Now

I had a dream while listening to the radio. And on the radio a debate ensued about whether it was ok to parade Saddam - a POW, debased, humiliated, in front of millions of TV viewers around the world as part of a bloodthirsty land thirsty oil thirsty campaign of imperialistic terror. And then music ended the debate. And as the last stanzas were sung, I woke from a dream in which I was running away from my very own sister, and I feared for my life. And I was reminded of a dream that I dreamt long ago as a child. I dreamt that I was a Spanish solider, overseeing the deaths of Cathars in white robes singing holding candles unafraid. When I woke from that dream, I made a promise to myself. I promised that I would never ever let it happen again. But the voices of the mature called for me to remain silent. And so silent I fell, until the day when I saw it all happen in front of my eyes again. NOW.