Tribute of light

I could see the two beams of light from downtown Manhattan last night, when I lay my head down on my pillow. Gave me such an odd feeling. Melancholy, reflective, yet … somehow … there was hope there, too.

The tribute of light seemed to me to be the hopeful resonance of a community remembering its loss. A community that mourns without making a fetish out of their pain.

A country that fetishizes its pain is an unhealthy one. I do not wish that for America. Actually, I don’t wish that for anyone!

We will mourn, we won’t forget, we will pour columns of light up into the night sky every year – as a remembrance of what was once there, as a remembrance of all the lives lost, all the innocent lives … but we will not huddle over our pain, nurturing it, coddling it – until it morphs into something monstrous. We can see the results of such pain-nurturing all around the globe today. (Perhaps coming off of Rebecca West’s Black Lamb and Grey Falcon has helped me to see what can happen when an entire nation fetishizes its pain, and purposefully keeps its injuries from healing.)

Pain, when you have been injured, is a logical response.

But – and I can only speak from personal experience – when the injury is dwelled on, protected, guarded fiercely, horrible transformations can occur. Then, the pain – which was once a logical response – turns into an obsession, a hateful obsession. Example: a garden-variety heart-break can twist your soul into something hard. You know – like a love affair breaks up. Your heart breaks. I’m the type who resists the so-called healing properties of time. “No. MY HEART IS BROKEN, DAMMIT.” I nurture the ache, I huddle over it, I protect it, I defend it, I refuse to be helped.

The pain has become a monster. The pain is now ruling my life, as opposed to just being an emotion I am experiencing.

This is what I mean when I say – I do not wish that our nation should make a fetish out of its own injury.

I hope you get what I’m saying here, and that you don’t think I’m saying, “Get over it.”

Yesterday I was woken up to the mournful sound of bagpipes in the air. The memorial ceremonies had already begun. I went up onto the roof with my coffee, and stared at the glimmering truncated skyline. Sending my energy down to the lower end, knowing the crowds had gathered there …

I had my watch with me, which was an odd experience. I realized the unbelievable SHORT-ness of 20 minutes – the 20 minutes in between the 2 planes … Jesus Christ. The unforeseen horror of that 2nd plane. Of course, the first plane hitting was a nightmare too … but that 2nd plane …

What had appeared to be just an awful aviation accident of some kind, at least from our perspective in those 20 minutes before the 2nd plane came, turned into the impending apocalypse. We were under attack. Where is the next plane? What is happening? We are all gonna die. I still remember the screams filling the air on my trapped bus, as we watched that second plane hit, and saw that orange fireball fill the air. We were screaming. My sister … my sister … my God. My Holy God. 20 minutes. Boggles the mind.

So I had my own little private memorial service on the roof.

The rest of the day, I bustled about … errands, a couple hours of writing, a long phone call with dear friend Mitchell, and a great evening with my friend Jen.

And then – I came home in a cab. The dude drove so dangerously that I refused to pay … and yelled at him, in a freaked-out way, for the entire ride: “Hey, man, what the hell??? Jesus CHRIST, THAT’S A RED LIGHT … What’s the hurry, asswipe? SLOW DOWN!!” – Yes. I called him “asswipe.” Let me introduce to you my inner-child who, apparently, is a 13 year old boy. But his driving was so reckless that I felt I had no choice. Anyone who plays hard and fast with my life is an asswipe, as far as I’m concerned.

But anyway – during my frightening cab ride home – late at night – I suddenly saw, behind me, the thick columns of light shooting up into the sky …

Something happened to me when I saw them. (Even though I was about to die, because of the asswipe’s horrible driving skills)

What happened was – my energy went inward. I guess, my energy became prayer-ful. I hope that doesn’t make me sound like an asswipe myself. You know, there’s an extroverted daylight energy, a conscious energy, I’d call it the public face, the sociable side of our personalities. And then there’s the other energy, the reflective, the contemplative, the philisophical, the emotional … where one sits with the mystery, the uncertainty, the feelings …

And so I was SO GLAD to see those columns of light. So glad – because you know why? They gave me the reminder (not that I need one – that’s not what I’m saying) … It was the reminder: Move away from the conscious energy now … get into the contemplative energy. It is right and proper that one should be reflective on this day. To honor the dead, to honor the wound we have received. Life goes on, football games happen, there are beers to drink, conversations to have, huge bursts of laughter … but there they were. Soaring up into the sky. And they were there, if anybody felt like having a reflective moment, it was something to focus on – they were a monument, the expression of the feelings of the community made visible.

There was an Italian feast day of some kind in Hoboken – and I’m not like others who seem to think it inappropriate to have gatherings like that on the anniversary of Sept. 11. Like – when is the cut-off date? When would it NOT be inappropriate?

Besides – I think the fact that life goes on – (which is not the same thing as forgetting) but that LIFE GOES ON – is not awful, and un-feeling, but it’s a fucking MIRACLE, quite frankly – and indicative of the HEALTH of our spirits. We have not made a fetish out of our pain. We can go out and enjoy LIFE still. We are still looking towards LIFE, we are not in love with death, in love with our own injury.

Anyway, that’s just my opinion.

The bagpipes began my day. I was woken up by the traditional sound of mourning and I felt oddly comforted by the sound. I felt surrounded by a community, an invisible community of people – all of whom had their focuses pouring into one place, on this anniversary.

And the columns of light ended my day. A spectacular reminder of what we have lost, a focus-point for our feelings of loss, grief, absence … silent, white, enormous … soaring up infinitely until the white dissolved into the black.