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| Pacifism | |
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| Pacifism My way of life is almost gone. I used to stand on the street now it stands on me. War plants us deeper in this field of mud I tell you. Education neglected, arts sacrificed, until all that's left is this bloody field. My religion is my comfort, but you take that too. Freedom of expression, ha! You mean free to be express as you do. When nothing is held right or sacred my children, you will have nothing left to cling too. I may smile to hide the pain. I may nod in silent agreement to keep your interests off me. Mind, body, and soul. So I am as much to blame as you. Keep your money, your blasted Internet and ideals. Leave me one field as a place to plant my son. The veteran. -Cheryl Richter, Lenexa, Kansas Pacifism I'm drawn to notice two things first, as a set. The confident, optimistic face of the young man, smiling and framed by generations of hats and beards plucks my attention first. Strangely I find that the Wall Street sign gums the bottom of my shoe at almost the same moment. A strange pair? Somehow they probably go together. Hiding from attention in plain sight are the mushroom clouds and the hallo/church window. But long before them thrusts the army sergeant’s uniform and the cultivating fields. Last into my awareness came the white flag of surrender. What's it mean? Possibly I won't know in entirety. Don't you think that the traditionalist lad and the fields "go together?" Pardon the pun, but that's "natural." But that's pastoral and idealic. The real farmer knows better. The tension wresting reality from romance recognizes the self-determination of farming with the necessity of economics. Individual choice, likewise, interacts with obligations to the larger community. The REAL radical is not a romantic, but a servant. Possibly we too quickly, by far, passed off the possibility that a Mennonite might have been both a pacifist AND a sergeant -- shot “at” for being a "medic" instead of shooting! If so it was only service, owned, just like those who'd served him and his family in other ways -- not keeping score. Are the atomic explosions close to him, or far off in the larger circle of the entire world? Is the white flag waved presently; or is it something collected from the past and kept as a memory? His strong hands won't tell us. Only the largeness of heart will. And he keeps that humbly hidden. Maybe that is a hallo. Maybe. But this picture teaches that a hallo is something one cannot put on by one’s self. They have to be recognized by others. Like with the Velveteen Rabbit, simplicity and romanticism are long gone by the time that happens. Bruce Johnson, (Artist), Elgin, Illinois Pacifism The day I joined the army as Sergeant the Civil War ended in Spain. Now in the true Army of the Lord I woke to the sound of a bugle call, the mystic trumpet in the jungle, the rush of vibrant waterfall. The chirp of insects chased by birds means a better life to me, than all the killing, as it used to be. I'll work lively on the land with gusto in my veins, and in my toughened hands the old mule reins. I love to watch Nature today. Tomorrow it starts up again. Always I vote for peace not the killing fields of Spain. I love being a Land Soldier, there is a halo around my head and when its about fluttering a white flag that can happen when I'm dead. I'll surrender to the Lord, who will treat me with respect because I never betray a fellow man when love heals us all instead. So laugh with me , pray with me, enjoy the family charm. Peace thing is best when we all stay alive and never come to harm. Amen. -Cleveland W. Gibson, (Author of Billabongo) Faringdon, Oxon, United Kingdom |
