AUTHOR: Beth TITLE: For Some Reason DATE: 3/01/2005 03:29:00 PM ----- BODY:
I have been revisiting Sept. 11 lately. I've been reading a book called 102 Minutes : The Untold Story of the Fight to Survive Inside the Twin Towers, and working my way through Sheila's Sept. 11 Archive. My revisitation of Sept. 11 seems to coincide with an overall shift in my politics; I still hover around the middle, but I'm leaning toward the right a bit more. Meaning I've probably begun to stand perpendicular since I leaned to the left before. I'm confused. I have no idea how I feel. And frankly, I envy those with convictions, who can see the world firmly from one absolute stance, be they Ann Coulter or Ward Churchill. Coulter can sleep easily at night knowing, as absolute fact in her mind, who her enemies are, what she stands for, and that the man she supports is in office. Churchill can sleep at night knowing that he has a battle to fight tomorrow, against whoever his enemies are; he has purpose, drive and ambition because the man he believes is the ruin of the world is in office. Me? I'm lost. Lost utterly, when I read these things. Things like this poem, which Sheila linked to:
From the 104th Floor by Leda Rodis (age 14) When the plane hit the building rocked first to the right then to the left, and outside all the skyscrapers of New York seemed to tremble. The alarms screamed louder than we did, and I knew it was time to get away. It's funny what you notice: a pen rolling across the floor my screen saver flicker and go off a picture of you and me at Coney Island. So much to leave behind. And yet so little. Running down the hall I remembered my mother taking me to the top of the Empire State Building when I was just a little girl, telling me that a plane had crashed there a long time ago. So I thought that maybe that's what happened. Just an accident. And accidents happen everyday. Under the blown-out exit sign a crowd is screaming, crying, pounding on the door. I know: There's No Way Out. You have to believe that I tried. I'm not the one to give up. Back at my desk, I rescue the rolling pen, stare at the blank screen, and hold my picture of you. I look out at the blue morning. I expect to see God there. But what I really see is another plane. And I know what it means. But I don't know why... I always thought that life was full of choices. It always has been. What to wear Where to eat Who to love (and you know who I chose). Now my choices have been taken away from me. The men in the planes have narrowed my choices down to two: Death by fire, or death by fall. I see the smoke rising filling the room It's hard to breathe I look towards the open window. What would falling feel like? I remember the roller coaster at Coney Island. The wind tugging at my hair How good it felt to scream. The feeling in my stomach. And how all the way down I was with you.
I've got nothing. Nothing to stand up for, be it pro- or anti-Bush. Nothing to believe in. No one to hate. I am afloat. But I'm trying so hard to find my way. That's the only thing I'm sure of.
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