Nearly five million Americans served in World War I and 117,000 of those perished during the war. Their death waited in the cold, the mud, the water and the air – death from disease as much as steel. My great uncle survived the fighting, but was killed by a simple infection on his way back from Europe – such was the state of medicine. So long ago that books and black and white photographs are all that is left: ninety years; four generations.
Yet Ernest Pusey, age 111, passed away only a few weeks ago. He was one of the last living U.S. veterans of World War I. Only twenty-three of five million remain – young men grown ancient.
Life took ninety years to pare five million to twenty-three. Every one ate and slept and hoped and feared. Every one passed away whether young and full of dreams, or old and full of memories. Every one of those bodies was like you. As a friend said to me, with each passing you move up a rank.
What did five million lives mean?
Today and ninety years past are no different. Right now, a young soldier lies dying on a beach. Ninety years and a thousand miles away, traffic is stopped at a red light. A woman taps her hand to the beat of the radio. The waves carry away the soldier’s blood as fast as it leaves him. Traffic begins to move, flowing toward a multitude of destinations. Aren’t you at the beach, even now – bleeding into an eternal rhythm?
How will you hear the voice of God, except by training your ear (your heart and mind)?
Each of us will eventually be washed into the sea. We can drift like derelicts or be carried to the still depths by unraveling.
What is this unraveling?
Unraveling is questioning, never being satisfied with speculation, allowing (not demanding) our selves to fulfill our real desire, honesty in the face of our ignorance, and determination borne of desperation.