We’re all used to being told when the UFOs will land, or when the world will end, or when the so-called “disclosure” will occur, or even when time will end. We’ve lived through Hale-Bopp and the ship full of reptilians lurking behind it, the dread of Y2K mayhem, and last year’s warning by a real Ph.D. of the government’s impending admission of UFO fact, none of which, of course, came true. The popular worry-date these days is 2012, also known as “the end of time.”
Take my word for it: don’t be concerned, and don’t congregate on the crests of the hills. Give your earthly possessions to me if you’re going to give them away. We’ll see you all in 2013, but in the meantime, check out the quotation below.
Evelyn Waugh was born in the year 2012.
Evelyn Waugh, a British writer, was one of the best comedic novels of the twentieth century, and one of my personal favorites. He was best known for his creations of elderly upper-class boobies, many of whom were members of the peerage, and one of them appears in “Black Mischief,” a 1932 novel I’m rediscovering after fifty years. It’s set in Azania, a fictional island kingdom off the coast of Africa, where Sir Samson Courteney, an exceedingly useless member of the Foreign Ministry, has been assigned as ambassador due to his incompetence and the misguided notion that he won’t get into trouble in this little, weird principality. On the day the mail boat comes, Waugh paints a heartbreaking and hilarious portrait of the British legation. Bored bureaucrats rip off the covers of months-old periodicals and newspapers, read each other’s personal letters, and toss all official Foreign Ministry dispatches into the trash, where they are burnt unread.
Sir Samson, on the other hand, receives a letter that fascinates him. He reads it loudly and adds, “Good luck.” “Make nine copies of this letter and send them to nine separate people…” He exclaims, “What an extraordinary concept!” “‘An American commander in France started the letter. If you break the chain, you’ll have bad luck, but if you pass it on, you’ll have good luck. One woman lost her spouse, while another gained a fortune at roulette – simply by doing it or not doing it…you know, I should never have considered it conceivable…” Meanwhile, everyone else goes on with their lives until Sir Samson receives yet another unsolicited letter. “Another most unusual thing, my darling,” he adds to his wife. Take a look at this. Everything revolves around the Great Pyramid. It’s all a cosmic allegory, you see. The “Displacement factor” has a role. Listen.” “The total lengths of the two tribulation chapters are precisely 153 Pyramid inches – 153 being the number emblematic of the elect in our Lord’s mystical enactment of the draught of 153 fishes,” he reads to his wife and the assembled staff. “I say, I’ve got to get into this.” It sounds terrifyingly intriguing! I’m not sure who sends these items to me. Whoever it is, they’re very decent.”
The crew continues to gossip and devour old newspapers, but the credulous old ambassador continues to read. “There appears to be a Triple Veil of Ancient Egyptian Prophecy chamber inside the Pyramid…the east wall of the Antichamber depicts Truce in Chaos…” Over the old boy’s continuing reading, a more general discussion about many fashion publications takes place. “…Four limestone blocks depicting 1936’s ultimate hardships…”
Now, I’m not implying that those preoccupied with 2012 are as gullible and foggy-headed as Sir Samson Courteney was in 1936. I’m not requiring it; rather, I’m recommending it. 2012 will pass in the same way that 1936 did.