Today I will meet two friends for lunch. The last time we were together on a 9/11 it was in the West Wing of the White House and it was 2001.
That day began like others at the time. I walked through the White House gates and I had a breakfast with one friend and then headed upstairs to see another. Then 9/11 happened. There was yelling and huddling and running and a massive display of weaponry - the Secret Service pulls weapons out of nowhere and the black-suited "CAT" (Counter Assault Team) makes the Secret Service guys seem like boys with pop guns. There was a jet overhead and a massive gathering of staffers on the ellipse facing the White House's south lawn. There was every expectation we would see the White House destroyed by a plane.
With every passing year I expect to feel less and less. But every year the emotion and reality of what happened that day returns... viscerally returns. I can feel how warm the sun was and how black the smoke billowing from the Pentagon. I can see the matte black guns aimed toward the skies. I can hear people yelling, "RUN! RUN! RUN!" to get White House staff away from the building. I can smell the early fall day.
Such is the way of shock. It changes us. I can remember the other moment in my life that changed everything as well - that moment when I had a seizure while driving my car down Rock Creek Parkway in the minutes before Palm Sunday in 2003.
Both serve to remind me of many things but I try to focus on this - that I shouldn't be surprised by the surprises. Life is never in our hands to control. We may love the illusion but that is all that is - an illusion. We live on a great, spinning green and blue rock hurtling through black space circling a fiery sun that is part of a solar system that is, itself, hurtling through the Milky Way that is, itself, hurtling through an infinite universe. We are not in control. The question is whether there is anyone or anything in control. I think that the answer to that is yes. That there is something greater and grander and bigger and more intimate than the universe and that he is God and Jesus is the fullest manifestation of his character. I don't know why 9/11. I don't know why a brain tumor in my head. I don't know why suffering. I don't know far more than I know. But at my best I trust and believe and that, I think, is better than thinking I have control because it is real.
We are still a wounded nation. Perhaps it is more accurate to say that we are more wounded than ever. I hope that we will remember 9/11 and remember the kindness that came amidst the horror and be gentle to each other and be gentle to ourselves once again.
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What a beautiful entry. Thanks.
Yesterday I found myself in discussion with a homeless man in Santa Monica who experienced the 9/11 attacks as a pedestrian in Manhattan. Tears swam in his eyes as he told of wrapping a towel around his head against the smoke, and encountering two women screaming for his help.
Thinking quickly, he banged on the door of a local grocery until the shopkeeper finally opened up. He ripped open a package of diapers, a decent filter for the women to breathe into. He is a sort of hero.
He's also homeless, and an alcoholic. The kind of alcoholic who can't stop drinking - not because of will power - but because if he goes too long without a drink his body will succumb to seizures. He can't afford treatment, doesn't know how to find help. Used to be a successful cameraman working for CBS news in New York.
"Life is never in our hands to control."
-D
The Buddha Diaries
I appreciate your statement, David, but at the end it verges toward theodicy, IMHO -- which can't be very comforting to the loved ones of the 3,000 mourning today.
I, too, remember.
My daughter and I were in New England for a reminiscent vacation. On the way up, we remembered happy family times together and once again gazed in wonder as we passed the beautiful twin towers.
The next day, everything changed. The beautiful little town of Rockport, MA where we were staying was changed into a village where black crepe draped many of the shop windows. We prayed late into the night at the beautiful church known as Old Sloop and listened to the muffled sobs of the local people.
We couldn't bear to stay, and so we left, driving back the same route. This time, all we saw in lower Manhattan was smoke from the still smoldering ruins of the towers.
However, we were heartened and inspired by the displays of true patriotism as flags, homemade banners and signs appeared over bridges and overpasses. We were one -- all in this together.
How different that was from the forced and phony "patriotism" displayed by those (never without their perfunctory flag lapel pin) who seek to divide us, calling those who disagree with their ideology, "unpatriotic." And now, we've lost more people in the ill-advised Iraq debacle than were lost on that fateful day. Well, at least Gen. Petraeus re-informed the American people that Iraq had nothing to do with 9/11. Small comfort.
I really appreciate your conclusion, Looking our for each other was the only important change that day needed to bring and the only change we needed to make in response.
I think what stands out for me was the fact that the first reaction was to call home. I was in college at the time, and just remember that everyone called their families; most of us were a long way away and it was nice to touch base with those we loved.
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