Day 17: Burying memories.

Last night was amazing because the moon was on fire! That's hyperbolic, of course, because there is no oxygen in space. No oxygen no fire. But I was choked up for sure. And I'm still choked up, but not about the moon. I read this suicide letter from a veteran. I never should have because I am still weepy. Perhaps it is because I've been where he was, but I made it home. He never did; as he said, he is too broken for war and too wrecked for peace. He said it much more eloquently, though. I dare you to read this and not be heartbroken. Pass this on along with your plan to help those marginalized others--those whose voices cannot be heard; or those who cannot find a voice.

The darkness in the distance are
shadows from the clouds as they dance
across the sky. The shadows appear as if
the ground was scorched by flames.

So I didn't dream about him or the rotten bodies I've come to miss that lived in Iraq. I cannot imagine the bodies are still there, but I cannot imagine them any other place. We should ave buried the guys we killed. I think I would feel much better today if we did. There was a time when we were mopping up around an Iraqi convoy that was decimated. We were collecting any guns or ammo that was missed, and we were collecting souvenires. I was done with being there then, so I was just hanging out with some guys who finished scavenging. A great irony is that I was done with being there then, but I am not done with being there now. So we were hanging out, there were about four of us; I don't recall who it was except for one guy that we all knew was nuts. If he is not in prison somewhere now he is a serial killer on the loose. But how could we know that then because we were kids. So Mister Doctor Nutso takes his bayonet and starts performing brain surgery on an Iraqi. The skull was already broken, so most of the work was done. The three of us who were not operating just shook our heads and said he was an idiot or some such, even though he claimed to be a brain surgeon. Looking back now I wonder why we didn't stop him. It wasn't right; but then murdering a whole convoy of people wasn't right either.

When we were going through Basic Training the Drill Sergeants, just like Mr. Dr. Nutso did that Iraqi, drilled into our heads certain things. There is not one day that has gone by--in my entire life!--that I haven't repeated the mantra "Kill the head; the body dies!" Of course the Drill Sergeants' part was "Kill the head!" We just had to yell "The body dies!" I wish they would have made us learn something like "If your buddy sticks his knife in a dead guy's skull stop him." I'd feel better today.

So I'm weepy and whiny; this will not last. I can finally give voice to the secrets that I dared not share with others, especially the ones I love. You cannot know them all yet, dear loved ones, because I'm not done with them yet. I'm not weeping for me, necessarily. I weeping for those that I've lost, even those that I could not have known. I'm weeping for the Iraqi who was operated on by Mr. Dr. Nutso because the surgery didn't work.

Shachar getting fruits ready for delivery.

This is Blues; he was helping me with
my work. I swear I'll tell you his story
soon because it is so beautiful.

So what will I do with all of this negative energy, you ask. I'll bury it. Today I had to get a form ready for cement. Avi wants to add a much needed area to prepare the fruit for delivery. Yesterday we had to get a big order together, and we were standing in ants--until we moved.

So I had to level out the ground and tamp the earth hard. I kept thinking about the absurdities of my part in the Army and Iraq, and I just hammered them into the earth. I probably did more tamping than necessary, but I sure do feel a bunch better. And after writing this post I feel some of the sorrow lifting. Perhaps I'll pretend that I buried some of the guys we left in Iraq.