FOR THE LOVE OF HEROES

 

As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preservers Our Love



FOR THE LOVE OF HEROES

September 11, 2012

Love, my Darling, takes many forms and shapes.   The Love of fallen heroes is one such Love.

Today, September 11, 2012, is the eleventh anniversary of the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center in New York City.   It is a day of Love, the Love of those who were lost that day to the hand of evil and victims of unnecessary tragedy.

I was there that day, my Love.   As I do every day of my life, I was writing words of Love when I looked up.  Above, the roaring of a low-flying jet grabbed my ears, and my eyes were startled as the underbelly of the silver torpedo shot through the cerulean September sky.

I rushed to the burning building, my Darling, and stood in solemn silence as souls leapt from windows, choosing the free-fall of death over raging flames and blackened smoke.  There was a beautiful sense of freedom in those leaping, choosing to fly to their deaths rather than be consumed by the terror of the holocaust.

I remember praying for their last thoughts, praying that they would find in the flashing last thoughts of things they Loved, of people who Loved them, of Love itself.

Swirling around the burning building appeared to be flocks of doves.   The bodies flew through the flocks, as though they were being blessed by the heavenly hand of Love as they passed through the last breaths of life.    Later, I realized the doves I thought were circling were millions of pieces of paper caught in a vortex by the furnace of fire and smoke, whirlwinding around the building, appearing to be winged messengers.

As I stood with neck arched, mind racing to honor each of the souls plummeting toward the earth, stunned by horror of the event, I struggled to find the Love of Life in the Moment of Death.

Then, the building itself began to fall.  Diving behind a building, I grabbed two women to protect them from the debris raining down.   Around us people stampeded, screaming, eyes agog, racing against the hand of death.   The ground heaved.  A thunderous roar rose from the bowels of the underground as the iconic building collapsed, hurling choking clouds of soot to clog the lungs and blanket survivors in a shroud of death dust.

“We’re all going to die!  We’re all going to die!”

I clutched the two women close to me and against the wall.  In my mind, I saw death’s face.   I was sure some biological chemical had been released and I was going to writhe in pain as it ravaged my body.   In that instant of facing death’s mask, I saw the Faces of Love.   There they were, my wife and children, and their children, each of their images snapping to life in what I was sure was my last breath.

“We’re all going to die!  We’re all going to die!”

The two women sobbed, their bodies wracking in fearful pain of anticipating death.   I choked out the words to hopefully comfort them and myself before death’s fingers throttled my life away:

“Think of something beautiful before you die.  Think of something beautiful.”

I had no idea where those words came from.  They rose from my sensual soul, the one that is attuned to the appreciation of Love, the one that ignites into happiness and joy when all seems lost and hopeless.

And there it was, on the day of my death, rising up from the Well of Love, faces of Love, reminders of what life is all about, my wife, my children, my grandchildren.  It was their faces that mollified the fear of death, that allowed me to urge the two frightened women to “think of something beautiful.”

What is beauty but Love? 

I survived that day even though I was sure I would die.   And I realized that what lesson I learned from it was that Love is more powerful than Fear of Death, and offers the ultimate defense against terrorisms of all shapes and sizes.

More importantly, I inhaled the dust and debris of the horrendous holocaust.   I thought, as we all did who were there at Ground Zero, that I would choke to death.   Heaps of wet, pulverized debris shoved its way down my throat as I gagged and gasped for breath in the aftermath.  

Slowly, as the air thinned and I could breathe without feeling suffocation, it dawned on me that I had inhaled the spirits of the dead, that in the particles of the debris were fragments of the souls of all those who had died.

I became a carrier of their Love.  In my heart and soul I know, my Love, that I am a vehicle of the Love for those hundreds and hundreds who died that day.

And I am not the sole carrier.   All those who survived that day at Ground Zero, thousands like myself, who inhaled the soot of souls, all carry the Love of Heroes in their being.

So when, my Love, I write about Love, I write not only my own thoughts and feelings, but those compositions include the cumulative and collective Love of all the souls who died that day, the souls I inhaled.

I offer you a special Love this day, my Darling.  The Love of Heroes.

Forever Yours,

Cyrano!

Anderson-McKenzie



As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preservers Our Love

© 2012, Cyrano! Anderson-McKenzie, C.A. McKenzie. All Cyrano! writings are original and created daily by the author. Anyone wishing to contribute funds to the maintenance and support of the Cyrano! blog should send their contributions to C.A. McKenzie, 53 East 7th St. #9, NY, NY 10003