DERAILMENT

 

Recent news carried a story about a tragic train derailment in Montana. I think about that story now, sitting here at my computer, my mouth offering words that show up on the screen in the notepad that is currently working.

Out of the blue it appears I have lost some functionality with voice commands and may not be able to find assistance for almost an hour to right the ship and get back in control of moving the mouse around my screen and many of the other basic functions I rely on to accomplish my work list for the next short while. It's a derailment.

For the last few moments I've thought through what might be causing the change in how the computer is responding to me. Thus far I have theorized that a disagreement occurs between a new update of the operating system and one of the applications I rely on for voice control and dictation. Nevertheless, the derailment is real and solutions are beyond my grasp currently without the support I need. It's probably fixable, just not right now.

I have considered trying a few things, but fear most a complete lockup of the system which would leave me unable to do anything for the next 50 minutes. I'm not sure I'm willing to gamble with that right now so I've chosen to do some writing here in this pad instead.

Sitting in a train, floating speedily along the surface of the earth can sometimes give someone a false sense of what is really happening to them. Gazing out the window at the surrounding landscape, maybe even sipping morning coffee on your trip, one never thinks about the very competent engineer keeping things on track, all of the trains nuts and bolts connected to locomote in unison, the tracks integrity, with all in perfect balance and measure to keep the movement seamless and safe.

Passengers like us are contingent beings who understand should anything cause the train to stop or be thrown from its course we are no longer passengers but people sitting still (or tragically hurled aloft to plead God's mercies.)

So what about passengers here on earth, everyday human beings who from the outside appeared to just be floating along the surface of the earth, gazers and doers making their way along? As long as we are able and given air to breathe, we take it in and let it out over and over again, or else… Of course, it is no different with drinks or with food, with physical locomotion and daily interaction with fellow human beings. These are good reminders that can help us to be grateful for all of the ways our needs are met day in and day out in whatever way you currently believe that is happening for you and your family and friends.

For me, right now, and maybe just now for the next 20 minutes that I have left until my help arrives, my soul has been drawn to others and to my self who may experience derailment, perhaps routinely or even as a way of life [on the rail, off the rail] that has nothing to do with their choices or how they perform as a passenger. They have been born disabled, intended for travel.

Book 3, Eclipse 13

From there the sleek unit teamed 10 to 15 miles deeper into the wooded hills of the Silava where they found Riga, a fairly populated region and also where the nations university was seated.

Although things had been quiet there for a few days, some shelling had started right around the edges of Radviliskis. They received word to catch up with a commando team already in route from the USS Eisenhower to meet with two other UN teams already in the area who had established a sort of camp base.

While there each had a cot to the corner of which he had tacked a black and white photo of an old flame and her dog. From where he lay it seemed a snapshot from paradise. Now who's waiting for who, he thought?

Despite the brutal pace they kept from day to day his body struggled with tremendous bouts of fatigue. A few thought he had underestimated the concussive powers of the blast much earlier and thought he should return to the medic. 

On this particular morning alarms rang out early and were numerous, first around their tent and then the entire encampment. He could hear the steam breaks firing up, the deep throated supply trucks revving engines. Already they were being filled by a new assembly line which appeared to be Navy or Marines and nearly finished in their task.

Word at the mess hall told of 300,000 new Russian troops who were at the ready and that others were being drafted. Putin had delivered a speech on Soviet national broadcasting in which he had made a point of declaring his readiness, if necessary, to the use nuclear weapons.

My God – he said. What does he think he's accomplishing? My God!

Just then, as he looked into a more thorough report and finished his coffee, the Sgt. took him aside and asked him to see the medic.

I'm good, no really I am. It's just headaches and I'm better than I was three days ago, that's for sure.

The Sgt. shook his head – Let yourself heal, we need you out there.

Book 3, Eclipse 12

 5:30 AM Gotland Island

The belly of the massive transport glides from a distance without sound, leaving only a behemoth wake that rattles the local docks with much clattering amidst the dithering of waves and gul-chatter.

They could be plastic soldiers. They are 20 in number and dark against the purple sky. They are, of course, brothers and fathers and sons. They are American, they are Czech, they are French, they are Ukrainian.

They had been selected from a number of volunteers who had made their way to Ukraine to join the fight shortly after Putin's invasion. Not only had these today made the cut for the first delivery, but they were hand selected by multinational leadership to fulfill any missions viewed "outside the purview" of traditional engagement.

Each new they now operated at a status that would place them beyond the protection of their nation of origin. They moved as one machine of several parts. Soon the plane was removed as a dark dream and each disappeared into the town in three groups.

The team leader of the northernmost group was clearly out front. He would move ahead 15 to 30 yards, check for a secured parameter and then signal the others to move ahead. Each group commenced from the docks after the same pattern and would meet up to find two oversize pontoons loaded with weaponry and room for the troops.

Within only moments each of the groups maneuvers in syncopated bug-like starts and stops safely across to the pontoon boats.  The brine of the ocean fills the fog as the boats soundlessly leave the shoreline.

Just two days previous the island had been taken over secretly by Russian shoulders. This days initiative simply presented a quiet opportunity to return the goods that had been taken.

Although six had been killed in the original Russian invasion, silencers were fixed and only two men were targeted for this offensive.  Upon its completion, Serge Hepscrov and the more notable assassin Kyle Smaleski would be neutralized. Led by these two, intelligence specialists indicated that nearly the entire neighborhood of families throughout the fishing village, the elderly and several children had been mowed down and left to die in a mass grave with very little of it ever being reported internationally.

9:45 AM Palanga, Lithuania

They sit in someone's living room with tea and biscuits, the family retriever happily panting and weaving a maze between their legs.

There are too many people in the room. Aromas enter from the kitchen of sausages and fresh bread.

You did well then…? Piece of cake. We're all in one piece. Couldn't really ask for too much more.

He hears phrases in the room that is quickly becoming too warm for his comfort. All he ever sees anymore is the man's face. A little girl makes her way around the living room with a balloon.

Who the hell brings a child? The thoughts nearly shoot like flame from his mouth.

It was a clean shot. It was the right thing to do. He was supposed to feel proud. Being a member of Green team put him in the right place at the right time, that was all.

He didn't want any more attention or accolades, he wanted in fact to disappear.

In fact, he really never took seriously the possibility that the man in the tourniquet would die from his bleeding. Now being the one selected for taking the shot that took down Smaleski only kept him in the spotlight.

They toasted him at the fireside "the American boy." He was only glad to have a few days of leave, to sleep and get refocused.

He wanted nothing but silence. Soundless peace.

Book 3, Eclipse 11

It had been rumored that the American president would be stopping in Odessa as a show of support to Ukrainian troops who had been defending the key trade city after nearly a month's bombardment wherein Russia had targeted several civilian complexes including a shopping mall and several condominiums.

He had fallen into a coma, he remembered only that he had attended to a man's tourniquet and that several hours later as he sat grieving news of the man's passing he could only see his face reaching out to offer his cigarettes, the man's face and then the white light and that was all until the nurse helped him come to nearly 3 days later at the hospital with six or seven others who'd been eventually been brought along behind them.

He ate like a wild animal. He drank wine in large gulps.

Better take it easy there mister, handing him a bundle of grapes… Little bits at a time will be better.

Did you make these pork dumplings? He asks. No, she says.

Delicious.

I did not make them but I will pass on a good word to the kitchen from our American heroes. Feeling better?

He sleeps another two or three hours, shedding them away as minutes and feeling again the surprise at being woken, as though the more natural thing would always be the sleeping.

He got down to the mess hall for the strong coffee and read through his orders for their next tour. He would be paragliding onto Gotland Island where three brigades were congealed to form another arms unit that was intended to snake back through to the fight at the front near Palanga, Lithuania.

Just before finishing the plate with a smear of biscuit someone approached. It was the Sergeant of the Czech troops who many called "Bull " who had led them in during the first tour. His English was also surprisingly poor.

It was clear he had been looking for him and was happy to catch him before leaving the mess hall.

In placing his hand and fixing his gaze for just a moment it became clear the man intended condolences, a shared grief. By now many in their numbers had figured out how many hours he had sat vigil with the poor man in the tourniquet. They recognized the distinction of his willingness to stay as long as he did given his injury.

You are good man, he said.

We will kill these sons of bitches.

Book 3, Eclipse 10

He sits with the wounded man.

The elderly person speaks only Czech, reveals that he is older only after taking off his hat carefully so as to not reopen the gash beside his left eye.

Just hours before the two of them fought side-by-side. Now he sits fading in and out of consciousness. The two sit side-by-side on the couch back at one of the safehouses.

Sons of bitches – he repeats this over and over, rattling through pneumonia. The only words he learned in English upon meeting the small group of "bandits" (so named by their European counterparts, Czech and Ukrainian.) He drove the truck that was filled with automatic weapons and thousands of rounds of ammunition.

After the mine exploded, hurling the truck to its side and then down a muddied embankment, it had taken a few of them some time to find him and get him to a vehicle and out of sight before being shot at.

He tightens the wounded man's tourniquet hoping they can save the leg. He cusses and apologizes. There's nothing else to be done but to groan with him.

They all drink heavily. The men outside smoke cigarettes and spit into puddles as the rain pours down the ruddy streets. Bombs fall in the distance. How can they still hear them so far from the decimated cities?

They hear the man inside, his anguish.

Sons of bitches.

Book 3: Eclipse 9

 Whenever you can you should try to never waste time. Yes, it is precious.

I remind myself of this after feeling frustration at a lengthy interruption of one of my purposes.

As early as I'm able I will awaken to the moment as a gift of 60 seconds, I bow down and enter into it renewed.

Growling.

Call to mind someone whose behavior you would like to see change.

They should never have done that!

More growling?

Are we bloodthirsty creatures by nature or might we be capable of a more patterned life-giving way throughout our lives? Have we the capacity to learn our way as a species out of violence? And into harmonious community from one hemisphere to the other?

It was a perfect morning for him to reflect upon things like this, it having been as quiet as it was now. Eggs and toast, juice and coffee and then to the notebook where he would give himself reflection time before heading out in the Honda for afternoon rides. He wore his Cubs hat and was looking forward to opening day against Milwaukee. The Sox were also going to look pretty good this year again.

The globe was getting smaller and smaller for him. Of course, he dreamt of his military missions back in the Czech Republic, it was right over there. He did everything that he wanted on his mission as you will soon hear but for now theological questions drew him in more deeply.

Without doing too much labeling or assuming, he kindled an inspiration to keep questions like this in front of himself and others along with the course of day-to-day flow.

He remembered the practice called Transforming Enemy Images:

Upon being triggered by what someone says or does, what thoughts erupt and flood the mind? Write an exhaustive list.

What emotions are present? Can you name them? Check your list.

Can you connect to a deep and human longing underlying the upset? Name it. Claim it as your own longing. 

These are a few of the steps he used to teach at the seminary.

Conflict happens, person-to-person and tribe to tribe. How does it all operate? Why such a constant throughout human history? 

What makes harmony? What breaks harmony? How do we envision, how do we visualize the widest and broadest of our shared experience, how do we hold one enormous WORLD before ourselves…? How do we see all the people at once, and take in as much of the whole of the earth with its mammoth oceans and towering continents and prairie lands and deserts?

With its treaties… With its bombs…? 

I create… I destroy… I imagine. We are such beings who can imagine and singularly give shape to what comes into being. To create is to actively imagine first and foremost, I look ahead, I futurize. I invite my full presence and a loving willingness to witness.

I understand there are thousands of Ukrainian civilians who are now being held in "filtration camps" – we all cry out WE SEE YOU!


More growling. A voice is heard. It is vicious: They will die remembering us. We will be there among their last thoughts on earth.

Book 3: Eclipse 8

 καταστρέφω

Katastrepho

I destroy. I am a being who makes catastrophe!

These unthinkably heavy crates filled with killing mechanisms are intended to harm hundreds, to maim human beings with intention and full malice of forethought. We bring them, we aim them and we fire them in order to destroy, to throw your flesh apart and scatter you to the earth.

We do it, yes, of course… Believing God will bless these tragic necessities of human cruelty. We do it believing that one good punch will set them straight… We do it because we are present and able to stop the enemy who invades.

The man sits writing in his spiral notebook by the window at the coffee shop smoking cigarettes. Each word is a gunshot. He writes all day long. His thoughts become actions. 

I create, I destroy. 

Because they target shopping malls and we've seen the children dead.  Because more and more comes to light as humanitarian corridors, so-called, are opened and the Russian military fills buses with hundreds of civilians, allowing them to make their way to freedom in Slovakia and Poland. That is, until the trap is set fully.

Having built sufficient trust, hundreds more are piled into buses to escape the carnage; the elderly, the disabled carried in for the difficult trip from bomb shelter to who knows where. They are all suddenly informed they are arrested. They are now hostages.

The man drinks his coffee and let's his stomach burn and burn. The pages of the notebook will not turn fast enough. He must write in his own blood somehow. No one will ever read this – don't ever think that… Propaganda from within. He will not cease… He hears himself talking out loud to himself "nope, never going to happen…" If I breathe I will be writing something… Someplace, somewhere…

I will write for the disabled person urinating freely out there somewhere in there God damned bus. He is not the only one.

Book 3: Eclipse 7

I create. The ancient Greek term for poem comes from this verb. I guess it's a verb.

Guessing is a verb. A gerund?

The human is most essentially the being who creates.

Open your mouth. Create a world and land yourself comfortably down within it.

Do you thirst? Bring something to your lips. Choose it, illustrate. Do not rush yourself

For any reason. Ever. What is the drink? What does it taste like? What sensations

Does it bring to your mouth

… in terms of its various qualities

… Thickness or thinness…

… of warmth or coolness

… Be taught by your tongue about the world

your lips.

Find the black heavy gun in your own hands. Feel the hairs rise on the back of your neck.

Your throat is parched and you swallow heavily.

The Blackwater BW 15 Rifle is a premium tool for today's civilian warrior.

Very soon you may need to be able to run while carrying this weapon and it might be necessary to turn behind you with some degree of agility and be able to shoot people who are chasing you… I'm pretty sure that's what we're looking at… One possibility at least… For sure…

He smoked another cigarette and he savored the out breath and received as much relief from the silly practice as he possibly could. Making it glow brightly at its tip.

We are a sharp unit, great vision. We have great intelligence and complete confidence in the people backing us up to go in and take care of this. What an amazing network of compassionate and loving people. And they are competent, these ranks are tight.

Instincts – heart and soul. We will show up fully and perform like patriots: We will remember these times.

Anyone else just feeling odd about our capacity to kill right now… ? How many hundred rounds per second…? Good Lord.

Having come up early now the moon found its way to the center of the sky. Did it not appear more near the darkness than the earth this night and why? 

The house drew down to an eerie silence.

Go time was 3 AM.

Book 3: Eclipse 6

 He still is dreaming of a trip to Czechoslovakia to find family and get settled in so that he could enter into Ukraine to join the fight, more than likely in Mariupol where the greatest need seemed pressing.

His second cousin Rod Katchka hollered in his ear every detail of the flight that would bring him to Prague and then home in their Fiat bumping over the old cobbled streets into a village, he felt as though he'd been transported 1800 years. Katchka had functioned as a dairy man and had pretty much 100 percent of the market in the bohemian enclave of Dinksk.

The stone and mortar home despite being small wafts with the cooked fat of a local pig amidst hugs and laughter.

Stew. In a bowl in his hand with a large spoon by the fireside. The candle burns on the table. It rests beside a bottle of red wine half full beside a glass nearly empty and most of its making cozy with the French bread in his happy belly. They ate together forever in heaven it seemed. 

Hour after hour they sat at the table eating and telling stories about brothers and fathers and sisters and cousins and there was roast pork, dumplings, sauerkraut and gravy and gravy and Colatchki with raspberry, poppyseed or apricot filling. Black coffee with lemon squares and sour cream poppyseed cake, a frosted Bundt cake.

After dinner the men drank pear schnapps and whiskey and then made out to the barn to secure and load tomorrow's shipment of weaponry which they were tasked to get into Mariupol.

Everyone smoked.

Out in the snow. A strange feeling. First within himself then causing him to stop and pause. Why was his pace slowing as he made his way closer to the barn. It was as though his body became heavier with each step. Was it in his head? Was this fear and its embodied grip finding its way to the scene and trying to shake him away from a terrible choice?

A few at dinner had joked about their hopes of being shot, another who had had too much whiskey shattered a glass with tears of rage streaming down his ruddied face. He interrupted: Whoever is not ready to die will not be going anywhere with me! Get in my way on your weekend warrior fantasy and I will shoot you dead myself!

It was week 4 and the United States had just agreed to supplying $800 million dollars of military support to Ukraine.

Book 3: Eclipse 5

We are participants with God, the Trinity of co-creators invites a universe of the living to join the divine dance, whirling the world's next moments straight into being through our decisions and actions along with those of Christ, Father-Mother God and the Holy Spirit.

Okay, we want peace… We make peace. No trick question. How do you make peace? So much is available about the inner workings of international community throughout history.

How else would you respond to an enemies Belligerent irrational high speed imposition, maximal unilateral overpower, past and present and future all appear to be known… Binary – force – as though someone thought they were a God

Get off me – encroaching blanking plank blank… Or I will have to use my

CZ Scorpion EVO 3 S2 Micro Base Pistol on you… I will protect children with my gun, yes.

We are participants with God, the Trinity co-creating… We are part of the divine dance, part of the cocreative flow that makes the world what it is, causes it to live how it lives… Let's put away the weapons and make better plans…

Like this from a fifth graders online social studies notes: Acting with respect for the rights of others helps people to live together in harmonious communities.

Book 3: Eclipse 4

 The skies opened shortly after 1, giving a lift to all the faces of the city buildings. He pulled up to pick up a few college kids on their way for some shopping. They were passing around cash and many of the phrases they used as they conversed sounded foreign to him and he felt old and he turned down his radio until dropping them off at 23rd and Jefferson, not far from old Zoe's favorite pet food store. Three doors down from the donut shop.

It was his privilege, he was aware that it was his privilege, and so knowingly he decided to leave the laptop closed and get out for a walk rather than fill himself with more of the very, very latest…

He wondered about solidarity. Down toward the park he sat at a bench and picked up a handful of stones at his feet and watched people and tossed pebbles into the garbage can across the pathway. He was two for six when he needed to pause and let tight jeans and fur coat walk past. Shortly after came foot shufflers and open jersey jackets, New York, Toronto. They shuffled on through the loose gravel at the edges of the path, perhaps unaware they were getting things kicked up into the grass.

It wasn't easy to stop smoking. Hopping out for a quick stroll, he left his jean jacket back at the apartment where the Marlboro Lights sat waiting. It was movies mainly, like when a guy has a stiff drink to get through something, it was like that also with smoking. But this time, tossing the pebbles… It was more about tossing them into the garbage can.

At 12/19 he decided to get up from the bench and make his way back. There was money to make and there was no way he'd even dream about another trip until he could make some serious coin. Especially given how gas prices had skyrocketed because of the war in Ukraine.

Instead he sat there for another short while and let himself dream about a trip… A huge trip to Europe, where he could get back to his homeland in the Czech Republic, get himself situated and then find entry into the war for the good guys.

It was way too Hemingway hit the freeway, grab a gun, fall in naturally with your unit where your comrades surround you with stories of their own about why they're there and paradisaic intentionality becomes willing to shoot weapons to save lives and sees no other remedy to protect but to shoot and to kill perpetrators of evil on the earth together. The hero was honest and empathic and respectful and openhearted, the hero who could see but one human race and every time and in every place. This is the hero we all wish to become for the world, isn't it?

I am eating a bowl of chicken and dumplings. It swims all chunky in the bowl and the gravy is rich with tinges of orange from the paprika. Sour cream gravy. What a mouthful of warm and simple food tasting so rich and you will not be hungry very soon after.

Mír na Ukrajině

PEACE IN THE UKRAINE

(played on Google translate – it's the coolest in CZECH)

Book 3: Eclipse 3

Yes, of course there was a method… To his madness? To his way… You let the day come to you. You reach from your deep intentions each morning starting slow, you follow those sources of flow surely doing your best along the way. You take the day in, you give the day, those around you, the gifts you have to offer… You read and write and play and pray and engage with friends and family…

The various and profound limitations you face remain and continue and… Or need we say "but" now… It's acknowledged, named. It makes all the difference in the world and sometimes it doesn't.

As for sources of what is real… Messages to inform, to help frame reality, the universe… It's purposes and trajectories… Where do you look?

As Karl Barth suggested: the Bible and the newspaper are present indeed and heard and valued together as whatever God might be trying to say to you now… Access to the world… What news media calls "the latest"… This is what he wants and it shouldn't be too much to ask... he generally thinks to himself…

Toast is meant to be eaten warm so the butter can melt but not fast enough to disappear before one is through with a piece, and news was transpiring instantly and always and so much was happening and at stake and he wanted to see and hear and witness as much as he possibly could…

He would be over there fighting already if he could… There was fight in him, fierceness and far too often nowhere to go with it.

He drank his coffee and munched his toast and stared at the screen.

Why do I do it? He asks himself again and again.

Witness: APARTMENT BUILDING BOMBED

On the screen he watches a video of two firemen helping an elderly woman out of a burning building. She is held together by old sweaters and a house coat, her feet are bare and the fireman carefully moves one of them, the fire scorched gloves squeezing the swells of her left ankle, so as not to allow it to get caught up in the cold steel foothold of the latter, as they make their way down together with much struggle. Painfully.

She is someone's chubby old grandmother, she and her grandson escaped the burning building after he woke them both and was able to lead them out onto the balcony where they had to climb over the railings of several apartments and make their way around the building to be offered a way down.

Things are getting worse. More talks break down and the bombardment of cities to the south and west increases, some of it dangerously close to the Polish border.

Anthony made chicken noodle soup and way too much of it. It started a day after the war began, he wanted to lift spirits, boost morale around the restaurant with regulars so he made his grandmother's chicken noodle soup and sold it for half-price. Here the third week now there were fewer takers and he was trying to get rid of it so the man sat eating it for free at his station by the window where he celebrated a pretty good day with Uber driving.

The sketchpad was full of workups of guys in trenches with machine guns. Old plastic figures of guys laying on their stomachs, shouldering bazookas or on one knee hurling mortars would captivate him for hours as a boy. 

Show me one little kid who doesn't play at least for a little with that odd and ominous power we have figured out for ourselves: Blowing things up.

Or what about that first pocketknife or BB gun?

As I watched my older brother shoot his first targets in the backyard when he was 13 and I was 12, I saw a boy transformed into a man right before my eyes… Pifft, pifft, pifft, Ping!

As I gazed at the screen watching the poor woman wobbling at the transfer near the waiting wheelchair.… I got so angry I wanted to spit, to throw a knife, a fist or throw something into flames – I sketched a man throwing a bottle of whiskey at the wall and watching it explode.

He talks about himself as a writer and as a military man in his head back at the apartment with scotch. He sketches talking to Zoe in his head. He prays for peace, alas it's violent madness instead.

Book 3: Eclipse 2

 Thanks to impermanence – everything is possible.

~Thich Naht Hahn

The alarm went off at seven. He dropped in a Colombian pod and turned on the machine that could make a miracle happen every day within 40 seconds. Each pod was overpriced already,  he hoped inflation wouldn't make its way even into his coffee cup.

Price Gaucher's!

He was considering the joy of fiction as he lit the Marlboro Light cigarette he had just packed fairly tight on his kneecap turning on the morning news through ALEXA. 

Soon the crystal clear voice of Corva Coleman pierces through the silent room having been sent over the signal from Grand Valley State University media department roughly 40 miles to his Northeast.

He devours news media. He eases up and does the word puzzle online and plays chess and looks for a recipe for borscht.

Why was he so hyperaware of where everything was located all of a sudden?

Before another long cold day the sun did show itself beautifully for a few minutes as it rose up and brought the room a warm bouquet with 1/4 inch of sweet foam afloat those first few sips of morning coffee.

He heard himself talking to himself… As a song somehow… Last night

As I went to bed I left the world all thus and such… Tell me it's all over, tell me it's better today.

Had we decided to invade? Was there a cease-fire? Were we sending jets?

Where do we really all see this going from here and let's get doing something about that right now before more damage is done – what God damned madness!

He drives around the city in the Honda playing the oldies channel. Been surprised by low numbers and thinks about trying to offer some kind of special discount to get people riding more.

Today was white bread. That's all. I like white bread.

Sometimes he found if he could stare out the window and not be wounded or in pain or managing a physical calamity of some sort or another… If a day could push along without too much resistance and offer the few simple delights of a meal or two… some good reading or taking in a film… that was enough.

He wondered if others were doing the same sort of math… Factoring things in by comparison almost endlessly now with those besieged in Ukraine… He wondered if all of us millions of observers hadn't been turned into much less needy or greedy or frenzied people…

How many others were okay with white bread… Holding onto hopes and remembering how nothing is permanent.

Book 3: ECLIPSE 1

 Witness: The mortar is aimed, the shot is taken; just seconds later a diminutive puff of detonation might be faintly heard. But at the scene hell rains down with shrapnel shards of molten steel spraying out explosive into hundreds of splintered knives, flying aflame through wooden doors, plaster walls and glass windows, finding precious people: She was nine years old, her name was Alisa Perebyinis.

She and her mother and brother died attempting to cross a bridge to make their way out of town away from the danger. Their father, Peter, the only surviving member of the family says he recognized their luggage having seen a photo immediately circulated to thousands on twitter.

What on earth? It was day 15 since the invasion started, the indiscriminate bombing of civilian housing units, restaurants and hospitals and nearly a million children, over half the total nearly 2 million forced into a refugees March to flee for their lives.

What on earth?

He bit the corner of his lip, he stared out the window. He wanted to do something with his new information. Just moments before reading the newspaper story there was not a nine-year-old girl living inside. He hadn't seen her clear blue eyes, her porcelain cheeks. The photo must have been from a school picture provided by her father. She would no longer be… He would trail off and come back.

What was the right way… to get on with your day, after hearing more of the horror unfolding, after watching the waters of special talks set up throughout Europe by various dignitaries muddy only further into mutual accusations and shared misinformation. It was war, all nations would be affected. It meant lying on purpose, propaganda… A whole dance had been choreographed throughout history, kingdoms had risen and fallen… Only now it seemed every person with a cellular phone could sit and watch it all happening, moment by moment

He heard God sighing … The stomach turned and he felt ill and chilled to the bone.

He was set ablaze with hellfire and an endless stream of terrible visions played at full volume and then he would do what a savoring person does with ungodly things in his head – filled with discussed and holy anger… He would play them over and over until fully fed on the animal level – so starved for justice – let them all burn away……

Etched to this moment, several hundred miles from there in Delphi, Greece a statue relays the beckoning wisdom: KNOW THYSELF.

He had thoughts of dinner. Started with jazz and Cabernet.

Book 2: Zoe's Flow, 2.4 BREAKING NEWS

Sometimes he would get a kick out of providing a play-by-play of his own rather ordinary day.

Zoe used to love it. She was more than likely doing just about the same yet again today, high upon her throne at the Conservatory.

The format would always remain the same. You see it, you say it. 

So he's got two eggs in a pan with butter popping all over and he salts and peppers them in the pan and lets the toast get dark and pulls out one of his new plates, bought them just because he was so tired of seeing the other ones… Zoe would have agreed… She was always so agreeable and also good when he was not so agreeable…

He shakes some large juice containers… Pours thick mango… Cranberry… Carrot juice… He made this perfection and then drank it. He did what savoring people do… He savored and gratefully… Gratitude was manifest, fullness of life in the witnessing of nourishment upon the good fruits of the earth.

It was a day just like any other, or so he had assumed. The yokes were golden. If the man had a dollar for every egg he had ever eaten… My goodness!

While eating, he thumbs through a fishing magazine he found online. Then it happens: the screen flashes; at first, large red banners, then, black words on a white screen.

UKRAINE UNDER SIEGE.

As with anyone, he usually flips about from page to page as a habit, just to be sure he's not missing out on anything happening with Facebook or Instagram or a few of his favorite newspapers.

But for now the morning was over. The eggs of course were still on the plate half eaten, juice half gone, it had actually happened in real life. For weeks people had been talking about the madness of the Russian dictator, so many times before having heard his nationalistic diatribes, the libido dominondi – the lust for power – which fueled much of his rhetoric for many years. As troops had been amassing the nearby border the international community waited to see whether he would actually attack Ukraine in an effort to destroy its government and reclaim it as Russian territory.

Today he did so. Commands were given and missiles struck the otherwise quiet and peaceful cities of Mariupol and Donetsk, first near the south, then more toward the north and east.

What on earth? What on earth…?

An hour later down at the station with coffee by the window, he found himself unable to stop turning back again and again to watch the screen in the corner that Anthony had turned on to 24 hour news. The place was still abuzz with activity and also a very strange tone, only a hush of murmurings heard here and there.  No, the room was focused with shock and fear. After a few requests Anthony turned the volume up, making it an almost exclusive presentation to the entire room.

Volunteer college students who cared for disabled children at a school in Kiev were interviewed as cameras captured precious bundles of smiling, crying, bright and blank faced third-graders who were being lifted into a railway car for evacuation.

He sketched a tank. It's top was open and a man peered out looking through binoculars.

We should go over and kill that son of a bitch, someone said. A few people cleared their throats after that and one person got up to throw away their napkin. The news anchor promised the president would speak in the next 10 minutes.

Something like a pulse seemed to return to the room as though everyone agreed to check back in 10 minutes. He thought about moments… Moments.

What was the president doing right this moment? How many millions of people all around the world were receiving news of these horrendous acts of war? What was coming next?

The sun broke out and he watched the sky through the window for a moment while a cloud approached closely and then he watched it move further until it was completely eclipsing the light.

[This ends Book 2: Zoe's Flow. Please enjoy Book 3: Eclipse]

Book 2: Zoe's Flow, 2.3

She woke up to the alarm at 5:30 AM. She threw on sweats and a T-shirt, stepped out of the bedroom, took a few chugs of purple Powerade and made her way out the door.

She pressed her hands flat into the chilly wet asphalt for a full two minutes, pulled her toes back toward her shoulder blades several times, reached over to the right and also then fully to the left before running in place with a quick hop to get started.

Coming with me sweetie? Meow, I said. I faced the horizon while arching my back up all the way until my tail could touch my nose, gave myself to a generous twisting left and right, didn't want to pull a muscle as I had not been out for a morning run in quite some time.

She made her way past the other abodes, some permanent and some other RVs like there's, letting out a plume of steam into the morning air with each step.

The great morning run, so ripe with opportunity for the two of them to get connected and share each other's stories nevertheless turned out to be a complete catastrophe. Before skittering along not even half a block, Zoe hit a wall or pulled a muscle or strained a glute or tore some kind of hyblinoveviscus tendon… Yada yada… She headed back for the trailer and the dude let her in covering himself in the front with his Cap'n Crunch cereal box.

Later babe! Have a good run.

Oh man! I thought she was getting ready to join me for a jog.

Well, dear… We'll be here watching The Price Is Right when you return. She seems to be a fan of breakfast cereal.