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SILENCE
I watch the disbelief slowly appear on the faces of those
telling, and I am aware of my own. I dont even bother
to search for a theoretical context for my own
experience, never mind the other persons. The roller
coaster is off and running and I am holding on, white
knuckled, sick in the pit of my stomach. Tears well up in
me, anger grips my gut, I clamp my jaws to silence my
outrage, I am aware of staring, just staring. I feel some
relief as I imagine the worst of the story is over, only to
be pinned back by the next horror. They were gently
easing me in through the overture, building up to a
crescendo of Mahler like proportions.
I SIT IN SILENCE
I sit in awe at the capacity of human beings to inflict
such brutality on fellow human beings. But the greatest
awe is reserved for those fellow humans, classified as
Victims of the Troubles. How I hate that phrase. Who is
troubled by murder, cold-blooded, thoughtless murder,
sickening maiming, crippling, and a legacy of sweating,
repeating nightmares? Troubled. We call the terror in
the Twin Towers in New York last September, 911. Turn
horror into an insignificant word or number and we can
all cope. Those Victims are Heroes, they are
21st Century Odysseus or Jason, they are Herculean in
strength, they are heroes. They hold the pillars of the
world on their shoulders and hold the hope for all of us.
They feel that the Gods have deserted them, and yet
each seems to have gifts that have carried and are
carrying them through their ordeals. And I, a mere
mortal, have some place in this journey.
HUMBLED