Reflections on Monument Removal

For many, this is akin to removing a statue of Hitler, Stalin, or oppressive symbols like a Swastika. You can still learn about these men: library, book store, word of mouth, school, museums. I understand that Robert E Lee did more than just slave own, but consider that for descendants of slaves, a monument to an owner could be as tragic as a picture of your granddad, who molested and raped your mother (or daughter) hanging above the fireplace (in your home).

People’s inability to see this stems from sedentary imagination, empathy all seized up, for we are not talking about an trivial offense here, your not opening the door for me. But the removal of the stitches of a man that had been mauled, making it again susceptible to infection. This is about healing. The wound, believe it or not, is shared by the entire nation even if it affects you differently, still the eye cannot say to the foot, that it has no need of it.

If appealing to your conscience is to no avail, and you simply respect history, then respect this history: Robert E Lee was not interested in monuments being erected of himself. He opposed the spirit of traditionalism, “my conviction is, that however grateful it would be to the feelings of the South, the attempt in the present condition of the Country, would have the effect of retarding, instead of accelerating its accomplishment; [and] of continuing, if not adding to, the difficulties under which the Southern people labour.” It is a contradiction to honor a man of the past by dishonoring him.

Many Americans have their foot on the breaks, the handbrake clutched (opposing movement(s), when they need to be in drive, accelerating.

Son of David Have Mercy on Me

My soul be shrouded in despair. A sheet hooded over my head, reflecting my unsettledness in the observable world. I’m rocking back and forth, mirroring the instability and restlessness of my spirit. Along with unsheathing and having daily grand stands with demonic maruders in my mind: in the now, past and future, I war without. I battle against people’s perceptions; I know I shouldn’t, but I’m a fool that way. Frustrating people who don’t understand with my “excuses and laziness” and appeasing friends by letting them believe they do. They so believe they do. They have the right answers. The quick fixes. Unconvinced of their ineptitude, because they’ve had inward bouts themselves and won with a little hard work and elbow grease.

There fundamental frameworks are all the same, enemy or ally, that humans don’t differ and mental handicaps only exist for those who look it, whose faces and heads have been malformed since birth. In the end, the will always wins. They would never command the chair bound to arise and walk, yet all I need is more will, more call to action, proving they don’t see physical and mental maladies the same. I’m unseen and misunderstood.

Every cry deafened by people’s lack of empathy, with their belief that I just am not trying hard enough…Laziness took my legs; ego encumbers me from above. On the metalevel, there is a third fight, one that wonders if they’re right and at the last, I am spent. Fighting battles on three fronts, help nought but pills, push ups, jokes and solitude–and checkins with more platitudes. Or maybe I’ve invited insensitive people to feast with me, because I’ve been taught by guardians to be insensitive to myself. Either way, I feel stupid and lazy writing these reflections. You have enough energy to make excuses but not repair your life. That’s what onlookers think, even if they tell me differently.

Lord, I am not worthy to have you under my roof but just say the word and your servant would be healed.

Thank you Lord for your grace; it is sufficient.

This was written a couple of years ago. God has seen me through. He is faithful and his faithful love endured forever. Glory to the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. As it was, is now, and will be forever. Amen. Alleluia.