My father was in the military, so I witnessed a lot of military ceremonies. The only one (at that time) I enjoyed was an air force change-over of command in France in 1963. At the end four F0104 Starfighters made a fast, loud, and low pass directly over us. At that time it was THE hod-rod rocket, manned by bushy-tailed kerosense cowboys full of the spice of life who put on a darn good show of skill, bravado, and low flying.
At the age of 16 I joined the Naval Reserve in Ottawa, and quickly learned the art of marching. I joined the ceremonial guard, we practiced and learned every week. A year later (1967) we celebrated our Centennial and naturally, there was a massive parade in front of our Parliament buildings. Thousands of troops, and since I was both tall and a good marcher, chosen to be the right guard. And since the Navy was the âsenior serviceâ after the band and some officers waving their swords, I was the who led it all.
As we marched up the road leading to Parliament Hill, I saw a large grandstand full of dignitaries. But front and center in the place of honor were ex WW1 vets. And as we passed and went âeyes rightâ, they applauded us. US, awkward kids being honored by those who truly served. I will never forget that moment, and whenever I hear âIn Flanders Fieldsâ I tear up.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Some ceremonies suck, some have tremendous impact.
No, it is just that my fingers irresistibly type his name that way. Must be magic. Sorry, Magick. The will of the God and Goddess expressing themselves through the impure vessel of my body.
Guy Fawkes avoided most of the horror of hanging, drawing, and quartering by leaping to his death from the scaffold. I always felt sorry for Fawkes. He was a professional solider leading a band of morons. While on the run after the plot was discovered, some of them tried to dry damp gunpowder in front of an open fire.
I loved Guy Fawkes Night as a kid in England. Here in New Zealand weâre on summer time by November, so it doesnât get dark until about 10 oâclock. In England it was dark and cold by 6pm, making perfect conditions for bonfires and fireworks. We had proper fireworks, too. The bangers (firecrackers) could blow your hand off.
As kids we hadnât a clue about the historical and religious significance of the ritual. When I look back now I have to wonder about the morality of encouraging little kids to burn someone in effigy.
Why on earth would I want to do that? Had never heard of her before your post. I Trooly rooly could not care less about the personal superstitions of others.
A person may have as many degrees as a thermometer and yet be raving lunatic.
@ ecoyne
Who the hell are you to give out someonesâ private information and expect us to give her hell on your behalf. If you have a problem with her deal with it. For all I know you may be her disgruntled ex boyfriend
I already reported him (ecoyne) and they deleted his post that contained a womanâs name which I will not mention for privacy reasons, her email and her telephone number. He did this in at least 2 posts. I do not know him nor the woman he mentioned.
Too funny. I guess if he spelled it like that his rituals might actually work? I doubt it. Iâve been two Thelema services, quite enjoyed myself at the first.
Not long ago, a cleric at a catholic school in Tennessee banned Harry Potter books because he believed the spells contained in the books actually work.
Both Crawley and Gardner were initiates in the order. Gardner (as was his MO) stole, errm âborrowedâ much of its ritual for his own claptrap as did Crawley.