Crossroads by Carolyn #75

    I read once that a free mind has no reason to scream.  I had a brief period of what felt like inner peace; I was in touch with nature, my body, with life.  Some kids asked me to scream on their record and I wasn’t sure I could. The screams just weren’t inside me anymore.  And it felt great, healthy, and clean.  But what the fuck? How can anyone find peace in this world?  Especially now.  I can still reach the point of silence, of having an open and receptive heart, but what comes in is grief and misery.  Sometimes I cry, but more often I go and grab some records and scream along in hopeless rage.  “It’s doomsday, doomsday/ Is it reality or just a nightmare/ nightmare, nightmare.” And to be sure, it’s not just a nightmare. 
    I’d like all the people who support the war to open their hearts and try to feel what it is like to live through war.  Not like I really know, but when I get quiet I hear screams, my own and those of the dying.  Who in their right mind trusts the government?  Saddam sucks super stinky dog shit, but guess what?  Our government has subjected its own citizens to nuclear testing without their consent, done horrendous medical experiments on unsuspecting people (read Eileen Welsome’s, The Plutonium Files, for example), had people killed for dissenting, let the military and corporations poison our drinking water, then cover it up, cut funding for environmental research and alternative energy development, opened our precious lands for commercial logging and drilling—shall I go on?  And still I scream along, “I’m ashamed of the simplicity of humanity and its mentality and how easily our society can be shaped and molded into formless, mindless clay.”
    I don’t know what to do.  The more I care, the more I hurt, the heavier the burden of conscience.  I feel the shame of being from such a fucked up country, the shame of hoping so hard that I will never live through a war in my own neighborhood.  Then comes the realization that the whole world is at war. It may be easy to forget when casualties are just a headline and I’m snowed in up the mountains with only candles and a person and three dogs I love.  But this shit is real.  Well, the killing and suffering are real.  The networks are busy making a movie, the classic plot of good against evil, feeding us propaganda about how threatened we are by “evildoers”, and about the righteous democratic nature of this war.  Q: and oil? A: and oil.  Like Bush Sr. said, “the American lifestyle is not up for negotiation.”
    Pulled between wanting to pay attention to what’s going on and wanting to disappear among the towering peaks, I find myself nowhere.  I’m more upset than I’ve been in a while, so utterly disgusted.  I reacquaint my heart with bitterness, hate, and disappointment.  How can I be at peace amidst so much war?  And Mr. Bush, how does it feel to be the father of so many dead?