One of my favorite movies of all time has to be The Thirteenth Warrior.
Set around 900 A.D., it was based (loosely) on Michael Crichton’s novel "Eaters of the Dead", wherein an Arab
diplomat (played brilliantly by Antonio Banderas) spends time with a
"barbaric" group of Scandinavian Northmen. Historically speaking, there
truly is evidence of trade contacts between
the Arabic and Norse civilizations back then. Given this fact, it seems very
reasonable that one of the many younger sons of the reigning Caliph's family would
volunteer to make this arduous voyage to establish formal relations -- that
would have been the only way for him to gain advancement in his society and in
the
court.
The Thirteenth Warrior is the kind of movie that makes you care
about the characters – unfortunately all too rare in cinematic offerings these
days. There are a lot of things to like in the movie. My favorite line
is the title of this article -- "It’s a
good day to die" -- spoken as a shibboleth whenever the Northmen
prepare to attack their aggressive enemies – in this case, an even more
barbaric tribe of humans who are little-evolved from Neanderthals. In the
course of the movie, the last words the Northmen say as they fall in battle
are: "This was a good day…" It breaks me up, every time I watch it.
It strikes me that this could be a pertinent shibboleth for any of us, as
we rise and go off to our own daily battles: "It’s a good day to die." I
occasionally see colleagues and coworkers at my workplace being hauled out in
an ambulance, suffering from chest pains, strokes and all manner of unexpected
and sudden physical breakdowns and attacks. In large part, their health
problems are brought on by the unrelenting stress of working in a manufacturing
plant that’s having to produce above its rated capacity. To be sure, many of
these folks might not be taking the best care of themselves, health-wise. But
some of them are just getting plumb worn out, like old plowhorses. It seems to
me that modern American Capitalism is still based on working people
until they drop flat in their harnesses. (Capitalism is not quite that
unrestrained in
Europe.)
Well, I can tell you that I’m one of those old plowhorses. It’s no real
succor for me to know that I have a company health care plan. I’m more worried
about being a DOA case. Fortunately, my life insurance and death benefits will
impart some relief to my spouse. But I wonder about the thoughts I’ll have,
after I’ve keeled over and am laying there, waiting for somebody to notice and
call the medical office to haul me off. I really don’t want to be pissed off
about it. I’d rather feel satisfied, thinking that "this was a good
day."
And just how do you arrange to feel that way? In The Thirteenth Warrior,
you’d feel that way if you had slain at least one enemy. I don’t often slay
anyone at work, but sometimes I do get certain tasks done. So I could glom
onto whatever it was that I had gotten done that day. (That implies that you
should take special care to get something done every day – preferably, as
early as possible!)
I’m reasonably sure that, when you lay on the ground dying, you’d quickly think
about all the unfinished business that you haven’t attended to yet. Lord,
that’s a big subject. Did I remember to tell my wife that I loved her this
morning? If not this morning, when was the last time? And did I just say
it, or mean it? And did she know that I meant it? I don’t carry
a cell phone, but if I did, I’ll be damned if I would call her up and say "I’m
dying, but [nevertheless] I really love you." That would be too much
like the creepy cell phone messages of doomed passengers on airplanes going
down. No way that I put that trip on her.
Next you’d probably think about a lot of bullcrap business things that were
on your plate, but not yet done. Cripes, who’s going to be able to pick up my
projects and finish them? Did I leave enough status notes and records behind,
so that somebody can follow up? Moral: Think – everyday -- about the poor SOB
that will have to pick up your business if you kicked off suddenly. Then you
can pass by this phase quickly.
Then there are all the things you were going to do at home – the mundane
maintenance jobs, the stuff you promised your wife you’d get around to, the
recarpeting, the repainting, the replacement of broken appliances. For
example, we have a dishwasher that’s been broken now for at least 8 years. I
can just see me trying to rise through the bright tunnel of light stretching
out above me
with that sucker strapped to my leg. Procrastination’s a bitch.
I suppose there would be enough time to think about the people you’ve
wronged through the course of your life. Well, I did lay into my Mother-In-Law
badly once, back in 1980, and I’m not too proud of that moment (as much as she actually did
deserve it). No one else is coming to mind. If you think you belong to this
category, drop me an email and I'll try to make it up to you.
When a body dies, it doesn’t all die at once. I reckon it’s fortunate (for
the dyer) that the brain organ goes pretty quickly. As the neurons start to
dark-out, surely one of your final thoughts would be about the last time you
enjoyed life – the last vacation, the last good laugh you had, the last time
you felt complete and happy. Jeez, let me think. Well, I was feeling pretty
happy last night after tossing back a couple of beers and listening to Black
Sabbath’s Technical Ecstasy LP. That’s pretty mundane, I admit -- but
it works for me.
At the very end, you’d probably wonder if you were going to go to Heaven or
Hell. That wouldn’t be a problem with me. Being a
Valentinian Gnostic, I
believe that the piece of me that is God has nowhere else to go. It’s
sort of like a bad penny; God has to take me back.
OK. So tomorrow, if I do wake up, I’ll definitely endeavor to establish
whatever prerequisites are necessary to set myself up for another "good day to
die."
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