Tale of Two Cities
by Douglas M. Goldfluss
2001
I
feel like I am having a nightmare and that soon I will awake. Terror and
destruction have captured the world, hitting so close to my home that
I feel out of place walking on the streets. I am not whole, part of me
is here, part is with those who wade through rubble in the streets of
New York, and part of me still remains in paradise on the playa. For I
was waiting for some stimulus to bring me down off the cloud that I am
floating on from my life changing experience last week. I had changed
and the world around me looked different. Life tragedies occurring this
week, car accidents and mass murders, chipped away but did not make a
dent into my awaking and still my spirits floated like the mist off the
falls of Niagara. All that has changed.
I am still a changed person, but the world around me has been altered
as well. The most horrifying images stared back at me through the TV after
I received the worst wake-up call ever. I only hope that I wake up to
find I am still on the playa, the dream an after-effect of many sleep-deprived
days causing delusional and disturbing images. I know I will never wake,
that I am here on this earth and that the spirit I brought back with me
from the desert cannot shield me from the evils that roam the lands.
As news trickles in I am not sure if someone who touched my life along
the way lies victim to the hand of a few who believe that this is right.
I know there is no absolute right or wrong, the experience on the playa
was as close to right as one can get, but the empty space that was once
a majestic symbol of democracy and freedom is as close to wrong as it
gets. I fret for the moment when I find out that the unknown friend was
getting their morning coffee, while I lay asleep, buffered by our entire
country.
As much as I want to express my own happiness and growth, I must concede
to reality and visit the side of sadness and depression that I have know
far too well in my life. The tears swell in my eyes thinking of those
who lie dead covered in the dust from a modern marvel that took years
to build, but only minutes to destroy. The dust is reminiscent of the
playa, a side effect of our own actions out there that is as much a recurring
reminder that we have our weaknesses and limitations, as it is a nuisance
in the daily living. The dust from the playa brought tears to my eyes,
tears of joy from the awaking of my spirit within. The dust I witnessed
on the tube 3000 miles away brought only tears of sorrow and pain.
Should I put a picture side by side of the two events? They both look
similar, a white cloud that looms close to the earth carrying particles
that test the human strength and endurance. Should such an identical image
from each event be found, it is unimaginable that the spirit underlying
be as opposite from each other as possible. One place, the center of the
world, the other as desolate as one can get in our country. In a white
out they both look the same. The image taken of myself with a loved one
covered in dust brought to me memories of such joy. Should that picture
be identified from a different locale on a different day, it would be
interpreted as faces of gloom and despair. Could such happiness be regarded
as pain? If the truth is blowing with the dust through the playa, shall
I ever find it? I am only lucky for all I gave and received when the man
burned, for it has helped me get through the days like today.
Also by this author: The Goat Truth
How to find and lose truth, without giving up your glowstick.
