Essay

For a short time yesterday I did not have a name; I was Trauma T1571 at the Cumberland Memorial Hospital in Cumberland, Maryland. Before that, I was flown by helicopter off of Highway 68 Westbound. Before that, I was strapped to a backboard and given an IV. Before that, I was cut out of a car with giant pneumatic pincers. Before that, I had a man holding me immobile and shielding my face and legs from the tools the firemen were using to extract me. Before that, a bystander reached his hand through the smashed window just to hold mine and speak with me. Before that I was in the worst car accident I can imagine. By all apparent rights, I should not be typing this right now.

This was written by my friend Sara; it’s so good, I’m re-posting it here:
When I Find the One that Likes Me Too

Instead of hours, on and on,
over pints, or through the park
about my Past,
I’ll take you to SkateLand, where we will couple’s skate,
skirting the fallen, popular tweens, one standing, the other,
a half-circle Sit-N-Spin on the seat of jeans

On Monday I went with some friends to Lidice, north of Prague. After the NAZI regime annexed Czechoslovakia and set up a “protectorate” state, the Czechs assassinated the leader of the party, Reinhard Heydrich (who, in a public speech, had openly stated that the Bohemian and Moravian lands were to be eliminated and the entire area was to become Germany. Heydrich was one of the main architects of the Holocaust).

I returned on Monday night from a several day stay in Glasgow; I was there to check out the Centre for Human Ecology at the University of Strathclyde as I’m looking into a Masters in Human Ecology (would be a two year commitment).
From the CHE website:

Human Ecology is about uncovering and understanding the connections between personal action, social systems and the ecology of the planet of which we are part. The challenge is to critically examine the way things are and to ask why and how they could be different; to find new and better ways of arranging our lives, our businesses and our societies; ways that reduce poverty and inequality, reduce the amount of resources we use, restore the environment and improve quality of life for all – now and for generations to come.

Most of today was spent at the Antwerp International Protestant Church; they welcomed us in for their morning worship and an after-church lunch. For many of the Muslim participants, this was their first time in a Christian church. The pastor was careful to explain the meaning behind each part of the service: how and why we were praying, the music, the reading of the scripture, and the purpose of the sermon.

“I want others to know that Islam is not a religion of terrorism.”

Dr. Corbitt asked each of the participants today to write expectations of the coming week. What do you hope to learn? What do you hope others learn about you? One of the girls wrote the above statement on her card. It may be that she has come to this place to say this one simple thing, I am not the evil that others would have me be. And indeed, on this first day, I think we can see the beginning of this proven.

From an e-mail shortly after my return from The DRC in the Summer of 2005
I’m back in the States and have somewhat passed the jet-lagged
stage…at least I’m not waking up at 3:00 in the morning now!

Of course, when one returns from a trip like this, everyone either

1. asks for every detail or
2. doesn’t realize I’ve been where I’ve been and continues on as if I’ve been hidden in a closet for the past month.

I’ve thought about sitting down and writing a synopsis of my trip; however, it’s going to take some time to digest what I’ve witnessed. The people who want every detail can’t really comprehend the nature of what I’ve seen (I can’t imagine what it’s like for people coming back to a peaceful land after witnessing war…or maybe I can a bit better now). The people who don’t know I’ve been away tend to grate on my nerves; On the flight from Washington to Philadelphia, the person sitting beside me asked if I’d heard Michael Jackson got away without charges. I wanted to scream. I’d just returned from a country where more than 30,000 people are killed by violent acts each month and the world’s attention (or, pardon, America’s attention) is focused on a perverted rock star.

**8th February 2003, Miami 4:00 a.m.:**Miami Police break down door to my hotel room. We awake at 3:30, pack our gear, and prepare to head out for the airport; however, the deadbolt on the door will not disengage from inside. Neither can the manager open it from outside. So, with tremendous clamour, an officer of the law makes entry.

Dreamers

Dreaming everyday dreams—

Lost in mental alcoves,

Never shared never spoken

Never rising beyond orthodox sleep.

Together

Many multitudes of memories intertwined

Like wind whistling between buildings.

Something moving Chills the skin

But indistinct; en mass and lacking the distinction

Altogether felt.

Dreamers dreaming together

The blunt force of silence

Like the buzz behind background speech

This is from my father’s boyhood room—the same furniture and some of the same decoration it had when dad was my age. I’m sitting in an old vinyl chair that has been in this same position for as long as I can remember.
The curtains are new though. I can remember looking far off through them into the ancient (Greek?) homes depicted on the lacy tossing loosely knit folds. Street light would filter in and illuminate the stone in my imagination. Somehow, vaguely, I remember a conversation with my cousin one night as we were finding dreams before sleeping; we wondered how far away were the fabric houses. They must be somewhere. Somewhere in dreams before sleeping.