After 9/11

I’m afraid I was so overwhelmed (and for once *reading* blogs) that I never got around to posting yesterday. First I almost forgot that I had a blog, and second, I was so listless and sad that I had nothing to say. Even the pictures did not speak to me.  Or for me. And pictures of grey goo do not qualify as eye candy.

I did not think that being a squishy mess was a fitting tribute. For those who weren’t yet born, it can be hard to understand.  We lost something that day, and it’s something that a lot of people refuse to contemplate– or even talk about.  We hide the pictures and then blame our political opponents for what was certainly exterior enemy with no love for everything we believe in.

So many seem to like the new normal– it suits their dystopian fantasies that give them some kind of manic glee that stumps my imagination.  I have no idea why anyone would get such a charge over hating one’s own country. I suppose, when one is taught to hate one’s parents, hating one’s country comes as a a natural second.

Hell, I fell into that trap– at least with the former.  And whatever cobwebs remained of that disease of the mind were wiped away when I watched the towers fall– surrounded by my family, whom I had gone to see for the first time after a long absence. It was the first significant time I’d spent with them since my father died.  Long tired story.

What is most disturbing to me was that morning (of 9/11/01) I was dreaming about the tarot card– The Tower.  (Judgement was tucked behind it, too. With the angel, and kings and paupers brought low.)  Except the tower image was drawn to be on fire, then the card itself was on fire, and burned my hands.  I dropped the ash that the card became.  I looked up and saw that exact building from the card which was also on fire, and I could feel the heat and hear the roar of the flame. It was so real I could reach out and touch it.  Instead, the fire reached out to me. Then, my entire vision was engulfed in flames. I started awake to look into the terrified face of my aunt, who literally hauled me out of bed in a feat of strength and dragged me downstairs and sat me in front of the TV.  Then I realized that my nightmare wasn’t over. That it had just begun.

I suspect nearly everyone who reads here knows what happened next. But to me, was the most shocking, was the contrast between how amazingly people came together to help each other during that terrible time, then how quickly it was ignored or belittled– or even discounted.  Ever after that people take on a cast of callousness about our country that makes me shudder.  Despite spurious conspiracy theories, people would be up in arms if we treated the death of JF Kennedy that way.

I don’t say this to detract from the grass roots efforts to see this be memorialized. You just think that those who supposedly speak for us would lead from the front, rather than shouting from the rear. Don’t mind me, I’m trying to keep my voice at a civilized level. Maybe that’s a part of the problem, I don’t know.

I did not ever feel like sharing this story before.  After all, I was quite far away from NYC or it’s environs. I knew some people in the State of New York, but I did not loose anyone, on the plane or in the building. 3000 people died, and for me, it was “just a television tragedy”. So why should I bother adding my voice to the wind?  Shouldn’t the folks who really had something to contribute say something instead?

I changed my mind. Because, gosh darn it, It’s my country too. Each and every one of those people were my countrymen, and yes, that MEANS something. If it doesn’t, why do we bother with having a country– or a government– at all? 

Contributed by Wikimedia user Smurfy. [<a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en”%5DRemains of the outer shell of 2 World Trade Center. 3 World Trade Center is in the left foreground. Taken by me in September, 2001.

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