It’s a city I’ve been fascinated with since the film, Mary Poppins. I desperately wanted to go there, to see the place where a soot covered Rob Petrie cavorted on rooftops with magical, singing nannies and their flying umbrellas.
I was lucky. I vacationed there with family exactly three years ago. We spent a week in London with jaunts to Bath and Salisbury. It never rained once, we met the kindest people and everyday there was a sublime history lesson.
It’s so eerie to realize that we walked on that Westminster Bridge. We road on a boat on The Thames that embarked from a pier beneath that bridge. We stood in the shadow of Big Ben, the exact same spot that saw so much carnage on what had started out for Londoners as a typical Wednesday afternoon in March.
We’re in such denial about our barbarism these days. The media is nothing more than an extension of some kind of weird polite society in which nothing unpleasant is ever discussed. It tiptoes around the “T” word. Of course it was terrorism. And the attacker’s actions should be considered as such, even if he’d been a fifth generation resident of Trenton, NJ and a so-so Presbyterian.
We used to use nouns and verbs in reporting news. These days? Screw “alternate media”, we’re well beyond that. We’re now into “alternate verbiage”. We’re so worried about offending the offender. Tell a soldier who fought in Korea or Vietnam that those were mere conflicts. Some might tell you they’d never go back to Incheon or that tiny village near the Mekong, but in many ways, parts of them never left. Everyone leaves a footprint.
Connections are strange things.
In 2000, I was a member of a popular morning radio show. We spent a week in New York covering the Grammies. I can remember heading back to the hotel after a show and the cab we shared drove close to the World Trade Center. We’d all been to New York before, so none of us were tourists at that point, yet as we passed, my fellow passengers and I admitted we’d never seen the world from a fixed position 110 stories high. We agreed that a visit would have to be on each of our “to do” lists, but since we had one full day left, we’d have to do it next time. Sixteen months later, the Twin Towers were reduced to a twisted, smoldering heap.
On the afternoon of September 11, 2001, I felt like I do right now. I’m saddened by every tragic terrrorist attack, but it becomes even more personal when you live or work in a place that was bludgeoned by hate. Or perhaps you played there; attended a concert at a theater where the audience became nothing more than human targets. Perhaps you vacationed a few miles from the scene, spent an hour in an airport that was bombed; if you knew someone who knew someone who was on the bus or train that was blown to bits.
I don’t understand what motivates us to use hate to justify anything.
According to Cherokee legend, a tribal elder was sitting with his grandson by the fire one night. He regaled the boy with stories of their people, of wars with enemies, won and lost. He then tried to explain to the biggest battle of all–an ancient one that goes on inside every one of us. He described it as a constant fight between two wolves. One is Evil, which includes anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego.
The other wolf represents Good. It’s joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith. Then child contemplated the story briefly, then asked , “Which wolf wins?”
The grandfather replied simply, “The one you feed.”
