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WAR IS WHERE HELL IS.

Why war?

 


 

No signs of rain on the deck this morning, the sun is peaking out occasionally. Seeing the sun is evidence that I'm still in this cosmos and alive and here in Shorewood looking eastward on this globe. At the last report, three Americans died in Afghanistan, aye Danny, we did love you so.


 

Afghanistan, is it a place, like Wisconsin? Which is its shortest distance from Shorewood, East or West? What are American men and women doing there, a place where members of each tribe, it is reported hate all members of all other tribes?


 

Killing along the mountain sides is an everyday activity. Almost as a duty and a pray to God, by sending Him the souls of their own as well as those of the enemy. Is God there on the mountain side?


 

What is Pakistan? Is it a nation or another group of people integrated with Afghanistan divided by an imagined border between them?


 

What are we doing there? Nation building of course, again drawing lines, like those between North and South Korea, North Vietnam and South Vietnam, so that this nation can do more of what nations do, continue to hate and make wars with other nations. Oh Danny the flowers are falling and we have long here to go.


 

Where is the collective reasoning that human beings have developed?


 

Someone recently raised the question as to the location of hell, an element of Christian religion. In a moment of pause the answer will come. But what are American soldiers doing there, my Danny?


 

We are there to win. To win what? A piece of hell? Is this a game, a Roman sport where people who are engaged must die?


 

I don't believe in dog fights, cock fights and bull fights. Should I believe in tribal fights? To what avail?


 

Human beings hating and killing each other merely to be hating. This doesn't seem to be the basis of the religion that I would establish, if I were in the business of creating religions.


 

Christians, Jews and Muslims, do we profess our belief in God by hating and killing? Let's disgrace those that do.


 

If a group of people where in a warship sinking at sea would those sinking into their watery graves continue to fight? Or would they prefer to be saved and return home? Danny come before the flower begin to die.


 

Generals will fight whenever asked, calculating the killing of their men as well as those of the enemy as mere numbers. I need 40,000 more. What about 80,000 more. For what, to continue with the game? Let's call the Game over.


 

Yet war is not a game. It is where hell is. And where are those who cheer on the war and keep their distance from hell? At home, in Washington, on Wall Street, on yachts in warm waters, in places like Shorewood?


 

The sun is peaking out in the sky over Shorewood this morning, what is coming down from the sky in Afghanistan, Pakistan and Iraq? What will the death toll be today?


 

What is Iran going to put into its skies tomorrow? Will 40,000 more men stop the madness? The design is to continue the killing, just a few more and then a few more and then a few . . . .


 

Soldiers dream of coming back home “in one piece”. Let's bring them back to Minnesota, to Wisconsin, to Illinois and a few to Shorewood, whole and in one piece.


 

Ye come and bring the sunshine back to the meadows, the pipes are calling ye home, shall ye of Washington hush or hear the voices from the glen. Shall ye hear the pipes, the pipes are calling.

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