More from the longtime Navy vet, a leader in the mythopoetic men's movement of the 80s and 90s. He writes:
Combat Trauma -- Angels of War
Souls go out to combat. Some come back as angels, brought on the dark wings of the Black Hawk. Rough hands lifting and holding the black bag containing the Angel, strain not just the arms backs also the Soul.
“You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there
So tired of the straight line
And everywhere you turn
There’s vultures and thieves at your back
And the storm keeps on twisting
You keep on building the lie
That you make up for all that you lack
It don’t make no difference
Escaping one last time
It’s easier to believe in this sweet madness oh
This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees
In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here “
Excerpts:
Sarah McLachlan “Angel” lyrics
Valkyries in the heart of a giant Black Bird moving with the rough love of detachment -- fear of offending ones own soul, taking an Angel starting the journey back from the crossing of the Styx of this world.
Combat trauma comes in many guises. Taking an Angel from its last battle in this life -- knowing the loss from this world has just begun, and will last in many hearts for years and lifetimes. The clatter of the mechanical Black Bird, lifts the Angel spirit, ferrying it away from the vast width of the Styx.
The soul of whom lifts the angel bears a burden the mind must ignore, shifting the grief to the soul. The strongest, yet most vulnerable in the struggle of love and life.
The Angel is leaving the field of horror, destruction, grief and despair. Taking the love and grief of those souls left behind. These Angels leave the field of dissolution with the ultimate honor. They did their duty!
Now their honor be born out of this dissolution by warriors, who must stuff the love, hate and tenderness in the soul, stuff it down, keep hidden away until it can be faced it in the light of awareness.
So many of us miss the vulgar life of destruction, the rage of absence of comrades who have gone before, crossed the river of absolution, the visceral reality that we must chose to exist -- to keep our souls here in this world, amidst the grief, angst, and longing for relief. We must honor those Angels who have been released from the torture of delivering the blessing of life or the deliverance of death.
For those who have been in the sacred place of combat, we must remember a sacred place must have the smell of shit and blood of sacrifice that makes it sacred.
We will all know the sound of beating wings, each time, for the rest of our lives, when vibration of a mechanical bird is felt by the soul long before the mind registers a sound. Our soul remembers Angels we know -- sometimes we say hello -- mostly faces, sights. Floods up from the soul -- not down from the mind.
As a new friend said, “I am too old to fight “ but I might add, we will always remember when we were fighters, and honor those who have taken up the fight, living every breath, minute by minute, and those Angels who have finally come home."
© 2010 by Lily Casura / Healing Combat Trauma. All rights reserved. Use with attribution.
