grenades

This was actually written last week, but due to technical difficulties, I am posting it today.

This morning while listening to "Europe Today" I heard the story of a soldier from Turkey who died while holding a grenade. He was caught falling asleep while on duty, so as punishment his commanding officer handed him a grenade, pulled the pin and insisted the soldier hold it as he walked away. The reporters covering the story were asking why this man had not done what most of us would likely do; throw it as far as we could in one direction, and run in the opposite direction. Why had this man obeyed the order to hold on to certain death, awaiting the inevitable moment his palms would become increasingly sweaty and shaky and the grenade would slip through his hands, detonating beneath him. Three other soldiers nearby died as well. Okay, clearly the power dynamics were fucked here for a superior to implement this "teaching moment" or whatever it was, but I also have to wonder what other grenades was this man carrying for him to lack the conviction to save himself? Why was he continually falling asleep at work? Was he holding up this grenade because he was commanded to? For what reasons does someone just accept their situation instead of risking the possible repercussions of launching it across the field? Perhaps he thought he was capable of holding it forever. I began to think about the three soldiers also killed in the explosion. Why were they so close to the grenade? Were they trying to convince him to keep holding the bomb, did anyone even suggest he get rid of it? Perhaps they too were forced into a deadly choice. It is strange to imagine being in such a situation, forced to hold such power and certain death. Heart racing, palms getting sweatier by the minute, concentrating on not moving, thinking or breathing too much, holding this burden of imminent destruction in your hands. I try to imagine the other grenades he might have been carrying, tucked deep into his cargo pant pockets or carefully cradled in his backpack, padded to avoid detonation. I am thinking of all the explosive devices we carry ourselves, the bombs others hand us; the ugliness that sometimes comes out of a lover's mouth, plops into our arms, pin already pulled. We look at it and think it best to pocket it, shove it down deep so we can't see it, but still we can feel its roundness, its power when we brush up against its formidable shape or as it is retrieved occasionally to reexamine and inspect its killing power.

The grenades of our own making, the ugly and negative thoughts that keep us from feeling free, prevent us from launching it westward and running east. We hand ourselves the grenades to be sure, pulling our own pins with choices we make, people we continue to love and addictions we feed. Pretty soon, we can start to feel heavy, burdened with small and large grenades that we carry for ourselves, that we carry for others. Our cargo pockets are bulging, our backpacks heavy and our spirits broken. We are unable to think of the possibility that we could lighten our own load. The pain and criticism of a past does not need to burden us, we can launch our bombs away from our bodies and not let them drop to our feet. The soldiers that surround us should be encouraging, reminding us of our options, our strength, our possibilities. About a year and half ago I began pulling out my own grenades from my cargo pant pockets, grenades handed to me over a lifetime when I felt weak, insecure, and doubtful. I had made the unfortunate decision to hold onto them instead of launching them, tucking them deep within hoping they would just go away, diffuse on their own or corrode and no longer be such a risk. They do not go away and will eventually detonate as you pass over a large bump in the road, or someone trips you up. I hope the tragedy of this soldier becomes bigger than a five minute story on the radio. I believe he will come to mind the next time someone tries to hand me a load of bullshit. I would like to believe that I am capable of refusing his grenade or if I am too late, I will continue to believe in the launch.