Colonizers of Dreams

Today, we honor those who gave their lives in defense of this country. We admire their spirit and hold them in memory. Whatever your politics, whatever your opinion, let us pass no judgment on the dead.

Today we honor those who give their lives in defense of this country. We admire their spirit and hold them in prayer. Whatever your religion, whatever your opinion, let us pass no judgment on the soldier.

Today we remember the reason we are free. Ideals are a good thing; we should all aspire to them. But let us not, in our aspiration, forget those whose ideals have been forged in places, times, and moments very different from our own. It is tradition to raise a glass to the victorious dead.

There is no victory in death, but the assurance that you have done all you can do and given all you can give. If we are to be all that we can be, we must remember with sadness those whose blood keeps us ignorant and shallow and free and promise that they did not die in vain.

There is victory in life, in getting up again and again to do the job you were told, asked, or volunteered to do. Do not force your ideals upon another; share them instead. There is healing in conversation, in listening and being listened to.

Too often we hear the phrase 'this nation is built on a dream.' But what is a dream if one cannot shape it into reality? Acknowledge the hands that have shaped our collective dream, for better or for worse. Tear no one down out of love or fear.

The passing of judgment is not for any of us in this world. There are no such things as perfection or neutrality. By all means, seek these traits as ideals, but don't expect the world to conform to your inner dream unless you're willing to do what it takes to make that dream a reality.

Remember the dead.
Smile at the living.
Do not condemn the colonizers of dreams.

WolfGrrl

The Stuff of Life

That is a very bizarre title, but I didn't want to make eveyone too depressed and scare them away. It's that time in my grandmother's life where she feels the need to make sure her treasures (furniture, art, rugs, etc.) are going to good homes. This is a sad time for her family, but my mother pointed out it is also an important one. Obviously, we love my grandmother for more than the stuff she's collected over her life, but if it gives her comfort to know that her things will be loved and appreciated, well...it's a way we can show her how much we appreciate her.

It feels strange to divvy up a house that has stayed the same since before I was born. I can mentally walk through the foyer and see down the hall and out the kitchen window into the back garden. I can imagine the colored light from the stained glass skylight flooding the stairs. I can hear the floorboards creak when I get up at night to pee. I remember hot summers, freezing winters (hey, when we visited for Christmas the heat broke Christmas Day!) and stories of how, as a baby, I sat in the window, my feet black from the city dirt, and the boys playing hockey on the street waved at me.

What makes a house a home and a life a Life is more than the things in it. Trust me - as someone who suffers from object attachment, I am slowly realizing the power of acquiring stuff and letting it go. These things come into our lives with baggage - our own, and sometimes their own. When I am old and my family is going through my things, trying to decide what to keep and what to jettison, I hope they take the care and consideration my mother is showing my grandmother.

Enough introspection for a Friday.
WolfGrrl

I Salute You

Recently I heard that the "official" war in Afghanistan is wrapping up. Over the years, various people and organizations have asked what my stance on the war is. I always say the same thing:

"I support the soldiers, not the cause."

Because I do. I will ALWAYS support the men and women who go and fight, no matter how meaningless or misguided the war is. I support them because without them this sovereign soil we make such a big deal over wouldn't exist. This place, this country - confused, brutal, compassionate and shallow - wouldn't be if not for the soldiers who gives their minds, hearts, and lives for it.

I believe war is morally wrong, just like eating the last cookie and not telling anyone or the slaughter of animals is. However, don't you dare label me and put me in a neat little bracket like "Liberal" or "Conservative." I also believe in the death penalty, with reservations. I believe in free will, and choice (even as I hate making choices). I don't believe humanity will ever free itself from war and genocide and selfishness. We are put together this way so that we have something to transcend.

During the Vietnam war soldiers were brutalized in the field for doing the dirty work of corrupt and frightened politicians, then they returned home - to this US of A we're all so proud of - and were brutalized again by the people who should have honored them. I am afraid of violence; I know I'm not capable of protecting myself if someone wanted to harm me. But I am more afraid of betrayal, and the psychological violence that goes on every day, without cessation, and has since mankind came down out of the trees. There are pithier terms for it, of course: my favorite colloquialism is "head-f***." The psychological scars of war are the biggest head-f*** of all.

So here then is something to remind you of the men who are called monsters. They are misunderstood, misrepresented, but merely men, after all. Merely men, doing a job the rest of us can't or won't. Think about them next time you whine about your first-world problems. Aren't you lucky there are people out there standing between you and whatever big scary things the other humans on this planet are thinking, or plotting, or dreaming?

Soldiers, I salute you. Welcome home.

 

And here is something to listen to that always makes me cry: 

Heaven was Needing a Hero
Hero
Just a Dream

This is WolfGrrl.