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November 11th, 1999, 1:57 AM
I am here, writing. The lab is still, save for the hum of machinery that prevents it from ever being called peaceful; it is so deafening in this silence. I am here, long after the others have gone home, writing an essay for a class I hate, an english class, the kind of class I used to cherish in days long ago. Now, it is merely another calss, another professor, another book that claims to hold the unspoken truth of the world, claims that the common man is the unhappy man, that unhappiness is the only true reality, that if we are happy, it is only becuase we are delusional to the higher truth. If this is truth, this world is sick....
The words trip and stumble from my fingers. There was a time when they might have glided, as smooth as snow across the frozen surface of a lake. Sometimes I forget how long ago that was; now, the lake, if frozen and dusted with snow, is made of sewage that has seeped through the grates and frozen by men with big machiens, purely for show, and the snow is spray-painted, artifical. There is nothing left to stirr the mind and stroke the consciousness into the art of creating. For that, the words fail me, and times ticks away, uncounted...
The hours grow long. The time before dawn is eaten away like frost in the morning. Too few hours left until a dawn that always comes too early, cheating the night. The night is a deep, warm blanket while the light is harsh, cold, and crip. Too soon, I will need to push myself from the limbo of consciousness, and face the world again, once again, over and over again...
My essay will be done; that is without saying. The morning will come, the light will pierce. And I will greet it, a common person, and greet it with joy, fearcly, if for no other reason then that I am the only left who knows...
END
September 10th, 2001
*sigh*
It's hard to make sence of things. It's hard to live in a world
where people can do things such horrible things to one another in the
name of religion, politics, ideals.
Worse, are those who in the face of atroscity, seek not to gain
understanding, compassion, but clammor for retrabution, vengence,
war...
It has to stop somewhere. When? Where?
Will it end when every land is a wastland of rubble? When every sky
is blacken with ash, and the seas red with blood? When every last
man, woman, child, and beast are dead?
And what for? Obstinence? Ego? Pride?
What happened yesterday was a horrible thing. Yet, it was not
unexpected. A country that lives by war, dies by war. What you sow
is what you will reap in turn. Many cry, "but what have *we* done?
why me? what have *I* done? Nothing!" And so, by not doing, by
letting the sins go unacknowledged, unchallanged, the horrible things
are allowed to continue. And you see, it is all our problem. All
that our forfathers have done, the wrong they have committed in
bygone days, it is now on our plate, at our door. And what shall we
do about it?
What happened was a horrible, horrible thing. What would be even more
horrible is this if act where to spawn another terrible war. Two
wrongs do not make a right.
I am not saying that those who have done terrible things are to be
left unscathed, but the excesution of must be done with insight and
fairness. You don't punish a country, a nation, for the acts of a few
people. That would make us no better then them.
What do I believe?
Do I believe there will be another world war? Yes, possibly, if
actions are allowed to be carried and mentalities persist, if not by
this even, then by another, and another, and another...
Can we stop it?
Of course.
But how?
By changing first ourselves. By reaching out to everyone with love,
understanding, and forgiveness. Even those who have wronged us, for
it is not our place to judge.
And I don't mean that we must become pasifist and turn always another
cheek. But we must not let the evil others have done polute
ourselves. We allow ourselves to be polluted when we entertain
thougts of anger and hate, or associate ourselves with those who do.
Hate and anger cloud our mind and sicken us body and soul. There is
noting more corageous then to pull ourselves from its clutches. And
each of us has the strength to do that.
We must take that strength, and strengthen others. At this time, more
then ever, the world needs us to be strong, to love...
We must...
Because if there are still people with the strength of love in thier
hearts to face the world, it is not too late.
We owe it to ourselves, after all...
