Diary – 140804

Sackcloth and Ashes
©2014 Lynn Lamoreux, Photos by Lynn

140802-canyon-asc_0672RLSsOh my, it is difficult to know just who I am now, so many changes; when I look in the mirror I don’t recognize my essence anymore. I think it got lost somewhere around the year 2000 when I retired, and before we Americans started asking God to bless our bombs (ref. Fr. John Dear, “The Narrow Path”; “James Nachtway WarPhotographer”) and before we took on the Biosystem as one of our many enemies.
I remember once when visiting a foreign land how proud I was (this was long ago) that I could go anywhere on my American passport and be welcome and safe. Now there are very few places left for me to live safely. Well, you remember that’s what I predicted on this blog when we reacted like a passel of cowards to a few petty crooks who managed 911. It was obvious. What comes around goes around. We could have stopped the cycle. Now it reaches even to our lying mirrors, though it’s usually pretty peaceful up here in the boonies.

Last Tuesday morning Bitsy and I awoke early as usual in the crisp breathable mountain air, grabbed the can of bear spray, and headed for our morning walk, this day opting for the meadow. Down by the waterless creek, we found a bedding spot where some large animal had spent the night. This immediately activated Bitsy, me trying to keep up, puffing up the hill to the elk trail, where we found fresh scat – extremely fresh — and she took off. I wandered more slowly back toward our trailer when, of a sudden, the most awful uproarious sounds split the morning air – elk in rut sounds plus I didn’t know what. Dog? Two elk duking it out? Just one elk proclaiming his dominance?.

140802-SackclothAshes-asc_0643RLSsOK with me, he can have his dominance, and I guess Bitsy felt the same as she came timidly back and we jumped in our truck and zipped down to Santa Fe. In two hours we were enveloped in smog, cars, honking horns and nice people. Odd, that. Nice people, but the communal dream they inhabit is not at all nice, and it’s just — not real. Or is it? Was I once part of that dream? Am I me here, back in the trees? Or am I me there, sick with smog? Is there a me anymore?

140802-SackclothAshes-asc_0652RSLsThree nights in a motel with the back door wide open (to a balcony) and the fan on full, trying to eliminate the toxic fumes they now use in motel rooms to make you believe there are no toxic fumes in the motel room. My guess is they have finally discovered a chemical that kills your sense of smell – it also kills quite a few other parts of my body. I tend to wake up in the middle of the night, nauseous, and so I tried sleeping on the floor with my head out the back door; it wasn’t much help. Give me a mad elk any day, but the car must be fixed. Leaky gas tank. And the local guy upstate – well, his fix lasted less than a year. Talk about toxic fumes.

140802-SackclothAshes-asc_0656RLSsWe got it fixed, but gas fumes and toxic chemicals are not the only problems we citizens of the dominant nation must deal with if we take our responsibilities seriously, and this trip was timed so we could also attend Pax Christi Sackcloth and Ashes, with Fr. John Dear that commemorates the USA dropping atom bombs on Japan. (http://paceebene.org/event/sackcloth-and-ashes-peace-vigil-hiroshima-commemoration/)

A big conference and non-violent demonstration are planned for September 2015, but just for now, we made what peace we could, and you can read the recent announcement of Nobel Peace Prize Winner Desmond Tutu, with David Kreiger, on Truthout http://truth-out.org/opinion/item/23803-we-must-end-the-madness-of-nuclear-weapons

James Nachtwey, warphotographer, a Film by Christian Frei Filmproductions & SwissTV
The Narrow Path, a film by Gerard Thomas Straub, http://www.sandamianfoundation.org