| New York City. Pittsburg. Washington D.C. Commerce. Law. Defense. Democracy. Does this show how great the feeble giant stands? We tremble in this greatness. We drown in our riches. We fall into the sea to find that we are but a drop in the ocean. My instructor tries to teach. Detachment seeps into her face. She cannot believe - we cannot believe. Yet English was what she was paid to do. She speaks of a poem about a painting titled "The Fall of Icarus." Icarus, the man who flew on wings like a bird. Man becoming great, reaching the heavens. Striving to touch the sun. Yet his wings - frial and delicate and only slipperly wax - melted in the heat. Only when he dared to rise above the rest of the world did he tumble to his doom. The scene of the painting, she told us, was of a group of happy villagers heading to market. Activeness. Eagarness. Joy. Prosperity. Focus on everyday things. Carry the produce. Herd the sheep. Hurry, hurry! The market is waiting! In the faraway horizon there is a tiny strip of blue ocean. And between the jewelled sea and the golden sun is a figure. Microscopic. Wings broken. Arms upraised. Falling. Tumbling. Death in the vast waters below. She tells us that was how human tragedy could be. Insignificant in the whirlwind of everyday life. Human misery can be immediate and isolated. Miserably alone. So alone up in the sky, rising, gaining speed, marking a greater light, a greater future. Then crumbling downwards into the nothingness. And no one notices. However. The feeble giant nevertheless stands tall. This is a world of lightning technology. What will be seen here is seen in Boston as in London as in Calcutta as in Sydney as in Beijing. Computers connect. Phones ring. The silent eye of the camera records. The luminescent screen of the television reveals. In this world everything is interconnected. We are here and there and on top of the moon, facing the sun. So when Icarus falls, everyone watches. **** Muse sits back, flexing its bone fingers. *That is all.* No, it cannot be! We are not Icarus or a weak giant. It shrugs folds its parchment-colors arms and stares. *Tell me then. Who are we? Do we not cower in our homes and offices? Do we not cry in helpnessness? Perhaps you have not noticed how some stare at the skies as if a piece shall break off and smash them indiscriminantly?* We are wary, I say. Don't deny that we are more careful now. And yes, we are crying. But we are crying because we mourn the deaths of loved ones and the crimes against humanity, not because we fear for ourselves. *How do you know?* I hesitate. I have no reassurance. Because, I begin. Because we are human. And as in the nature of human begins, we will not let hatred defeat us. Because we will survive and triumph just as our ancestors before us. Because we shall pick up the pieces, grieve over the dead, and then start anew. I won't give any terrorist the satisfaction of frightening me, I add. *Bold words.* They are the same words that many will be repeating after me, now and later and years from now. In different forms, in different phrases, in different languages but still the very same essense. We will live. And we will not be afraid. *** My deepest condolances go out to all the families touched by this tragedy. May the prayers of the world bring the comfort we all need. -D.M.P. Initially written 9/11/01 1:35 PM, Eastern Standard Time Massachusetts, USA Edited by: DMP at: 9/12/01 10:15:31 pm |