The Korean War has been called the forgotten war, sandwiched as it was between WWII and Vietnam, and technically a war that continues today. I always find the Korean Memorial eerily poignant. The life-sized soldiers are a ghostly white, and etched images on its own black wall come and go, almost like ghosts.
Today I noticed something new. In large letters etched in the black marble were the words, "Freedom Is Not Free." An aging soldier offered remarks to a small assembled crowd, saying early on "War is hell."
As I'd moved from one war memorial to another, I'd kept thinking, there really has to be a better way to resolve our differences than in the blood of young men and now women. On the rim of a fountain in front of "Freedom Is Not Free" were US and United Nations casualty numbers. When I came home, I looked up more figures. Casualty estimates vary widely, but in the range of 1 million service personnel were killed on both sides. A total of 2.5 million civilian deaths and injuries were reported. Still missing from UN forces are 470,000. This from a war we hardly talk about.
The truth is the casualties of our wars are much greater than these and numbers from other wars would indicate. Before heading out for our walk this morning, I'd listened to part of a program on the Diane Rehm Show about Veterans Treatment Courts. (http://thedianerehmshow.org/shows/2013-11-11/veterans-treatment-courts.) These are special courts for veterans who had no criminal records before the war they went to turned them into criminals.
What does this have to do with my spiritual journey? My friend, a woman in her 50s, and myself, a woman in my 60s, also carry the scars of our fathers' wars. After visiting the memorials, we talked about our scars. The men who came home to our households were never emotionally available to their daughters (or sons either.) Whatever the experience of "war is hell" was for our fathers, they could not talk about it and repressed their emotions. In order to put away the ugly feelings, my father was forced to repress the good ones as well. Although I am sure my father loved me a lot, he could not show it.
But, you see, this is not the whole story about my father's wounds of war. His father, a veteran of World War I, probably suffered from what we call PTSD (Post Traumatic Shock Disorder) today. Back then, they said he was "shell shocked" as many WWI vets were at the first exposure to modern warfare. He was institutionalized for almost 30 years, unavailable at all for his son--my father--or us, his grandchildren.
The result is that I grew up and am now growing old unable to get close to people. (10/12/13) I am unable to receive love and be taken care of. (11/8/13) Neither my friend nor I ever went to war or experienced the horrors that our fathers did, yet we are casualties, carrying multi-generational wounds. All over the world there are casualties of war--people who went to war and came home forever changed and people that never went to war.
The other thing that this has to do with my spiritual journey is being conscious. I feel like a different person than I was this morning. Touched by the sacrifices and even more moved by the magnitude. I don't ever again want to forget what is doing on at spots all over the world even as I write. I don't ever want to forget that even though there isn't much I can do, I must do what I can to connect us. If ever there was a day when my fervent belief in the need to connect with people heart to heart, it was this one. I must start with myself, dropping the walls of my heart to let love out and perhaps more importantly to let love in.
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