The Amazon’s Hand

(Photo by S&S Photography)

When my PTSD was at its worst, the only way I could find to describe it was, “It’s like being chased around my empty home for days by a hundred ghosts all wearing my face.” Besides the bonds of death and loss that I share with my combat veteran brothers, is the deep hollow cave in which we all retreat after the storm of horrors fills our eyes with visions we don’t want to see, memories we try to disembody and the inevitable isolation we feel in a room full of people.

It seems to me, the strongest people suffer the worst. I see fragile minds slip easily into an alternate reality in which the darkness has never been born. But the minds full and active; constantly growing and evolving, those minds splinter into multiple facets of truth. We try to make sense of it, the monster. We attempt to anthropomorphize it into our own rigid paradigms of right and wrong. Many of us try to empathize with the demons and in this valiant, noble venture into our own humanness, we become lost in the rage of our enemies.

What is the solution to the horror upon horror this human colony on this tiny rock inflicts into itself? Is there a cure for hate? For bigotry? For fear? How can we begin to love the aspects of other humans, we can’t even accept in ourselves. I am watching my beautiful America fall into division and heading for what historically have been all the earmarks for Civil War and I am wrenched by the pain of it.

Someone please tell me what I’ve been telling you since I came out of my cave to scream the words, “We can do this, humans! Love, Love, Love is the way. Reason is your greatest tool. Combine these and change the world!” I can’t hear my voice anymore. I feel your hands slipping out of mine and although I thought I had defeated all my greatest fears, a new one has been born. What if we can’t? Please tell me we can do this….

2 thoughts on “The Amazon’s Hand

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