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Memorial Day - Ten Years Ago

31 May 2021

I’m not one to look back often, except to celebrate, or to commemorate, or to pick up the pieces of whatever it is I believe I’ve left behind. I try to not affix a stopwatch, or a timepiece, to my life. That attitude may be innate for me; but it is also due to my having experienced too many unhappy individuals who live with a rear-view mirror in the front of their minds. Those peeved persons always compare and contrast how great/awful things were back then, and how the present either does not stack up or is so much better! I instead endeavour to live in the moment, granting to that precious fleeting instant as much of the present as it deserves.

The problem with comparing today to yesterday, especially to the faraway yesterday, is that it’s all too easy to project sterling or, conversely, tarnished, qualities onto that Remembered Time that did not, in reality, exist. The human memory can be fallible. The human memory is equally a precise guardian of posterity. Accurate souvenirs can serve as hommage. Twisted recollections can only distort whatever the mystery of memory tries to unravel. A day of remembrance, indeed, comprises more than 24 hours, and it demands more than finite time.


Whenever I look back at the year 2011, I think of personal events and places, passages that I undertook, or chose to forego. Most of all, I envision that year as part of the continuum of time, flowing to today. I did not get to do all of what I’d wanted to — back then. I shall do those things now, or soon — if I so choose. The concept of choice is much more profound, enigmatic and compelling than the acquisitive peddlers of the politics of “choice” are capable of contemplating. The schemer of “choice” is really saying: Do it my way, or you will pay dire consequences. Genuine choice by any individual is a glorious and sometimes daring act of affirmation that corresponds to doing God’s will.


The pusher of “free will” flies in the face of that free will, of freedom, of any will, except his own. His own will is cynically disguised as the will of the People, maybe even the will of God. In time, the fraud is exposed. Time is rarely on the side of a cheater trying to run out the clock. There is no statute of limitations on the truth. Truth cannot be packaged as a commodity; neither can time. The modern world of commerce, let’s say, the world of the past 100 years, has placed a mighty premium on buying and selling time as if it is a product, or a possession. Time is not a product nor is it a possession. It is a gift to all of us on this lovely planet. The structure of seconds, minutes, hours, years, decades, centuries is a manmade construct, and an adult one at that. Ask a child to play outside, and the world for this non-adult opens wide to the unlimited freedom to explore and create within that cherished space outside of the house. Only an adult, or a child who is unable to feel the liberty of being a child, will place boundaries on that temporal length of activity. The child at play experiences that place and time as boundless and eternal. For that very reason, I do not place a clock anywhere near me whenever I engage in creativity. I purposefully, beforehand, permit myself unbounded time to accomplish my goal.


That goal might require an hour, or a year, a decade, or perhaps a lifetime. The hemming in of adults by clocks and watches was given a brief respite this past year; and it seemed to me that too many adults failed to grasp the opportunities being foisted upon them by the stupid people who had been hoisted up the greasy political pole to hand down orders to we plebeians from their greedy globalist masters. The carping and counting and chronicling of hypocrisies overtook the internet at warp speed. Yes, we all needed to discover, to know, to find out the duplicitous and sanctimonious weirdness that has always been there amidst the Ruling Class, the dolts without a ruler by which to measure anything, or a constitutional sceptre, or even a workable IQ upon which to plop their tawdry crowns. During the past year, I fought daily to stay focused on my goals, none of which included ticking off the number of times I got ticked off by the swollen-headed harpies and gigolos of Gub-mint.


Ten years ago, I did not entirely know that the forces that provoked the Great Recession would still be plotting to undermine my nation, my freedoms, my future. Now I know that my essay, The Summer of 2008, could be reposted today and not sound very outdated. I’ve moved on, as best I could from that summer, as have my loved ones. The political parasites of this nation have not advanced one step into the future, except to pile up a larger slime trail in their endless grifter quest to seize and pilfer their ill-gotten goods. This Memorial Day is a day for American patriots to remember, to commemorate, to thank, and to praise those heroes who gave all to a nation that deserves so much more and better than it’s gotten in terms of governance — for a very long time. We must ensure that those heroes shall not have died in vain through our unyielding belief in the virtues for which they died. We, the living, must be the heroes that we have sought for far too long.


If we are up to that task of courage, honor, duty, and faith in our forebears, then we shall be capable of honoring those fallen not merely on the holiday called “Memorial Day”, but on all of the other days when they equally deserve tribute. Those days shall compile the years upon which we shall all too soon look back, to assess, to mourn, to hallow, to glorify, and to ponder. These years are unprecedented, in the way that the previous year, of ten years ago, was so haughtily touted and trumpeted as unprecedented. That year was, in actuality, one more of “more of the same”. More of the same is no longer viable in America. Push has come to shove, and the shoving is slow and inexorable, because it has started from the ground up, from the grassroots up. The journey to reclaim a country from traitors and stooges, pawns and parasites is a long one. It’s been ongoing since before ten years ago, when too many Americans were watching superfluous satellite shows, spectacles intended to distract those masses from the fleecing of their future.


Europe and many other civilized regions of the world are in pretty much the same boat, or globe. This commonality makes for a very small world, not in a petty sense, but in a phenomenal, perhaps miraculous sense, one that unites each human soul with another, beyond the limits of time or place. Such a silent and inexplicable bond is forged through honoring the heroes who died for our freedoms. That alliance is neither negotiable or marketable, and thus it makes of each day, a day to remember. The Memorial Day of America was originally known as Remembrance Day, and as Decoration Day, before the Great War became World War I as a result of World War II. This day is the solemn remembrance for the fallen heroes of battlefields, les héros tombés sur le champs de bataille. Those national annual hours of gratitude came into being because of the human beings who had been enslaved in a nation torn asunder by a civil war that ultimately freed those slaves.


Those former Africans had become American enough to honor the Union soldiers who died during the Civil War. On this Memorial Day, we, the patriots, solemnly grant our prayers and tributes to the guarantors of our liberties, even our lives. Those military heroes are no longer with us physically, but the countless memories of those warriors, yea, their spirits, remind us of our sacred duties as Americans. United, we bear witness to their valor today, tomorrow, and for all the days to come in this battle to reclaim America.


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