|
|
They ain't heavy...Sep 11 '04 (Updated Nov 15 '04) Write an essay on this topic.
Popular Products in Books
The Bottom Line I don't advocate endless mourning, but, rather, perpetual healing...
I have no sweeping philosophies to espouse in this humble offering. I will not try to advance the agenda of any politician or political party in this piece. I cannot offer any unique insight into this nation's most grievous tragedy to date. So why write? Like anyone who has experienced a loss, it sometimes eases the ache to talk about it. Sometimes, finding kindred spirits dilutes the hurt to a more tolerable level. As a nation, I like to think that we are the pallbearers of the thousands murdered by religious zealotry. We all share the burden of carrying our slain brothers and sisters through time and space and onward into a future muddied by hatred and partisanship and dubious social agendas. Watching the two presidential nominees manipulate the events of September 11th is like watching two men play chess with 3,025 pawns and it is a game I can no longer bear to watch. It is grisliest game I have ever seen and they should be ashamed to have ever taken a seat at the board. I remember the sense of kinship this country experienced at the hands of shared tragedy and I have mourned its gradual dissolution in the relentless, numbing bath of time. Moving on from the tragedy of September 11th is essential, but forgetting it is unconscionable. For so many, it seemed that 9/11 was tantamount to having a tooth pulled: blinding pain that quickly fades into an afterthought. For me, it was more like open-heart surgery. Long stretches of aching and difficult recovery with enduring ramifications. I am not fearful of the acts of 9/11. I do not shutter when I hear the whining engines of low-flying planes. I do not avoid subways or air-travel. I feel no sense of foreboding in large crowds or at sporting events. Terrorism will not dictate the direction my life will take. I have always been of the mind that regardless of the topography of the roads Life lays out before me, I can do nothing but walk them as well as I can. Rather, the events of 9/11 will serve as line of demarcation, a division between Before and After. The events of that day claimed our nation's virginity and there's no return to the fool's paradise our past. When I stood before the giant craters in the middle of New York, I burned the image into my mind. Rather than standing as voids, as pits of sorrow, as sources of hatred, I fill those holes with my hopes and dreams for a more unified populace. They represent for me places where fears drown in oceans of hope, where people care with more intensity than they hate. The 3,000+ victims of that day's horrific events have been a source of strength for me ever since that day. My tribute to their slaughter is a lust for life, a defiance of the acts that claimed them, a desire to bring others to a point where peace, as well as peace of mind, is what matters most. I regret things less, even those things I ought to. I spend the bulk of my time only with those who mean the most, but I am willing to add to that list should such a soul cross my path. I watch great films and read great books. I eat well, drink fine scotch, and smoke imported cigars. Life is too precious to waste living in fear, or living timidly. Following the good words of Thoreau, and at the price of so many lives, I wish "to live deliberately,...and not, when I [come] to die, discover that I had not lived." 9/11 has not become my excuse for hedonism and, truth be told, I engaged in most, if not all, of those things prior to the day. However, I can now better appreciate them, and I realize how much grander they become when shared. Therein lies the difference. It is shared experience that is the hallmark of memory, for better or for worse. While the visions of that day will never be gone from my mind's eye, one picture will stick with me forever. It's a picture of a man who jumped from the 100th+ floor of the World Trade Center. The picture captured him hurtling earthward and I can't imagine what must've been in his mind. I've been carrying the memory of his final fall around with me for years, but it doesn't weigh me down. After all, as the Hollies once said, "He ain't heavy. He's my brother." Thanks for stopping by. ~ Mother PS: If you're so inclined, I had written a poem the day after 9/11 that was picked up by most of the local papers. I published it on Epinions well after its publication had run its course. You can see it here if you've not done so already: IN THE EXPLOSION  |
| Read all comments (12)|Write your own comment |
|
Ads by Google
|
