, if there is such a verb, is a tradition used in various spots around the world; as delightfully functional as it is efficient.
One can only imagine the confusion on the Last Day (or Late Evening) as we stumble around searching for our parts.
We Irish on the other hand do, I admit, like to keep the dead around for a couple of days; with good reason.
We lament their passing, get moldy drunk and send them on their way wrapped in praise as if they were the sole remaining embodiment of Christ.
It's true, we'll have forgotten them in a fortnight, but it's the thought that counts, isn't it? In Ireland we're not so eager to dig anyone up and generally leave the dead alone.
As a culture we're also afraid of ghosts.
Really, we are; that's where Halloween came from - an ancient Celtic festival; we lit fires, wore masks and costumes to placate the restless ghouls and keep them away.
If that's not a good reason to leave the dead alone I don't know what is.
Over the centuries a number of Irish megalithic tombs have had their contents disturbed but to be fair the English are probably responsible.
They were obsessed with graves during the 800 odd years of their occupation of Ireland, attempting (in vain) to fill them with my ferocious, near-naked, tattooed and well-inebriated ancestors.
The Brits didn't fare so well and eventually gave up and left.
Good times; good times.
The sheer glee in the eyes of the modern day digger-uppers, when they find a new discovery, is like that mad look in a gold-miners face who, after 40 years, has finally struck the mother lode.
Do the the ransackers of the dead know that these are the sacred remains of a person, someone who lived and died, who is worthy of deep respect? If they do they stay mum about it; the value of the find is obviously more important to their doctorate dissertation than to any moral or ethical code.
I can think of no better argument for cremation.