The soft kill, the soft walls

Some classic mottos have been sticking out in my mind as I plod along in typical West Coast fashion on the skytrain, listening to my Ipod, typing a text message on my cell, considering a new topic for a long-overdue blog, observing other Coasters in uniform faded jeans and sneakers. Everyone is familiar with these sayings:

"United we stand. Divided we fall." and "Divide and conquer."

Until Christmas, I was opposed to owning an Ipod, at least at this time in my life. Who needs another distraction? But then I got one, and realized how much I wanted it, and Freud giggled sinisterly in his grave.

White earbuds are everywhere, cellphones are fused to our ears, keyboards are stitched to our fingers, and screens, one of the first attacks, are melded to our eyes. All this a race for the prize. The prize being us, our minds, our choices, and first and foremost, our spirits - our souls.

When people are in an army, whether its a militia or the national guard, they stand and fight together. They fight for a common cause, they fight for shared values, they fight against a collective foe, and they fight under one leader. In the most abominable of battles, with brothers falling to the right and left, there is still that common goal, that common instinct. Fire storms of exploding bombs can confuse and scare, but clarity comes with the morning. And they can always regroup and retreat together.
Unity. Support.

What a formidable and impressive plan. What brilliance that designed the strategic attack in which children are scattered amongst many trenches. Our generations have been flanked, guerrilla warfare style. Our troops have been infiltrated, the enemy firing flash grenades to the tune of Hutier, and now we are dispersed and blinded. We have been cut down and cut apart. We are hiding, our minds and bodies are trembling and we have become completely disoriented. We clench our weapons, oftentimes peaking out onto the field and firing several shots at any smoky silhouettes that we see, and mistakenly strike down our own kin. We live in isolation and fear and depression. We have no memory, just the faintest recall of the family - the band of brothers - that we once felt bound to. How much easier is the assault when a battalion is spread out and separated. To conquer us becomes as simple as swiping ones arm across a tabletop and knocking figurines to the floor.
Division. Confusion.

I believe this is where we are: divided and confused. We have different values, different goals, we have become insulated by comfort into our own little lonely worlds. Convenience, independence, and "freewill" are the lullabies which have been whispered into our ears, and the routes we take to the wrong exit. In our cold beds we chant the miserable anthem: "This is what I want. This is what I like. I know what I need." And we cry like neglected babies in their splintering cribs. Meanwhile our Father cries for us as He tries to lift us up.
Isolation. Defeat.

The soft kill with its soothing voice,
the soft walls of gentle cloth,
the deep, deep grave.

-the a.m. pilot