Some ramblings of mine...springing off of the reading we were doing on the Code of Hammurabi.
Rules; they are like a disease. Nobody really likes them, but without them we are nothing. Every successful civilization has had rules. Every successful home has a set of rules. They protect us, but if abused, they limit us. Laws are like women. You can’t stand to live with them, but without them life is just horrible. It is a wonder that rules are so easily abused and misused in today’s society. Sometimes, our authority figures can be just as corrupt and lawless as the crooks they claim to be protecting us from. Favoritism seems to run rampant. Humanity as a whole appears to be quite self-serving. It does what it wants when it wants in order to get or achieve whatever serves it best; even at another’s expense. The rich have decided that money is law. The poor have decided that law is whatever favors the rich. Law is protection, but protection for whom? Who created this system? We should find them and hang them. On the other hand, we should find the one who perverted it. Where are the upright, and who can find justice? Our agenda is our agenda, no matter the cost. Why do we have millions upon millions of laws? We have laws that explain laws. We have laws that contradict laws. We have laws that contradict our most basic rights. But we the people, the supposed protectors of justice and freedom, haven’t the slightest idea; or the slightest care as to what the government does to our rights. It would seem that revolution never comes until it is too late. Bloodshed, hurt, and pain always accompany it. Why must we wait this long to realize that we have had the proverbial wool pulled over our eyes? The government was created to protect our rights, not to dictate them to us. If the government says jump, should we jump? If they say dig a hole should we reply with how deep? I saw no. We are (or were) a government for the people, by the people. Why has this changed? What will it take to awaken us to reality? Will it take another holocaust? Or perhaps it will take another socialized government takeover of our lives? We stand by passively watching our government burn down a nation. Our economics are flushed down the toilet time and time again because we try to fix our economy using tactics that have been proven to bring destruction and economic downfall. Will we ignore history? It seems as if we will. We have no concern as to what has been shown to build or destroy empires. We only care about our selfish desires, regardless of underlying consequences. We are a nation that is slowly burning itself to the ground. Like Nero who set fire to Rome, we will look back and blame another in our retrospect. Our mistakes are not our mistakes. Why should they be when we are as self loathing and self serving a society as we are? This is the darkness of the situation. We have no respect, no regard, and no recognition for our own humanity. We do not care about civilization, because if it goes down we will always have a scapegoat. This problem, this disregard for history and its effects on our futures, will be our downfall. Time is not linear as we think it is. It is circular. There is nothing new under the sun. No idea, no circumstance, no phenomenon exists that hasn’t existed in a time past. When will we learn this? When will society realize that our future, and the futures of our offspring rests solely on our ability to learn from our pasts, and to take positive action upon our learning. We must become a people of action. We must become a people who yearn for a better tomorrow, and are willing to act upon that yearning. We must learn to accept the council and example of a time past, so that we can create a more excellent future.
January 5, 2010
Becoming a Man of Action
Here's a narrative essay that I wrote for ENC 1101 and then used to win a college essay contest. It is titled "Becoming a Man of Action"
Like most other mornings I woke to the sound of the bugle that day. As I looked out of my tent and into the first light of dawn I thought to myself that this would be just another dull day in the life of Henry Madison. The sunrise was spectacular, with shades of pink mixed with a light orange, but I did not really care for its beauty that morning. I had grown sick of my assignment, for it seemed a waste of time to me. I would much rather be at home with my beautiful wife and children than out in the middle of no-man’s land reporting on a cause that I could care less about. Little did I know that the events to follow would change my views on not only the war, but on life in general. In the past I had always tried to maintain a more neutral position in our civil war, but as a reporter that could be difficult at times. I worked for a large newspaper in Savannah, and I was held in high regard by my editor. I typically reported on politics and local events, and I was far from thrilled when my editor demanded that I replace his old field reporter in traveling with an infantry company out of Georgia. Apparently, that reporter had been hit by a stray minié ball, and then died two days later. That being said, I had been traveling with Georgia 28th Company K for about a month. We hadn’t seen any action and supplies were running low. I never ceased to be amazed by the men’s solemn dedication to a cause that seemed foolhardy and futile at most. What drove those men to fight for such a lost cause? Why couldn’t they just surrender and try to come to some compromise? Their stubbornness seemed to be without warrant. I had begun to think that this nation strove on bloodshed and war. That day would mark a new period in my life; one of enlightenment and action in place of passivity and apathy.
The chilling bite of a February frost nipped at my ears that morning, and I wondered how the men could withstand such weather when so ill-dressed. Most of the Confederate soldiers did not have money for more than one uniform, and the clothing they had was tattered and torn from the many hardships they had endured for the past three years. Most did not even have a pair of shoes to protect their feet. It was not uncommon for a Confederate soldier to take a jacket or some shoes off of a dead federal soldier. Some of the men had wives or sweethearts back home who would send them wool socks they had knitted, but most of the time the mail didn’t arrive at all; and if it did, it was never on time.
That morning as I sat eating my meager breakfast of burnt coffee, hardtack and salted pork, I took in the sights around me. Despite our situation the men seemed to be in a decent mood. Three or four sat around a makeshift log table talking and playing poker while the first sergeant sat smoking his pipe and listening to a private play the guitar. This company was one of the larger ones at the time with a total of 256 men, but this number was dwarfed by the total number of men stationed there. While the legal draft age was 18, I could tell that many of the “men” were merely boys; some no older than 15. I had just finished my breakfast when a man on a horse came through camp asking for the captain. As he rode passed me I realized that he was a general, and wondered what might be going on. A few minutes later the captain came out of his tent and ordered the men to fall in. Then he addressed them with these words:
“Men, today we engage the enemy! This is a day many of you have been waiting for; a day to prove your honor and fight for freedom from our oppressors! Many of you will die today, so may God be with you. Remember, you will have made the ultimate sacrifice for your people, so die with honor! General Jackson will be leading us into battle today. Let’s show him what some boys from Georgia can do!”
A sense of worried excitement ran through my veins as I sat and watched groups of anxious men rushing about hurriedly gathering what little supplies they had at their disposal. My stomach churned at the thought of those men going into battle with so few supplies. The Federal armies were supplied quite well in comparison to the Confederates, and I knew that without more supplies the Confederate army didn’t have a chance. The only bit of hope I had to hang on to was the Captain’s promise that a fresh supply train would come sometime today. As I watched the men prepare in eager anticipation for the upcoming battle I began to question their motives and morals, and I decided to say so. I stated to a small group of men surrounding me:
“You are like blood thirsty animals! Why can’t you just embrace the future without any argument? This war you are fighting is because of nothing more than your selfishness! Why do you insist on rebelling against the government?”
After I spoke the oldest of the men turned around and said to me with anguish in his eyes and sorrow in his voice:
“One day when all you hold dear and everything you live for has been taken away from you unjustly, let us see you stand by in the same silent passivity you expect from us.”
The man’s words struck deep within me. Perhaps it was I whose morals were skewed. Maybe I took my lifestyle for granted; always assumed that it would be there. My ponderings were stopped short by the noble call of the bugle ordering the men to their places. It was an amazing thing to see thousands upon thousands of soldiers marching out to meet the enemy; moving as one man and one heart.
When the men reached the battlefield the enemy was already there waiting for them. Within seconds of our arrival the battle started, and the deafening roar of cannon fire flooded my ears as both sides’ artillery barraged the other side of the battlefield. Almost instantly the choking smell of burnt black powder encompassed the area, and the sky thickened in smoke. Although against terrible odds our men marched forward with steel-eyed determination. As men from both sides fired volley after volley of deadly minié balls at the enemy the anguished cries of wounded soldiers rose up to join the sickening symphony that had formed. I watched as whole lines of men fell under the relentless fire. Strangely enough the officers’ commands could still be heard over the gunfire. We were greatly outnumbered, and at times it looked as if we would not prevail, but because of their determination to see another day of freedom our men strove on, making great progress. Alas, when the battle was nearly won ammunition began to run dry, and before long the men had to back down. But even in the face of such a catastrophe the men remained strong. It was seeing their determination that caused me to realize that in order to see the full meaning in life I would have to set aside my apathy and take hold of something I could die for.
I made my way to the rear where the generals were discussing who to send in search of the supply train. Our only hope was that it was within a mile of our position, and the generals were at a loss as to whom they should send to look for it. The cavalry was engaged in a small fight at the time, and none of the field officers could be spared. I, realizing that my assistance could influence the outcome of the battle greatly, volunteered to search out the supply train in spite of the grave danger I could be in. The undying commitment of those men had convinced me that the life of the Confederacy was indeed a cause worth fighting for. It was there that I concluded that full freedom was a great necessity, no matter what the cost.
They agreed to let me go, so I saddled up my horse and set out. My heart was in my throat as I rode off down the road towards were the supply train should have been. I rode like never before, but the trip seemed to take ages. One mile down the road I found the supply train. It was a train of three wagons linked together with a four horse team pulling it. As I came closer I saw that the driver had been shot. I calmed the horses and quickly tied my horse to the side of the wagon, climbed into the driver’s seat, and made my way back to the battle lines. As I approached the field and the men realized that help had finally come, an excitement rushed through the ranks. It was as if a new life had been passed into their veins. As the ammunition was passed through the ranks the men let out a mighty rebel yell and retook the battlefield. Through great determination those men of action pulled through and won a great victory for the Confederacy. It is with great honor that I say that the men of the Confederacy taught me a valuable lesson. We must always stand for what we believe is right, no matter what the odds are, and in spite of what others might think.
Like most other mornings I woke to the sound of the bugle that day. As I looked out of my tent and into the first light of dawn I thought to myself that this would be just another dull day in the life of Henry Madison. The sunrise was spectacular, with shades of pink mixed with a light orange, but I did not really care for its beauty that morning. I had grown sick of my assignment, for it seemed a waste of time to me. I would much rather be at home with my beautiful wife and children than out in the middle of no-man’s land reporting on a cause that I could care less about. Little did I know that the events to follow would change my views on not only the war, but on life in general. In the past I had always tried to maintain a more neutral position in our civil war, but as a reporter that could be difficult at times. I worked for a large newspaper in Savannah, and I was held in high regard by my editor. I typically reported on politics and local events, and I was far from thrilled when my editor demanded that I replace his old field reporter in traveling with an infantry company out of Georgia. Apparently, that reporter had been hit by a stray minié ball, and then died two days later. That being said, I had been traveling with Georgia 28th Company K for about a month. We hadn’t seen any action and supplies were running low. I never ceased to be amazed by the men’s solemn dedication to a cause that seemed foolhardy and futile at most. What drove those men to fight for such a lost cause? Why couldn’t they just surrender and try to come to some compromise? Their stubbornness seemed to be without warrant. I had begun to think that this nation strove on bloodshed and war. That day would mark a new period in my life; one of enlightenment and action in place of passivity and apathy.
The chilling bite of a February frost nipped at my ears that morning, and I wondered how the men could withstand such weather when so ill-dressed. Most of the Confederate soldiers did not have money for more than one uniform, and the clothing they had was tattered and torn from the many hardships they had endured for the past three years. Most did not even have a pair of shoes to protect their feet. It was not uncommon for a Confederate soldier to take a jacket or some shoes off of a dead federal soldier. Some of the men had wives or sweethearts back home who would send them wool socks they had knitted, but most of the time the mail didn’t arrive at all; and if it did, it was never on time.
That morning as I sat eating my meager breakfast of burnt coffee, hardtack and salted pork, I took in the sights around me. Despite our situation the men seemed to be in a decent mood. Three or four sat around a makeshift log table talking and playing poker while the first sergeant sat smoking his pipe and listening to a private play the guitar. This company was one of the larger ones at the time with a total of 256 men, but this number was dwarfed by the total number of men stationed there. While the legal draft age was 18, I could tell that many of the “men” were merely boys; some no older than 15. I had just finished my breakfast when a man on a horse came through camp asking for the captain. As he rode passed me I realized that he was a general, and wondered what might be going on. A few minutes later the captain came out of his tent and ordered the men to fall in. Then he addressed them with these words:
“Men, today we engage the enemy! This is a day many of you have been waiting for; a day to prove your honor and fight for freedom from our oppressors! Many of you will die today, so may God be with you. Remember, you will have made the ultimate sacrifice for your people, so die with honor! General Jackson will be leading us into battle today. Let’s show him what some boys from Georgia can do!”
A sense of worried excitement ran through my veins as I sat and watched groups of anxious men rushing about hurriedly gathering what little supplies they had at their disposal. My stomach churned at the thought of those men going into battle with so few supplies. The Federal armies were supplied quite well in comparison to the Confederates, and I knew that without more supplies the Confederate army didn’t have a chance. The only bit of hope I had to hang on to was the Captain’s promise that a fresh supply train would come sometime today. As I watched the men prepare in eager anticipation for the upcoming battle I began to question their motives and morals, and I decided to say so. I stated to a small group of men surrounding me:
“You are like blood thirsty animals! Why can’t you just embrace the future without any argument? This war you are fighting is because of nothing more than your selfishness! Why do you insist on rebelling against the government?”
After I spoke the oldest of the men turned around and said to me with anguish in his eyes and sorrow in his voice:
“One day when all you hold dear and everything you live for has been taken away from you unjustly, let us see you stand by in the same silent passivity you expect from us.”
The man’s words struck deep within me. Perhaps it was I whose morals were skewed. Maybe I took my lifestyle for granted; always assumed that it would be there. My ponderings were stopped short by the noble call of the bugle ordering the men to their places. It was an amazing thing to see thousands upon thousands of soldiers marching out to meet the enemy; moving as one man and one heart.
When the men reached the battlefield the enemy was already there waiting for them. Within seconds of our arrival the battle started, and the deafening roar of cannon fire flooded my ears as both sides’ artillery barraged the other side of the battlefield. Almost instantly the choking smell of burnt black powder encompassed the area, and the sky thickened in smoke. Although against terrible odds our men marched forward with steel-eyed determination. As men from both sides fired volley after volley of deadly minié balls at the enemy the anguished cries of wounded soldiers rose up to join the sickening symphony that had formed. I watched as whole lines of men fell under the relentless fire. Strangely enough the officers’ commands could still be heard over the gunfire. We were greatly outnumbered, and at times it looked as if we would not prevail, but because of their determination to see another day of freedom our men strove on, making great progress. Alas, when the battle was nearly won ammunition began to run dry, and before long the men had to back down. But even in the face of such a catastrophe the men remained strong. It was seeing their determination that caused me to realize that in order to see the full meaning in life I would have to set aside my apathy and take hold of something I could die for.
I made my way to the rear where the generals were discussing who to send in search of the supply train. Our only hope was that it was within a mile of our position, and the generals were at a loss as to whom they should send to look for it. The cavalry was engaged in a small fight at the time, and none of the field officers could be spared. I, realizing that my assistance could influence the outcome of the battle greatly, volunteered to search out the supply train in spite of the grave danger I could be in. The undying commitment of those men had convinced me that the life of the Confederacy was indeed a cause worth fighting for. It was there that I concluded that full freedom was a great necessity, no matter what the cost.
They agreed to let me go, so I saddled up my horse and set out. My heart was in my throat as I rode off down the road towards were the supply train should have been. I rode like never before, but the trip seemed to take ages. One mile down the road I found the supply train. It was a train of three wagons linked together with a four horse team pulling it. As I came closer I saw that the driver had been shot. I calmed the horses and quickly tied my horse to the side of the wagon, climbed into the driver’s seat, and made my way back to the battle lines. As I approached the field and the men realized that help had finally come, an excitement rushed through the ranks. It was as if a new life had been passed into their veins. As the ammunition was passed through the ranks the men let out a mighty rebel yell and retook the battlefield. Through great determination those men of action pulled through and won a great victory for the Confederacy. It is with great honor that I say that the men of the Confederacy taught me a valuable lesson. We must always stand for what we believe is right, no matter what the odds are, and in spite of what others might think.
The Beauty of the Stained Glass
Its greatness overshadows its heartbreak; its beauty hides its inner being. We stand and stare saying pretty things about it. We comment that we have never seen such beauty. We ask our neighbor why their glass isn’t as intricate and beautiful as this stained window. Why can’t they just be more like this stained glass? If it can achieve this level of perfection then what is stopping them from doing the same? Behind the stained glass, hidden from view, roams an ugly beast. Foam runs from its mouth – its cracked and bleeding claws rip at its cage, its very existence. Its deafening screams permeate the air, yet we do not hear. Its very existence is a mystery to us for we have failed to see through the stained glass. We venture further into this prison of death. The darkness moans in pain as the demons slice through its mind. There is no escape from its evil, no running from its cold, morbid grip. We find our way out of the dungeon and make our way to the door. The screeching of a thousand demons pierces our ears, our minds numb in pain. We leave through the big, hellish door. But from the outside it is a masterpiece. Silence fills our souls as we consider our experience. We look at each other, and we appear transparent. I see right through your crystal clear windows and into the room where your demons reside. You appear imperfect, ugly, and bruised. But you are no mystery. I know your struggles; I feel your pain. I hold you up, I support you, and you thrive. The stained glass, on the other hand, appears perfect. No one touches it for fear of the consequences. It seems so holy, so upright. Every day it keeps up its appearance; every day it falls further into hell. Its outer beauty is its demise. Its pride tells it to be perfect, to be the token of splendor. It has none to lift up its sunken beams. It fights an uphill battle; a single unarmed warrior against a multitude of powerful killers. It is doomed for eternity. It struggles through the years, yet no one knows. They continue to marvel at its beauty; only you and I know its true story. As pride grows old with time the stained glass begins to fade. It is a shade darker now, with devilish undertones. People refuse to recognize the demons so ever lightly imprinted on its panes. Another year passes and it becomes another shade darker. The glass rattles. The stain has taken another color. A screaming face presses to the glass, its eyes bulging and bloody, its chip fingernails scratching franticly, yearning for an escape. The door, so magnificent and grand, now shakes on its hinges. The noise of the tens of thousands of demons filters through its cracks. A heavy fog seeps under the door and through the cracks now present in the walls. Screams for help are blocked by the thickness of the veil of glass. The cries go unanswered. The torturer’s deep, chilling laugh fills the halls as cries of anguish flow through the corridors. Another year and the glass breaks. The walls crumble down, leaving the insides open, vulnerable. Countless rats race around, their stench saturates the air. Morbid darkness is ever present, and from it there is no escape. This is the beauty of the Stained glass.
Freckled Sky
So I was sitting in the car on my way to gainesville, and the sky was painted beautifully. I absolutely love a painted sky, and almost immediately i got the first line to this poem. So i had to force myself to write the rest on my iPod lol. I think it kinda goes downhill from the first line, but w/e. Let me know what ya think...
You're a freckled sky with a sunny disposition,
A beautiful painting made in my mind.
Now a moonlit expanse with a twinkle in your eye,
The brightest star; you light up the night.
In a bubbling brook you break the boundaries;
Joyfully rolling through the course of time.
Purple; a mountains majesty, tall and daring;
You brave the forces, never losing your beauty.
You are in inspiration; in every breath, every step.
Move me now into tomorrow.
Greatness is in our hands.
You're a freckled sky with a sunny disposition,
A beautiful painting made in my mind.
Now a moonlit expanse with a twinkle in your eye,
The brightest star; you light up the night.
In a bubbling brook you break the boundaries;
Joyfully rolling through the course of time.
Purple; a mountains majesty, tall and daring;
You brave the forces, never losing your beauty.
You are in inspiration; in every breath, every step.
Move me now into tomorrow.
Greatness is in our hands.
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