I Try To Sleep

 262.

I try to sleep.

Fatigued to the marrow, mission temporarily paused as a result of our united efforts to abort the second blast and incarcerate the domestic terrorists behind it, we re-group at the office and face the inevitable reality of our closing protocols. They require a recapitulation of the events of the last 36 hours. Mine lasted almost ninety minutes and then it was a hot shower and my bed.

My body hurt, my soul ached and my heart labored. I decided to watch the local media's reporting of the days events in a last ditch attempt to find rapid-eye-movement, no matter its depth. At low volume I watched the horrific carnage, shocked at the violent and selfish society we have never escaped. I listen as authorities soft-peddle their way around the active direct pronouns of I, you and us, pointedly choosing their passive third-person relatives of he, she and them, a spectacle reeking of political in-correctness, weasel-worded by writers more interested in walking back the carnage by pointing fingers anywhere but at the hand that feeds them. Responsibility is a first-person active voice action word. It screams, "I will, you will and we will, the si se puede of the Spanish and a tutta forza of the Italian: Yes, we will and at full speed. I am appalled by what I am watching on the news, having spent the last thirty plus hours - as postscript to the last thirty years - fighting for the defense of our great experiment in democracy and freedom.

From the Nation's Capitol I watch in horror as our last lines of defense are breeched by the manipulated constituents of a broken political system. Violent, misinformed and acting on the direct orders of their criminal demagogue spokesperson, a mob of angry, racist, illiterate, second-amendment loving, white supremacists toting Confederate regalia, cherry picking Bible verses and chanting hateful slogans presented to them, stand in mocking triumph in The Peoples House. Whatever hopes I once held for the salvation of our country is as far from my grasp at this moment as is a few precious hours of sleep.

Senator Jefferson Hartaugh comes on the screen to deliver another speech condemning the army that was partially created by his policies and systemic hatred. He says this activity and desecration of government property, especially in one that houses the memories of so many patriotic heroes of battles past, is sacred ground, making no mention that had the mob been black or brown, Muslim or gay, far left peaceful protesters or activists bent of preserving the eco-systems of global sustainability that they would have been cut down like fragile trees in a protected forest. His drawl drips like molasses, coating the racism in the decloration that white makes right.

He has inadvertently rallied my waining spirit. This is not right. It is an inside job. Had to be. The system, the chain of command, is more broken than bent. His words, and the violent actions they inspire, rejuvenate the importance of our mission and my part in it. If I was fully committed to our mission statement of defending the truth, justice and our fragile democracy from all enemies, foreign and domestic yesterday, today the Senators broadcasted hypocrisy at this critical point in our history, re-ignites my passionate patriotic fire.  I hear myself rally, "You are going down like the setting sun Senator."

And I try to sleep.