ENKINDLER

Published by Reggae Festival E-Guide 1/17/07

So… the World Trade Centers fell in New York - 9/11 hit America hard. On that day I was going to my job at the hospital. I arrived at work as usual and walked through the ER as I always do - to get a feel for what kind of energy I’d need to meet the days expectations. I notice a gathering of people near the usually quiet TV in the Intensive Care Unit lobby.

Watching the first tower in a blaze, then seeing the second plane pummel the second tower, then watching the towers go down over and over. People in the room… doctors, nurses, co-workers, patients and some family visitors were all standing in shock and awe.

I remember my first reaction to the news… I laughed. Not in a disrespectful way, just a sobering “that figures, what next” sort a way. I was numb personally because I had just recently ended a marriage of 12 years, was recovering from a back injury and subsequent paralysis.

Not knowing the extent of the New York attack, I called my kids to make sure they had arrived to school on time and intact. I was working at the hospital during the day and operating a tattoo shop in the afternoon. Raising children, I was busy making ends meet. To help curb the back pain, I eventually became aware of my addiction to pain killers.

Within the year following 9/11, I became depressed like the rest of the country. My will had grown weak. I soon found myself with a near terminal case of “the fukits”. Never heard of this? It’s when you say “f**k it” to everything that formerly mattered. It’s what happens when a person gives up and stop caring about life, stops going to work, stop paying bills, stops eating… basically doesn’t care anymore and doesn’t care about not caring anymore.

Fortunately I was offered rehabilitation by my employer and took the opportunity. In the meantime, I lost my home, temporarily my career, my business, custody of my children, and most of my friends. After I finished rehab, I was penniless, so I wandered from Northern California to Seattle selling my possessions, eating at shelters, selling CD’s for gas money, and couch surfing all the way to Los Angeles and Mexico . I wandered from place to place like A Phantom in search of my will.

Parking my car where I could and checking out storefronts until three or four in the morning observing life in a very different way.  Finding comfort and encouragement in strangers, this time gave me an opportunity to see post 9/11 America from the street. During this time, the people in America were living in fear and under a self-imposed curfew. I found the quietness of the street a perfect remedy to quiet my mind and contemplate my next move in life.

During this time, the government imposed fear levels or “terror alerts” that only served to keep people inside earlier and struggling to adhere to the “American Dream” protocol… white picket fence, 2.5 children, SUV, dog, cat and goldfish.

Since that time, I regained the trust of my friends, found a home, became gainfully employed, rediscovered my past love and most importantly, became reconnected with my children. And not just reconnected, I see smiles on their faces every day as I reminded myself the joy of a close family.

I will remain forever changed by my experience of post 9/11 America and thankful for the silence to contemplate our ever changing world. Only the “timed” chirps of big city stop lights for the blind, cut through the silent hum of fear that permeated mainstream America . A perfect backdrop to realize the fragile state, or our perceived security and insecurities unveiled.

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