It’s kind of funny in its weirdness you know, this human life experience. We are born at a particular time in history, into a particular culture, into a particular family with their beliefs or non-beliefs in a particular country, all without our permission or say-so. It just happens.
So here I am, in the last gasp, as it were of my life just like millions and millions on this planet and wondering over and over how fleeting it all was. Morbidity creeping in? Not a bit of it – just reflective and accepting.
I am fascinated by war, always have been. It’s not the blood and guns or even the brilliant strategical campaigns or even the contrary, no, it’s why and how and even the gross absurdity of why?
I have a great pictorial volume entitled “The Great War” in which thousands of pictures depicting the unbridled horror of war.
The cover depicts a large group of bedraggled young to middle aged men wearing uniforms of various nations all of whom are expressing joy and enthusiasm as if they just won a major battle.
The longer I glanced into the grinning grinning faces of each soldier it dawned on me how depressing young most of them were.
They faces appeared so young almost juvenile and it also eventually awakened to the fact that if they even survived the carnage they witnessed or even partook in, and came home to live to receive correspondence from the prime minister and even the Queen for their centennial year, none of them are alive to day. And that is life.