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Sept. 11 and the ache in our soul
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It was not a crusade or a mission that brought me to New York City on a prior anniversary of September 11. It was a visit with my adult daughters, who are also going to vote this November, and who are patient with my unyielding, moldy-fig reflections on a dear nation that has neither crusade nor mission in the air. But, on a surprisingly balmy day, with constant glances at the date box on my watch, I thought I saw, heard, and even voted in the national spiritual poll that has more to do with consolation than contention.
As I gazed down Sixth Avenue on that September 11, 2004, the glaring absence of the two towers on the horizon spoke to me more than anything the presidential candidates of that year had to say.
Still today, there is a hole in our national soul. We look for people on the national ballot who seem to have sensitivity to our true pathos, candidates who reveal bit of poetry and reflection. Too often, they are accusatory rather than elegiac; some exchange war yarns for the sake of advantage rather than honest patriotism, they rely on slogans and they stand around sometimes puffy firefighters rather than asking us any good questions or standing for the children of fighters, teachers, doctors, technicians, or a host of non-comic book or poll-boosting post-9/11 quasi-icons.
Though they protest, candidates sometimes don't seem to know anything about us; it's an unsettling mix of strangers vying for the digital loyalty of more strangers—meaningless flares of ‘lipstick’ and ‘earmarks.’
I was nonetheless lifted and touched by my walks with my daughters through the day and evening of that September 11 in New York. There was festive music in the air as bands and choirs gathered in the parks and sang songs that were somberly joyous. Break dancers performed for delighted plebeian circles of folks whose faces and eyes and lips filled the circles with delicious colors and creeds. No one was scared, just as no one was really electrified politically. Liturgies hung over the city and across the quietly grieving sky that looked like an atmospheric scar. Yet there was no sadness, really--just plenty of meaning, caring, and quiet defiance. The vote was being cast--in favor of the American spirit. You just didn't feel that the actual candidates were anywhere near the polls. Perhaps this election will yet lift that spirit.
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