Never forget; and the seething anger that lingers, lingers on...

Whilst waiting, I browsed the shelves at the local Barnes and Nobles bookstore, and chanced upon the passenger manifest of Flight 93, Newark to San Francisco, on the fateful day of September 11, 2001. One name leapt out at me. A name I haven't read for many years. Deora Bodley, a double major in French and psychology, was in one of my poetry classes. She often sat to my right, either immediately adjacent to me, or one seat away, in the tiny Canterbury Library on the third floor of St. Joseph's Hall. Through the course of that Spring quarter, our total number of conversations did not exceed a dozen exchanges, but I remember her as a bright, and energetic individual, full of the promise of life--tempered by an unusual tenderness towards others, which underlies her compassionate nature. All this was dashed at the hands of a few misguided, fanatical hijackers on the morning of 9/11.



A red, blood-dimmed fog enveloped my eyes as memories of the shock and outrage rushed to the surface. I cannot describe the anger I felt then--and feel now--at how a young life of promise had been robbed away. As a very close and dear friend put it, 20-year-old Deora would never know what is like to celebrate her 21st birthday, graduate, to navigate life's infinite paths, marriage, the joys and pangs of motherhood, and the sublime security that comes from growing old.

My reaction was--and is still--anger. Enough anger to wish a second Hiroshima and Nagasaki--a veritable apocalypse of righteous malediction--not only upon those who supported the actions of this handful of terrorists, but upon those who celebrated and danced in the streets, to the screams of innocents burning in America.

Such reaction is illogical, and clearly contrary to what the kin of Deora wish for, I know, but I can't help it. God help me to learn to forgive and turn the other cheek, I suppose, but meanwhile, I do find a measure of satisfaction--if cold comfort--in the Bush administration's message to the Islamic world: "Keep your house in order, or we will come in and do it for you." As I stated in my earlier posts, Wahabism is a blight and a plague upon the religion of Islam. It is time for a reformation of their own, and the casting out of heretics who have brought so much notoriety upon the name of their religion. You cannot call your religion, "a religion of peace," when no other religion has flown 4 plane-loads of innocent civilians to their deaths, the two towers full of civilians notwithstanding.

Palestine. What about Palestine? The Palestinian situation cannot--should not--be used as a crutch to justify the commission of such atrocities. Do you hear or read about Tibetan monks hijacking and flying planes into Tienanmen Square, or Beijing? Or Tibetan monks strapping bombs to themselves and blowing up schoolbuses packed with young Chinese children? The answer to both is a firm, "No."

What does it mean to forgive?

I must admit with all honesty that I can't.
Not yet, and not for a very long time.

Right now, I can't even forget.

And I don't intend to.

Never forget.