I dreamt I was a soldier, though not in this war but the previous one, the great one. I was huddled with many others in trenches, laying in rancid water or marching across cold barren landscapes, fields once verdant now pocked and burnt by shelling and trampled by a hundred thousand men and horses and heavy weapons. I had been away from home for so long there were times when I could barely remember it, yet not a day went by when I did not feel the yearning for it, sometimes remote and distant, but always there.
And then there was the announcement that the fighting had ended, the war was over and peace declared, and I suddenly found myself alone, cut off from my friends and walking an untrammeled path which I did not recognize. Though I remembered the announcement, still I held my weapon at the ready, cautious and frightened because I was alone. As I turned a corner on the path I stopped short . Looking up, I saw another soldier, also holding his weapon. I understood somehow that, like me, he also knew that the war was over but was afraid to lay down his rifle. We stood there, saying nothing, looking at each other and trying to read each others thoughts. We understood that the only way to experience the peace which had been announced would be to lay down our weapons, but there was risk. What if I dropped mine and he did not? I would be killed. How did I know I could trust him, trust his desire for peace, trust that he too wanted to return home? I could see the same conflict in his eyes. And then I understood that without the risk I would never know an end to this bleakness and despair. I would lay down my weapon and trust. Moving slowly, I dropped the muzzle toward the ground, with a silent prayer that my decision would not kill me. As the point of the barrel touched the earth, I bent down and laid the stock of the rifle down. Still squatting I looked up at the soldier half expecting to see his rifle now pointed at me. I thought I saw the flash of his muzzle and felt the dull thud of a bullet rip into my chest. Instead I saw that he held his rifle by its sling, hanging down against his leg, and he was crying. I understood his tears but could not cry myself. We remained like that for some time, grieving for ourselves, our fallen friends, for families and children never conceived. For the difficulty of peace on earth and the madness which gives rein to impatience and violence. For a world fallen from the garden. And then we looked again at each other and I saw the chance for peace, and the hope in surrender. Still, I felt strangely unsettled, cautious. I realized that I was still afraid.
Suddenly the scene shifted and I found myself in a long , enclosed hallway. There were doorways all along this hall, and as I walked I looked into them. There were two doors located directly across from each other and looking into one I saw a large ballroom with hundreds of people laughing and celebrating as a band played and waitresses tried to squeeze their way between tables and dancers without tipping their trays. The air was cloudy with smoke and the noise level very high with every voiced mixed together to form a single fan-like hum broken now and again by shrieks and screams of laughter. I wanted to celebrate too, but was oddly ambivalent. Still, I considered going in but hesitated as my attention was drawn toward the other doorway. Through this door I could only see a half dozen small circular tables. The room seemed to be longer and less wide and the people seated at the tables were all turned toward the far end of the room which I could not see from my position in the hall. They seemed to be listening very intently, now and again looking at each other , exchanging small smiles or nods. The quiet of the room was in stark contrast to the ballroom across the hall and I felt that I wanted quiet, so I went in. I could not hear what they were listening to and began to make my way towards the front of the room, walking slowly and looking at the faces of those seated around me as I went. When I reached the end of the room, there was a small stage, no more than six inches or so off of the ground, and on it stood a man of about my age. He was singing a simple melody without accompaniment, his hands gesturing gently as if wafting the words out toward his audience. All at once I recognized the song and stood there at the side of the stage as he sang. As I listened I barely comprehended the words, but the melody seemed to run through me, over and around me like a great stream and I sat down at the edge of the stage and listened and felt the waters of that song and cried the tears I could not cry before. Like my brother soldier I cried for the pain of the abandoned soul, for those who feel they have no hope, for the good man overwhelmed and beaten and the wayward man who wants to come home but feels it is too late. And as I cried I was cleansed of the horror and made strong again.
The scene then shifted again and I found myself on a hilltop overlooking the building which I had just been in. I understood that this was sometime in the future. I recognized the hill as one which had bordered a battle site of so many years ago, but which now had been developed and built over. I walked down to the building and inside found the same hallway, with the same arrangement of doors, but it had been turned into a grouping of stores and shops. The ballroom and the room in which I had sat at the edge of the stage and wept were both gone. The latter was empty, the former was now a shop selling weapons and war momentos. I was saddened that those days of horror had become nostalgia and weapons which I had seen tear a man in two now sold with the casualness of a shovel or a wrench. They liked the idea of battle because they had never experienced it. They considered victory a glorious thing, easily won, a birthright they deserved and the cost of which they did not understand . Even the sincere ones who honestly tried did not, could not understand the cost.
And then I realized that there is something in the heart of man which is wild and untamable, something which seeks its own way and understands nothing but itself. How can we learn when we cannot begin to listen? How can we bring peace when there is no peace in ourselves? I was saddened by this cheap merchandising , this discounting of that which had cost everything. in another time. I was left without hope until I remembered that evening in the woods, the fear , the uncertainty and finally the mutual surrender and I allowed myself a smile. Perhaps there was hope after all. I woke to the caress of the window curtain swelling into the room and against my face on the soft tidal lapping of the morning breeze. Insects hummed a melodic drone against the sounds of finches and red robins and the smell of honeysuckle and purple wisteria moved with the ebb and flow of the breeze. For the moment, everything seemed filled with purpose.
