While it is hard to be a pacifist in this country, it is equally hard to be an atheist. Again, I hadn’t really defined my lack of religious beliefs too much before this happened, but now I have to. Technically, I don’t call myself an Atheist because I feel that as a group Atheists tend to be as religious as believers, but their religion revolves around non-religion. I just don’t believe that there is anything greater out there. I don’t believe there is some sort of anthropomorphic being that made dinosaurs and seals and cryptic rules about sex and people and hatred and love.
If you were to say, “but the coral reef is beautiful, certainly there must be some design in that.” Okay, maybe there is a design or a plan (which I doubt, but say there is), that still doesn’t translate down into ‘someone’ you can’t see who makes up alot of contradictory rules and events.
Back to my point. It is hard to be a non-believer right now because there are calls to pray for the victims and their families. Pray to give them comfort. I feel somewhat selfish and guilty by not praying, by not giving something of myself to these people in so much pain. Unfortunately, I think that the ultimate benefit goes to the one praying. In their prayers, they find comfort for themselves, they can hand their pain to their God and find some sort of peace.
I can’t do that. Many times over, before and after these terrible times, I have wished I could believe. Believers look so comforted by their knowledge of a merciful God; I can’t have that comfort and so the pain sits in my chest and in my throat and in my head. And if I chew on this pain, it will become vicious anger, so I don’t.
Please don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against believers as a whole, they believe because they can and I envy them. My mother, who I love dearly (even if she makes me a little nutty), is a devout Catholic and I respect her and her beliefs and would defend them if the time comes.

John Scalzi says, “It’s not exactly a good time to be a pacifist in America,” and he is right. I hadn’t ever thought of myself as a pacifist, just someone who doesn’t really like war and fighting and death, but this week has forced me to think about who I am and what I believe in. Am I a coward? No. Anyone who knows me well would have to know that I would risk life and limb to save human life, they know I would defend them at any cost. The key word is defend. Defend yourself against immediate threats and use your intelligence to prevent future ones.
This is not to say that deep inside me I don’t have the base urge to find those responsible and tear them apart. On the other hand, government is better than that, they are not supposed to give in to our animal side, but deliver us from all that is base, common and popular.
The people of Afghanistan do not support this action; they did not put it in motion. One man and his organization and maybe some other organizations did, but not the mothers and the fathers and the children of a terribly poor, drought-ridden country. Instead of the clinical ‘Collateral Damage’ that would be the result of long range ‘smart’ missiles, let’s take every single human victim in the target area and shoot them in the head. The people who start this war should not get the comfort of ‘Collateral Damage’, but should have to take each person, each mother, each father, each child look them straight in the eye and put a bullet in their head. The end result is the same, the people are still dead, but you don’t get to lie in bed smug with the satisfaction that you did something good today. You get to go to bed and dream of the tear-soaked faces, the unanswered questions and the please for mercy.
You are right, the terrorists didn’t have to consider each of their victims before they set this terrible plan in motion. Are we then just terrorists with nicer offices and better spin control?
And, yes, John, I would drive that ambulance to the front lines. I would do everything I could to save the lives in front of me. Not just our brave soldiers, but the ‘enemy’ as well. If I could I would save them all.
On a side note, if we as a nation are so ready to fight terrorism where it starts, perhaps we need to open our eyes to the School of the Americas and the terrorists it turns out to serve our own nationalistic and ‘democratic’ purposes.

A plot was hatched, a plan meticulously executed. Symbolism and punishment would go hand in hand. Someone wanted to send a message to the world and they wanted to use highly visible symbols of money and freedom to make their point.
Sure, they knew people would be in the buildings, they planned it that way. Did they realize individuals would be in the buildings? Did they not think that they weren’t just Americans or Infidels in the buildings, but real, live, individual humans?
* The 40-something mom of a 15 year old girl – a girl who is excited about going to her first Homecoming dance next month. This mother sat down at her desk absentmindedly while thinking about the cost of formal gowns, dyed shoes and make-up. She wonders if she will let her daughter go strapless. She looks up and never comprehends what she sees before her body is crushed under the nose of the plane.
* A young man in his 20’s gets to his office and chats with his co-workers. He logs onto his computer and glances at a picture of his mother. Suddenly all goes dark, everything shakes and buckles. He screams and hits the floors. Minutes later, the noise subsides a bit; the plane struck the building below them, but he is okay. His fear turns to hope and he thinks of his mother fighting cancer. He knows that if he can survive this, his mother can beat cancer. His world lists and he is sick with the realization that he will never see the end of this day.
* A veteran firefighter rushes into the building driven by adrenaline and instinct. His only goal is to stop a life from ending. People stream past him, but they are walking and able to get out. He searches for those who need assistance. He spots an unconscious woman; she is bleeding heavily from her head but still breathing. He picks her up and rushes her out to waiting paramedics and re-enters the building. A teenager is screaming and crying. He grabs the boy and reassures him that they will be okay. These are his last words and he never doubted them.
The numbers will be staggering and we will never comprehend just how many lives ended on a day that began with so much hope. Never forget that each number represents a person.

There is nothing that can be said here that hasn’t already been said. This tragedy can only leave us speechless. Cries of blame and revenge should be drowned out by the silence of mourning. At least for today.
Pray if you need to, donate blood, offer money, food and support, but for today don’t let anger well inside of you.
There will be time for that later.

One of the recurring dream locations since my teen years has been my grandma’s house. Situations differ, but the house is always the same. I loved my grandma’s house. Not for the structure or anything, but for the standard ‘those were the best times of my childhood” reasons.
I can close my eyes and remember the smallest details of her house. It smelled like Puffs and cedar. The high school was across the street. The town was so small you could walk everywhere. There was a small park and a strip mall with a coffee shop, a drug store and a grocery store. My grandma had friends all over town and we would go to their houses so she could show us off.
We rode bikes and played with Lincoln Logs. Her fridge was the only one I knew of that had the freezer on the bottom and the toilet had a button flush. They lived in the Iron Range and everything in their house was metal: the doors, the windowsills, the ‘woodwork’.
The details are so strong and my urge to go back is great so I dream about the house and the town all the time. When my grandfather died, my grandma sold everything and sold the house. So now the only way I can go back is if I buy the house. Buying the house, while a dream of mine, is too impractical to work. The area is depressed, there are no good jobs so I couldn’t live there. And while the area is depressed and the houses are cheap, it seems like an expensive summer home or vacation spot.
I am reluctant to drive by there again (we drove by a few years ago) as I think it would only serve to make me sadder. I did look it up on Terraserver and I wanted to cry. The town is so small, I could see all the details, the churches, the park, the neighbors.