Acts of war committed by my country’s military, at the direction of the country’s political leaders, tend to interfere with my ability to sleep at night. That is not to say that acts of war in which my country plays no part do not disturb my slumber. Direct involvement, though, causes feelings of trepidation, rage, dread, and disgust—among other unpleasant emotions—to well up inside me to a much greater extent. Acts of war initiated by egotists whose cult followers equate a “tough guy” persona with power and political value are especially troublesome and unpredictably dangerous. When one or more of those egotists have ready access to—and control over—thermonuclear weapons potentially capable of eradicating life on Earth, the stakes are enormously high. Even if total nuclear destruction is removed from the possible outcomes, war on any scale has the capacity to result in massive loss of life, immeasurable human physical and mental suffering, wrecked economies, enormous waste of resources, and much, much more. It is hard—or, perhaps, impossible—to understand the flawed logic that supports war.
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The throbbing pounding in my head is more than a simple headache. It reverberates through my body, causing the blood vessels just beneath the skin on my hands and arms to visibly quiver. I can feel the veins in my feet tremble in unison with the convulsive palpitations of my heart, too. Oddly enough, I do not feel pain in my head. The temples on the sides of my head do not hurt; instead, they simply call my attention to them and they keep time with the beating of my heart. Maybe that precisely-timed vibration is what kept me awake for so much of the time I spent in bed last night. Is it anger that caused my body to express itself so distinctly? Fear? Or is it just a byproduct of emotional tension; nerves stretched taut so that even an involuntary sigh causes them to vibrate like a banjo string?
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It’s happening again. As I sit here, musing about what to type next, the weight of my fingers depresses a few keys on the keyboard. My head nods forward and my eyelids close. Halfway between consciousness and sleep, something causes my eyes to snap open and see dozens of lines of text…all the same letter…on the screen beneath what I just finished typing. Am I losing consciousness, I wonder, or is my body attempting to shut down in response to the confusion of a world gone mad? I’ve been out of bed for more than two hours; awake for more than four…probably closer to five.
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I thought I saw swirls of dark grey clouds attempting to blot out the sky, but that must have been my imagination. The sky is light blue…almost white…and empty. I feel like it is watching me; not with attention but with detached disinterest. A bullet could suddenly pierce my forehead and the indifferent, expressionless atmosphere would not let on that it had just witnessed a murder. Or something even more sinister.
