Monday, July 13, 2009

The Newcomer

I scrape away at the last few letters when I hear a shout.
Through the chaos and din I see a figure stumble towards me in the dark. Ahh. Yes. The Newcomer.
“Y...you! You there!” he rasps, his voice a collage of 50 years of smoking and a choking sound. I doubt mine sounds better.
“Yeah?”
“What...why...I don't understand.”
I sigh. It always starts like this.
“It is the same for all of us. The same Reason.”
He looks around, bewildered, his mind unable to comprehend what lies before him. He looks familiar.
“Weren't you that-?”
“Like it matters now?” he raspily screams. “As if any of it ever mattered! The ranch! The fame! Any of it! I'd give any of it for something as simple as a cup of water. And I'll be damned if...” He cuts himself off, laughing maniacally, then surging into hysterics ending in sobs. I hear a subtle sound amongst the din, and I hope it is my imagination. He is cut short by another sound, one not nearly as subtle. An unearthly (for so it is) scream and a howl. His eyes grow maddeningly wider.
“What-what is that?”
“They cannot get us...for now.”
He looks around, trembling in terror. “For...now?” I nod. “I do believe they will be set free at some point...to feed on us.” He looks at me as if I am a lunatic. I suppose it is true.
“They're going to eat us?”
“I guess you could say that. But that has such finality to it, so I prefer 'feed' instead.”
I hear the subtle sound again, louder this time. It is not my imagination. I edge closer to the wall. They are coming.
“Those aren't-?”
“Yes. I am afraid they are.”
“NO!” He screams. “No!” He may have had a beautiful voice before, but nothing is beautiful here. The wet, gnawing sound draws closer and he loses his nerve and runs through the flames. “No! I won't – Oh God!” His cry is drown out in his own screams as the worms get him. I may see him again later. I return to my carving, the words of a song I once heard.

Give me more darkness said the blind man,
Give me more folly said the fool,
Give me stone silence said the deaf man,
I didn't believe Sunday School.

The worms are almost here now. It's the way of things here. I will have to finish after--I shudder. Every time is as bad as the first. But I have time to finish, all the time in the...no.
I have forever to finish. The thought consumes me, just as the worms do amidst the sound of a ghastly screaming. My own.

Monday, June 1, 2009

What they deserve


Two of the simplest words you can say to someone are two of the words that are rarely said to anyone anymore. Much worse is the fact that those most deserving to hear them seem to hear them the least.

When I met Arnold he was living in what was known as shabby part of town in a rented two-bedroom house. I don't know what his pension was but judging from the condition of the paint and the shingles it wasn't much. But he was friendly enough, and invited me in so I could plan his internet installation. His furniture was old and shabby—which matched the carpet and the rest of the house nicely, but it was the place he called home. Models of aircraft from days gone by adorned the out of style end-tables and the worn out shelves. I noticed a painting of “The Wall” also known as the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. As I ran cable outside he and I began to talk of his service days. As an enlisted man in the army he was crew chief on a chopper in Viet Nam, which also meant that he was a door gunner. Any amount of research will reveal that the life expectancy of a chopper crew was not conducive to making pension. Yet here he was, years later telling me of a tracer round that came through their open window as bullets pinged off the chopper during one of their sorties. I paused as he grew silent and then I turned to him and said,

“Well, sir, it wasn't a very popular war and I don't imagine you've heard this much, but thank you for doing what you did for our country.” He nodded slowly and said, “Thank you, that means a lot. And you are right, I haven't heard it much.” He paused again. “Maybe three times in the last twenty-five years.”

As I sit and reflect on this my emotions still rise in my chest. The intense sorrow of knowing that so few rose to fight, but fewer still rose to thank them. So many poured out their blood, yet so few of us can pour out our thanks. Dissent, protests, hate, spit, and slogans against our vets and troops is not patriotism. It is despicable. Being thankful is patriotic.

You will see them in the grocery store, the mall, your school, your town. You will recognize the uniform first, but I hope you will learn to recognize what that the uniform is indicative of: a heart of service and patriotism. And although your pride will kick and scream, although your comfort will be momentarily denied, put your ego aside for one moment in eternity and walk up to that soldier and thank them. Their pride screams for their action, their comfort is nonexistent when they are sent to the far side of the globe, and their ego is tied to their unit to the point of using their bodies as shields for their fellow soldiers.

So take a second, just a second, walk up and look them in the eye and tell them that you are thankful and appreciative of what they've done for you, and for your country. You may never get another chance to tell them, and it may be the last time they hear it. It's the least you can do, and it's the least they deserve.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

For what do we cry?


I am caught up on something.

Recently while watching something on tv, I heard a bit of dialogue that has stuck with me and is most grievous. The setting is ancient Rome, and a man seeking public office is presented with the fact that his election is sure; his opponents are straw candidates. An honest man, he is irritated at the lack of freedom, honesty, and fairness in the political structure. As he voices his concerns the man who is telling him these things says, “Rome does not cry out for freedom. The people do not cry out for fair elections. They cry out for jobs. For bread. For someone to care for them.”

I have no doubt butchered the exact wording, but the message holds it's meaning. Like the Roman Prefect, I too am deeply troubled.

In this day and age we have forgotten ourselves in our selfish desires. We are facing foreclosures, financial woes, and domestic insecurity as we've not seen for the better part of 70 years. Why?

Selfishness and greed perhaps? We have desired houses that are bigger—bigger than our paychecks justify. We have desired cars that are nicer—nicer than our checkbooks can afford. We have used the moneys of Visa, MasterCard, and Discover to purchase the things we must afford, the delicacies we must indulge ourselves on and the trophies of modern sophistication. We have used our good name, our credit, to afford these vapors of pleasure. The money for these was never really there to begin with. Our name became greater than the number at the bottom of our net worth column. And our good name has run out. Our name is no longer “good” for anything, save for a reference point for collectors to contact us. Is the bank the villain? Surely they should not have lent us the funds we so desired! What greed motivated them to try for a percentage of interest off of our spending habits, habits so fueled and driven as to guarantee good return? Yet...

what greed motivated us to the point of “needing” so many things? What senselessness took us that we sent ourselves spiraling into more debt that we might spend our home equity on our trophy flatscreens, and long “deserved” vacations in exotic places? What madness is this that permeates the mind and allows justification of a vehicle or vehicles that exceed the ability of our income to support? Why must we drive the least efficient, the most unreliable, and the most exceedingly over-priced vehicles? Why does our pride extend so far past our actual monetary abilities?

Faced with these difficulties problems that we have incubated, nurtured, and justified, what have we done? These seeds of greed and irresponsibility have come to fruition. Where are we at harvest time?

We are nowhere to be found. We will not say it is our desires, our greed, our motivation for more that has brought us to this point. We cannot. We will not allow ourselves. There should be a law, a statute, more regulation of banks, anything, anything but admit our failure to act like men.

We find ourselves beggared by our own lust for the pride of life. And so we come.

We come to the feet of a politician. And we plead for release and exoneration from our actions. We cannot face the unthinkable: the consequences of our monetary philanderings.

Our grandparents were reduced to bread lines and soup kitchens for years. They were subjected to true hunger, and true need, and true poverty. In light of our misbehavior, they did not deserve the harshness of the Great Depression. But they survived. Made do. Fought on. And they stepped up and did what was necessary, and what was demanded of them as responsible adults. And they brought forth the Greatest Generation from their trial. But us? We cower. We kneel and beg that we not be reduced to a soup line. Oh please, most powerful politician, please rescue us! Please save us from our idiocy and childish behavior! Be merciful to us! We do not wish to answer for our actions, so we wheedle and cry.

We think ourselves above the laws of nature, of sowing and reaping, and unintended consequences.

They are responding to our demands to reach out and save us. They are going to make atonement for us at the market in the world economy. They will cover our shame and lunacy. But in exchange for what?

What will we give them in exchange for saving us from ourselves? We are not demanding freedom.

We are not demanding truth. We are not demanding true fairness of getting all that which we signed for. We are demanding jobs. And bread. Someone to care for us. They are ever willing to give these to us.

But at what price? When will we realize the true cost of paying the piper?

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Savior


Amongst the thronging crowds, the parades, the endless inaugural balls, the speeches, poems, and millions of spectators, I think the masses have forgotten something.
Something painfully poignant and obvious in the photograph. Something that we all know, yet it would seem fewer and fewer people actually believe it. The reality?
Barack Hussein Obama is a man. A speck of existance on a planet with 7 billion specks of existance. Nothing more. His power ends at the rule of law. It is quite possible there is nothing to be done for the economy. It is possible that again we will again be attacked by terrorists, and with greater force and magnitude than we have seen before. It is possible for fires, earthquakes, hurricanes and tornadoes to rip the country with in every corner of it's borders. Calamity may come upon us, through no fault of our own.
Yet somehow, we have convinced ourselves that one man can save us from these things. It is eerie looking at these pictures and films of the inauguration. People gathered, singing, dancing, cheering, screaming, and erupting in joy and ecstasy. People lifting their hands and shouting. It looks like a pentecostal church service on a mass scale of political exuberance. Why? Because of one man's rise to power. No other reason.
Obama is a man, nothing more. What is unbelievable is the expectation placed upon him by the people of this country. People loved to hate President Bush for Katrina, Iraq, and many other events and decisions of the past, some of which were beyond his control. But what about the future? What if future disaster awaits? What if the economy cannot recover? What if we are attacked again? What if more hurricanes and other natural disasters ravage our cities and our people? Barack Hussein Obama cannot stand in the way of these things any more than President Bush or the other 42 presidents of our history could.
Looking at these pictures, seeing these films, hearing the songs, watching the audulation, praise, and and excitement it is not hard to see that the masses have elevated this man to something he is not and never will be. And if the events of the future tear at the illusion we have fostered, then will we understand? If hurricanes, riots, fires, wars, and soup lines are in our future than there is little Barack Hussein Obama can do to stop them.
When these things come about, who then will we turn to as our Savior?