I find I keep coming back here

when I try to focus my thoughts of remembrance regarding the events of September 11th last year. I suspect hundreds-perhaps thousands-of others will write in their own journals today. What will historians of the future write about our nation's pain, I wonder?

One of my coworkers/neighbours commemorated the attacks with a small cannon that fired at the time of the impact of the aeroplanes into the twin towers. Because I live nearby and walk to work, the first boom came just as I left the apartment--the second came just as I reached the hospital. So little time for our lives to have changed so.

On the way, I prayed. It's funny, I don't really pray that much, which I suppose is a little odd for a priestess. But usually I worship monthly, and most supplications that I deliver are not my own, but for others.

There is a stream along the road to work. I found that as I was walking the following came to mind.

Lady Hekate, grant that those who lost their lives find peace, and that those who love and miss them find comfort. May no more acts of hatred break the peace of this day.

I picked up four stones, and went over to a pool where I often watch the fish swim. Four stones, one for each attack. Four stones dropped into the pool.

May those who did these terrible acts find not the heaven they sought, but the perdition they deserve.
May their organisation be plundered.
May those who remain have their hearts turn from violence.
May our world come together in peace, not bloodshed.

At work our flag is at half-mast. We are wearing red, white, and blue, or black in accordance with our wishes to honour those who died. A television in the auditorium is showing the memorials live for those who wish to view it, and I placed a list along the wall of the names of those who died. We will observe a moment of silence at noon.
For now I am listening to Mozart's Requiem, and finding that I can't think about much else at all.

So many lives. So many changes.

I watched the unfurling of the flag at the rebuilt wing of the Pentagon. That day, somehow, I couldn't comprehend the enormity of the collaspe of the twin towers, but as an Air Force brat, I felt like someone had attacked my family when the Pentagon was hit. And the one victim that I know of from Kentucky, Edward Thomas Earhart, died in that place. The Navy recently named a mountain under the sea for him; he was an aerographer's mate first class. It's good to know that his name will live on. He was only 26 years old. After the national anthem was sung, I saluted him and the others who served, and died, and those who survived as well.

Somehow the thing that is getting me the most today are pictures of loved ones placing flowers and mementos down into the pit at the Ground Zero site.

In some ways it must have been better to have died. Many were with others. For many, it was quick, although terrifying as well. But for the workers who spent months sifting through pieces of bodies, for the families who have no closure, for the children who were born not knowing their fathers--the pain will go on for so long. I cannot imagine what they feel. I cannot imagine what those who were there saw. My heart goes out to them as well. I hope today brings them comfort. I saw families coming together in Pennsylvania, most of whom did not know each other before their shared tragedy brought them together. I pray that some good comes from all this.

I know someone whose wife was in the basement of the WTC when the first plane hit. She was able to get out safely. I'm glad, but as I look through the names of the dead, I see so many others from their home in Hoboken, New Jersey. Bill, Jen, I wish you well. I know that we've not always seen eye to eye, but I still think of you as my little brother. I'm glad you're alive, and that Jen is, too. Take care. I suspect Bill is singing today--that was his major here at UK, and he sings in churches, at weddings, and funerals. Gods, this day feels like one big funeral.