Through the Darkest of Nights: Testament XXVII

Every few days over the next several months I will be posting installments of a novel about life, death, war and politics in America since 9/11.  Through the Darkest of Nights is a story of hope, reflection, determination, and redemption.  It is a testament to the progressive values we all believe in, have always defended, and always will defend no matter how long this darkness lasts.  But most of all, it is a search for identity and meaning in an empty world.

Naked and alone we came into exile.  In her dark womb, we did not know our mother’s face; from the prison of her flesh have we come into the unspeakable and incommunicable prison of this earth. Which of us has known his brother?  Which of us has looked into his father’s heart?  Which of us has not remained prison-pent?  Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone?      ~Thomas Wolfe

All installments are available for reading here on Docudharma’s Series page, and also here on Docudharma’s Fiction Page, where refuge from politicians, blogging overload, and one BushCo outrage after another can always be found.

    We stood on the National Mall in the pale January sunlight, watching the Inauguration of a war criminal.  We watched him swagger across the Inaugural stand in front of the Capitol, we watched him put his bloody hand on a Bible and lie his way through his Oath of Office, just like he did four years ago.  George Walker Bush has never preserved, protected, and defended the Constitution and he never will, he preserves, protects, and defends George Walker Bush.  That’s all he’s ever done his entire sordid life and that’s all he’ll ever do until he’s a cold corpse in a casket and the world is finally rid of him.    

    I looked at Shannon as he began delivering his Inaugural Address.  “Do we have to watch any more of this?”

    “I’m ready to leave too.  I just thought we should be here, at least for awhile, to bear witness, to see this . . . this atrocity.”  

     We turned our backs on corporate America’s puppet president and walked towards the Museum of American History.  I hope there’ll be an exhibit there someday, documenting Bush’s crimes, his treachery, his madness.  He’s said that history will judge him, that it will confer greatness on him for being a visionary leader who brought freedom and democracy to the Middle East.  History will judge him all right, it will judge him and damn him, it will judge Republicans and damn them, it will judge every craven hack in the corporate media and damn their lies, history will damn them all for what they’ve done.  

    Bush’s obnoxious voice seemed to follow us as we walked away from the crowd.  Amplified by loudspeakers on both sides of the Mall, it seemed to stalk us as we walked under the lifeless trees of winter, it echoed through the frigid air of this lifeless capital of a lifeless democracy until we walked through the doors of the Museum of American History.

    “Do you remember that night in New York, Jericho, that first night we met?”

    “I’ll never forget it.  You told me years of terrible danger lie ahead . . . you said the deceit and corruption in Washington would escalate, you said depravity would reap profit and integrity would reap despair.”  I looked at Shannon and saw the despair in her eyes.  “You told me there’s no way to escape the consequences . . .”

    “There isn’t.  The seeds have been sown, what is sown must be reaped.  It will be a long, bitter harvest, Jericho.  The reaping will go on for years, America has only begun to reap what it’s sown since 1980.”

    “And we’re to bear witness to this.”

    “Yes, no matter how painful it is.  And we’ll call upon others to bear witness.  Now, more than ever, we must speak the truth, if we don’t, the reaping will never end.”

    “Will it ever end?”

    “It will, if this reaping of consequences generates any wisdom.  We have to bear witness, in the hope that bearing this burden of suffering, heartbreak and shame will teach the people of this fallen nation what they need to learn.”

    “We’ll be Watchers . . .”

    “We must be much more than that.  That name has always been self-deprecatory, Jericho, it serves to remind us that enlightenment and awareness are useless if they are not shared.  Being a Watcher is a high calling, but there are higher callings.  Much higher callings.”

    “What is a Watcher?  I’ve never understood . . . ”

    “Watchers see the True World and condemn the False World.  Socrates was a Watcher, he spoke the language of the True World and saw the False World for what it is–a destroyer of the humanity within us, a dominion of deceit, a poisoner of souls.   He told the truth about the False World, so he was slandered as a corrupter of morality, he was put on trial and condemned to death.   Buddha was a Watcher, Confucius was a Watcher, Jesus of Nazareth was a Watcher, they sought enlightenment and walked in harmony with the True World, they spoke the Language of Light. They became Seekers, Seekers of Light, Seekers of Truth, Seekers of Peace.”  

    “So it’s not some kind of secret society . . . it’s spiritual maturity . . . it’s enlightenment . . .”

    “Yes.”

   We looked at the brass inkwell Abraham Lincoln used as he wrote the Emancipation Proclamation.  “Lincoln was a Watcher, Jericho, he saw the False World for what it is and became a Seeker.  It’s a hard road to travel, much harder for some than for others.  Lincoln struggled against the deepest and blackest of depressions every step of the way, his grief for Ann Rutledge never subsided, his grief that human beings enslaved other human beings was a burden he carried with him through every day and across every mile he traveled.”

    We walked through the exhibit dedicated to the American Presidency, and paused at a glass case displaying one of the muffled drums played during President Kennedy’s funeral procession.  Shannon took my hand.  “Being a Seeker is a hard road to travel, Jericho . . . all too often, it’s a deadly road.  Not many leaders have the courage to walk that road.”  

    “President Kennedy did . . .”

    “Yes he did.  He spoke the language of the True World, he walked through his Presidency speaking the Language of Light, so he was shot to death, he was silenced.  The seeds of war have been sown ever since, the deceit that perpetuates the False World has never been more pervasive, more destructive, more of a threat to humanity’s survival.”

    “It seems hopeless sometimes . . .”

    “We need more Watchers, Jericho, we need more Seekers.  There’ll be more, they’ll be seen, they’ll be heard.  The civil servants whose words of truth fill my mother’s journals are Seekers, they’ll be heard, artists are Seekers, they’ll be heard, poets are Seekers, they’ll be heard, the writers of truth and the singers of songs are Seekers, they’ll be heard.  Americans joining together on progressive blogs are Seekers, they’ll be heard.  All of these enlightened souls share the common longing to touch the True World, they long to see it more clearly, they long for others to see it, they know they must proclaim its truths so all will see it.”

    We walked outside.  The spectacle on the Inaugural stand was over, the loudspeakers of the False World were silent.  We took the Metro to Arlington National Cemetery and stood at Bobby Kennedy’s grave in the fading afternoon light.  He sought the Presidency, as his brother did, he sought to lead America into the Light, as his brother did, he was a Seeker, as his brother was.

    With tears in her eyes, Shannon looked down at the lonely white cross.  “We have to carry on, Jericho.  If we don’t, the killing will never stop, the dying will never end, the muffled drums of this funeral procession the whole world is trudging in will never stop beating until all of humanity is dead and silent.”

    “We’ll carry on . . . but right now, I don’t want to think about four more years of Bush.”

    “We made it through the first four years, we can make it through the next four.”

    “Reaping what must be reaped . . .”

    “Yes.  And sowing what must be sown, seeds of activism, seeds of justice, seeds of democracy, we’ll sow them everywhere, especially on progressive websites, where everyone is a Seeker, where everyone seeks enlightenment and peace and justice, where everyone believes what Bobby believed . . .