Inner Sanctums

I think I've finally gotten used to the low-flying helicopters that are taking off and landing next to my little tin can throughout the night, as I basically sleep undisturbed. I've learned that while at home, I need to have a pair of pants handy at all times, having been awoken one morning by a "Duck and Cover" siren. I fumbled out of bed, managed to find and slip into my flak jacket and helmet, get under the table in my room (after contemplating for entirely too long how to "get away from the windows" when it is one room with two windows on either side), only to realize I was sans pantelon. Not a good way to run around the IZ in case of an emergency.

But yesterday's bombings at the Palestine Hotel spooked me something white and clammy. The first blast bent the glass in my window several inches in, and got me thinking, "This seems like an occasion for the safe haven." The second blast made it clear we were dealing with something very nearby. The final blast shook our entire safe haven, which is four cement walls partially underground. We stayed inside for about thirty minutes after the last blast, although the air was full of gunfire and helicopters for hours afterwards.

It turned out the bombs were detonated across the river. Judging by the force of the blast that made it over to us, I find it hard to imagine that anyone survived in the neighborhood. A friend sent me the article linked to the title of this entry, which is very telling. The environment for your average Iraqi has become untenable--with people on both sides anxious to kill.

An aunt of mine sent me a card that says, "Peace does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart." This inner sanctum is one that we clearly can and must control, in order to see a way through situations like the one that decades of tyranny, global disinterest, and reactionary US foreign policy have created in Iraq.