Where were you?
On the morning of 9/11/2001 I was awakened by my Master Aaron bursting through the door of my condo (he had a key) to tell me planes had hit the World Trade Center.
I groggily turned on the television, and instantly awakened. My eyes never shut again.
Master Aaron and I sat frozen together that day as the tragedy unfolded before our eyes. Just like the every American across the country that day. It was a shared nightmare of a country suffering collective sleep paralysis.
When we parted ways that day, I hugged him tightly. In his muscular arms there was safety, but there was a new fear in the air.
In the days that followed we tried to work and carry on, but we were zombies lost in the woods. We stumbled through a new reality like the survivors at Ground Zero, a settling cloud of dust obscuring our way.
Little did we know on that horrific day 20 years ago how badly we would be injured. Yes, buildings rose again from those ashes, but so did hate, division, racism, and xenophobia. America lashed out in blind rage, causing the deaths of millions of innocent people. Now she lashes out at herself.
The wound of 9/11 has proved to be a mortal one, festering and becoming infected. It now threatens to kill the body itself.
Today there will be a lot of patriotism. A lot of fake, flag-hugging jingoism and “we shall overcome” pride.
But I prefer to remember the mourning of that morning with my Master. Temporary memories in mortal lives lost too easily, like debris in the midst of catastrophe.