The Nature of the Beast

“Chapter 1 – The White Rabbit”

“A small mammal that makes its home in burrows. It relies on its keen sense of smell and hearing to detect danger. Its agility to leap a distance of ten feet and zig-zag to safety, often prevent the rabbit from being caught. However, once bound, it becomes a victim to its predator.”

My odyssey began in the summer of 1967. It was to become a journey that would take me to and from the Vietnam War. Although a strange and foreign land to me, it would be a place where I would learn some of the most important meanings of life itself.

For somewhere in this primitive darkness, I heard the medieval cantor of waves that slap the sides of iron ships with heroes names. And through a mist, I could see a place where time had stood still. A place where evil lurks, and even the passing of a thousand years could never change its form.

“But what presence is this,” I asked, “that could yield no pity for a man? And what manner is it that nauseates our senses and consumes our newborn? How is it that these shadows, so darkly hidden, can become so commonplace within the foreboding terrors of our mind?

My quest for such answers would begin upon distant shores. For cast upon these sands, beat the very rhythms of the tides that feed upon the blood of our slain. And farther beyond the hills, there are the mountains where the dragon lies in wait. Stealthful and hidden in the crags and caves of his darkness, he lays still and watching.

My story begins with those first steps forward into the struggle for life itself.  It is a journey from which the same person will never return, a venture surely neither for the meek nor selective of one’s own fate.

For within our visions, we see that disagreements begin to multiply and our own misunderstandings evolve into anger. Soon, there is an evil side of mankind that overpowers the good. And in its sum, you will find that cruel men make war, while war does make men cruel.

So once again, the earth bears witness to insanity, as it becomes tainted by the blood of proud nations. Nations that are willing to sacrifice their newborn lambs on the altars of this madness. But the bitter lessons learned become carved into our soul, as our hearts and senses begin to numb into apathy.

The daily whittling of this wood becomes the only lesson given, as the reaper wields his merciless blade. And so, the ravaged fortunes of our youth fall quickly, as the chips of old age and death gather unto his feet. Soon fate becomes our only guide, as those precious seconds pass to perfect the keen sense of being a survivor.

A new psychosis is created to conform the spirit as home and happiness are buried along this path. Fear begins to replace our happiness, as pain begins to replace our joy. Reason becomes revenge and murder becomes a way of life. A time to wonder, for what price is a man’s life when he begins to lose his very soul?

It is also a time for pity, for we now begin to leave behind our visions of justice and freedom to burn as dim lights in the night sky. And yet the lessons that we learn here become unforgettable experiences.

Because all nations must account for their actions, let even greater nations maintain the true light in this world. For only within the meanings of peace, can we restore our visions to become clear once again. 

And as well, a journey of many years would also be devoted to returning home. Only the courage and the wisdom earned would accompany a weary traveler during those moments of torment and doubt. For with Death’s hand still upon your shoulder, you might pass, but the terror in one’s heart still remains the same. Those bitter bonds of our commitment become an eternity of silence, as time begins to heal the trauma in our soul.

It is during this period of endurance, that one must then rationalize the outcome of conscience and subconscious thoughts. For the struggle to recreate one’s self can only be accomplished by retracing those steps that brought you there. Steps that must endure the distance from the world of darkness and recover from the memory of such a world without justice.

And so it came to pass, that as we slept, those dreams of our youth were soon to be torn apart by the harsh realities from the “Star of Bitterness.” No clairvoyance from the prophets, or tellers of small fortunes, could ever foresee the future of our lives. It was too late to alter this path that we were on. We had already crossed the line of our commitment. We were already moving into the misgiving voids of war.

As a youth, I had received my orders to report to Camp Pendleton in California. I was assigned to an infantry training battalion that would soon be serving as replacements in the 9th Marine Amphibious Brigade serving in Vietnam. Most of us had volunteered for this and each morning we awoke to be conditioned by long runs, forced marches and weapons training in the hot July sun.

On the morning of the first day, our company had assembled for the roll call. The gunnery sergeant began to alphabetically call out from a list of a hundred names. As he called out the name of each man, a loud, clear voice would answer back with, “Here sir!”