Wicked Light

By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.                 

     - Act IV, Scene I, Macbeth

     This morning the sky raged with the burnt glow of a dying fire.  It was as if the wind had blown through some ancient wound in the earth and spilled the deserts very blood into the air.  Although a billion scattered neurons reminded me this was just a trick of refraction, their combined efforts couldn’t drown out the deep corner of my being that recoiled from the poisoned light.   This was no casual sandstorm - in another age this would have been the herald of some tragic change in circumstance. 

     After a few long minutes immersed in that burning light the cold light of reason turned my thoughts from evil portends to a sense of wonder.  Rather then cancel our workout 1LT Mo and I decided to make the trek to the gym through the teeth of the sandstorm.  The walk wasn’t an especially long one, but by the time we arrived we were frosted with a talcum fine web of earth.  The cloying powder latched on to every exposed hair follicle, dying our hair a ghostly white.  It was as if, in the course of the journey, the two of us had aged several decades.  We glanced in the gym’s oversize mirrors and laughed at the two old men staring back at us.  The gym was as empty as I had ever seen it – just us, the attendants, and a fog of airborne silt.  Since the air was thick with a blizzard of grit we skipped running on the idle treadmills and spent the next hour lifting dusty iron plates. 

     As we left the gym the air was still thick with unfamiliar light.  We trudged through the frenzied dust, slowly making our way back to the barracks.  The desert silt latched on to our skin with the same restless urgency as before.  It was as if some blind force had decided to paint our features with a mono color brush.  The desert creatures that returned to the barracks bore little resemblance to the two men that had left an hour before.  We were aged, our hair a brittle shade of white and our features dull and muted.  I don’t think the illusion of age was just the random scattering of light; there was more at work here.  Perhaps we looked old because for a few moments we were old, our mortal skin cloaked in the timeless shroud of the desert.  Perhaps… 

Comments

[Derek]

Daily Show and Funny papers. You my friend are gonna be a star , But for some reason I don't see you being one of those " I'll have my people call you people types. In all honesty I am actually waiting for the book myself if and when it gets done

[apostleJohn]

I just discovered your blog, and put a link to it on my blog. I really appreciate your writing. It is well done and very enlightening.

[David]

BTW: Nice interview in Wired.

[David]

D, You really do have a way of communicating that is lost for many people these days. In an era of LOL and :o) you truly can write. Thank you for your service to our country, and yes I know you think I provide an important job here in the states, but you my friend...you go out and look for trouble, I on the other hand wait for trouble to befall someone else then I rush towrds it. Me thinks, you provide more for the greater good than I. David M.

[Sean]

Ya know, you've been mentioned in the funny papers at least 3 times this week, explains the extra hits from you in my traffic. Hope things are well and the extra viewers didn't bring in the wrong sort of folk. Have you seen my camal spider video yet? My side bar, My life on Reel. Peace brother, hope everything is well.

[Jinxy]

I was just thinking of using that "Something Wicked This Way Comes" quote on my blog. Nice.

[christy]

Okay so I finally have to step in and say it... I absolutely adore your writting. I only wish that I was able to write with one fourth of your ability. How very beautifully you are able to mend words to illuminate your unique perspective of these moments. It is such a pleasure to read your posts. Thank you so much for sharing this view with us. Thank you endlessly, though words will never be enough, for the sacrifices you make for our safety. Thank your family as well! Thank you (I can't say it enough) Christy

[Rob Mahood]

Thank you for your blog, it gives a view into the world that all soldiers live everyday. I worked in the US for several years and have recently moved back to Canada, I never truly understood what the mindset of the soldier was. This mindset isn't anything that can be learned by watching tv, or listening to the radio. These blogs merely give a brief look into what each person goes through during a time of war. I had the pleasure of working with many army reserve men and women, most went to iraq, i had just heard that a good friend that i made during my time in the US lost his life, his wife takes huge comfort from these blogs. thank you for opening my eyes and those eyes around me to the stories and lives of those serving for all of us, everywhere. thank you

[Greg Grimes]

Amazing. you have a gift friend, a gift not just with words but with experience. many can write of things to inspire mans soul but few such as you have lived them. God bless.

[Maya]

I know this may become redundant, but I too, heard about your writing from the Daily Show. I see now that what was said was no undertatement. Your writing is haunting and poetic. It is a raw look, but untainted by Hollywood producers, as issues such as this should remain. Thank you for the postings. Stay safe.

[Lily]

I also heard about this site from the Daily Show and I have to say, you writing is some of the best I've ever read. You're words just flow. You can't fabricate that. It's beautiful.

[Drew Williams]

Beautiful prose, absolutely. My question, then, is this: if touching your own mortality made you see things in such light, what effect does living with it have? When dust storms there are as constant as rainshowers here (typing from Alabama - rained for five minutes every hour today) - what does that do, to a human's outlook, to their view on life? I know when we back home hear about this war, about those fighting against our troops - people like you - we try to digest it, break it down, by reading countless discourses on the nature of the people of the Middle East, of Iraq, of their religion, their culture, their heritage, their history. But what about something as simple as a dust storm that makes one feel one's own mortality? I would appreciate your thoughts. Stay safe.

[Mayor]

Save all this and put it in a book with your pictures! PLEASE!

[Derek]

Those pictures are wicked man just looking at that door is freaky like some poltergiest type stuff

[ArmyWifeToddlerMom]

hoooah, watch your traffic. Perhaps you can find a publisher...

[dave cox]

as a fellow writer, which your soul sings with each sentence, I find your writing spectacular. I heard about your blog from a strange source who praised your writing as Poetic and stunning: Jon Stewart of the Daily Show. Though I disagree with your leaders in their arrogance, the beauty of your words has brought home the fact that you boys and girls are there and need us to help bring you home... I could not face what you do, too foolishly loving and forgiving, i guess...I just wish you didn't have to. I'd much rather read your first Poetry book. thanks for letting us in.

[Chevy Rose]

Picturing you two guys all powdery white reminded me of a Laurel and Hardy movie(I think it was) where they became covered with flour. but of corse their's came off easier on a Hollywood set. Good job, keep doing it. God bless America.

[Kay Harrison]

I love your writing! I know that this was before your time, but have you ever heard of Jim Reeves? He was a great gentleman singer who did some beautiful songs - one of which was called "Shifting Whispering Sands". If you can get hold of it or find it online, it's really a lovely haunting tune. The lyrics toward the end are what your posts about the sand made me think of: (When the day is oddly quiet And the breeze seems not to blow One would think the sand was resting But you'll find this is not so. It is whisp'ring softly whisp'ring As it slowly moves along And for those who stop and listen It will sing this mournful song. Of sidewinders and the horntoads Of the Thorny Chaparral In the sunny days and moonlight nights The coyote's lonely yell. How the stars seem you could touch them As you lay and gaze on high At the Heavens where we're hoping We'll be going when we die...) 'Course it was speaking of deserts in the American West, but still, I imagine you can transpose it to where you are . . . keep up the writing as you can, we love it!

[`devildog6771]

I had a friend wgho used to tell me I had an old soul. It was meant to be a compliment. I believe you do to!

[NYgirl]

You write so well, it feels like I am there. It must have been surreal to see your selves like that.

[Lil Toni]

I love yer blog, but I gotta tell ya, tha mental I got was Pig-Pen. *giggle* God bless ya hun.

[Opforsoldier]

I always hated moon dust the most.

[riceman42]

"Observation, not old age, brings wisdom."-Publilius Syrus. Great post !

[Curt]

T6, get in here and change the font color...it's black on black! I highlighted the text and enjoyed your description...and your glimpse into the future..:)