Today is Remembrance Day where I live, of those who especially have so fallen in our war torn history. As such we pause to remember those loved ones and those not known who sacrificed their lives or gave of their efforts.
Years ago on this particular date, as I looked upon my son and thought what will he one day remember? Impressions of that day were remembered as follows;
Remembered – Snow lightly drifts down through the atmosphere as i watch through the window pane. It settles at its touch, layer upon layer it weaves its pattern, each flake takes on uniqueness, crystalline form. Crossing the living room floor the radio captures my wayward attention with messages about this year’s Remembrance Day. The message pulls at the strings of all my paragon memories. It vies heavily upon my simmering patriotism; its message is subtle, yet its implications push so many buttons and then Remembered was one battle long ago - we were so young it seemed as we lay prone under a canopy of dense forest; only earthly sounds carried, the breeze rattling the leaves, small insects flew by my ears, their miniature frequency sounded like a platoon heightening the level of anxiety. Unknown at that time was the effects of subtle chemistry being released and mixed within my biological form as emotional levels flowed, ephemerally triggered by fear. This notion of winning against the agony of defeat became mantra; there could be no other thoughts. My fellow solders and I weaved through the foliage, camouflage blending, mixing our forms, silently we moved like slithering pythons.
Our objective that day was an encampment terraced amongst a rocky knoll, their defences our scouts informed us were haphazard, discontinuous. There was a chance that a diversionary tactic to our left flank could allow for a selected few to draw around the right flank and attack their rear sentries. We moved, ever so silently, sweat beaded on my skin, and my eyes were moving imperceptibly, focusing near and far. I remember when I had signed up for this adventure thinking owe so smugly about the enemy, my ego raised the façade of my false bravado to unimaginable heights. Now, supine, dragging my bruised body through the rocks, I had this disassociating feeling of the childishness of this game, but somehow we all knew as we ascended that hill that our will to persevere was stronger than our enemy’s, we would either be victorious or become lost in the realm of the defeated.
The first sentry was oblivious to our closure; lax, a soldier with whom vigilance was just a benign thought. And then it happened, the diversion, just as we had planed it, the sentry’s meandering mind was pulled to full attention in the opposite direction and he was ours. We moved now over his prostrated body, his lose became the vanguard of our attack, his voice now mute to our progress. And there it was, the Holy Grail rising from the mist, we had it, and in a moment of total confusion the enemy acquiesced to our thunder.
Later, as we regrouped and tallied the casualties we were embraced by the camaraderie of our brethren and our victory. As one, we started back to camp, picking up the enemy along the way, their heads hung low and we victoriously swung the black captured flag back and forth in our child’s game, like some testament to our coming of age and the ability to win in war.
As children we have become primed for future battle, not of our making, but nonetheless imprinted with games and other recipes that are so easily modified with social and geopolitical particular that is not understood at the time or if ever.
As parents, wars most needed elixir is the fodder born of ourselves and whisked into a burning froth of hatred and righteousness. What is needed is our burning patriotic desires and our willingness to enslave our children for our comforts end and of course an enemy which is easily provided and masked in such a way as to ensure our undivided focus.
Oh who is that profits so of war? :(
Years ago on this particular date, as I looked upon my son and thought what will he one day remember? Impressions of that day were remembered as follows;
Remembered – Snow lightly drifts down through the atmosphere as i watch through the window pane. It settles at its touch, layer upon layer it weaves its pattern, each flake takes on uniqueness, crystalline form. Crossing the living room floor the radio captures my wayward attention with messages about this year’s Remembrance Day. The message pulls at the strings of all my paragon memories. It vies heavily upon my simmering patriotism; its message is subtle, yet its implications push so many buttons and then Remembered was one battle long ago - we were so young it seemed as we lay prone under a canopy of dense forest; only earthly sounds carried, the breeze rattling the leaves, small insects flew by my ears, their miniature frequency sounded like a platoon heightening the level of anxiety. Unknown at that time was the effects of subtle chemistry being released and mixed within my biological form as emotional levels flowed, ephemerally triggered by fear. This notion of winning against the agony of defeat became mantra; there could be no other thoughts. My fellow solders and I weaved through the foliage, camouflage blending, mixing our forms, silently we moved like slithering pythons.
Our objective that day was an encampment terraced amongst a rocky knoll, their defences our scouts informed us were haphazard, discontinuous. There was a chance that a diversionary tactic to our left flank could allow for a selected few to draw around the right flank and attack their rear sentries. We moved, ever so silently, sweat beaded on my skin, and my eyes were moving imperceptibly, focusing near and far. I remember when I had signed up for this adventure thinking owe so smugly about the enemy, my ego raised the façade of my false bravado to unimaginable heights. Now, supine, dragging my bruised body through the rocks, I had this disassociating feeling of the childishness of this game, but somehow we all knew as we ascended that hill that our will to persevere was stronger than our enemy’s, we would either be victorious or become lost in the realm of the defeated.
The first sentry was oblivious to our closure; lax, a soldier with whom vigilance was just a benign thought. And then it happened, the diversion, just as we had planed it, the sentry’s meandering mind was pulled to full attention in the opposite direction and he was ours. We moved now over his prostrated body, his lose became the vanguard of our attack, his voice now mute to our progress. And there it was, the Holy Grail rising from the mist, we had it, and in a moment of total confusion the enemy acquiesced to our thunder.
Later, as we regrouped and tallied the casualties we were embraced by the camaraderie of our brethren and our victory. As one, we started back to camp, picking up the enemy along the way, their heads hung low and we victoriously swung the black captured flag back and forth in our child’s game, like some testament to our coming of age and the ability to win in war.
As children we have become primed for future battle, not of our making, but nonetheless imprinted with games and other recipes that are so easily modified with social and geopolitical particular that is not understood at the time or if ever.
As parents, wars most needed elixir is the fodder born of ourselves and whisked into a burning froth of hatred and righteousness. What is needed is our burning patriotic desires and our willingness to enslave our children for our comforts end and of course an enemy which is easily provided and masked in such a way as to ensure our undivided focus.
Oh who is that profits so of war? :(
