His measured steps thudded softly on the misted sidewalk. It was the kind of day where you could not easily tell if it had rained since the overcast weather made the concrete look dark anyway. He was still trying to get his mind to accept his current situation. He, of course, understood what had happened since he had lived through the events, but everything ran together like a Rorschach blot that had a vague form of a memory. Probably, if he had to name the blot, he just would have called it a vampire bat, or a hostile Sasquatch, or some kind of terror-invoking Cryptid.

I know all of this, of course, because I know the guy and when I spoke with him it was clear that he was still trying to sort out how his life had changed so quickly—or maybe I had spoken with his type so often no words were necessary. One does not have to speak to a person to ascertain where their compass of reality is pointing. Returning World War I, soldiers, for instance, had a kind of distant look to them when they got back home. It was like they were too alive if such a thing exists but were also somehow devoid of connection. The Vietnam guys were not too dissimilar in some ways, except that they responded to environmental cues like loud noises in ways other people did not. While they had left the war, the war had never left them. Many wandered down the streets like this guy. Some were looking for Charlie. Others were still in the trenches. Time had swept all their stories away into irrelevance or near irrelevance. When everyone gets done warring, it seems, the next stage is for people to forget about the war and start their own narratives about what happened—even if those narratives are not true--and even if those who were in them wander the streets with ghostly expressions that testify to an eyewitness account that cannot be erased. The consequence or fallout from these decisions is that guys like this become the gatekeepers of a horror no one wants to share any longer.

This guy, though, well, he had never been to war. The war, instead, came to him. It came looking for him in the same way a Sheriff looks for a person to whom a matter of court is addressed--diligently--stridently. It was looking for him because he, on some level, had looked for it. He had not looked for it in the way a person eagerly anticipates something like a wedding, but rather he had looked for it in a knowing-fashion—the way one looks for a slight movement that stands out in a crowd of people. The person who, far from being swept up in the moment of whatever celebrated event is transpiring—is looking with purpose. That person—that one is up to something and the crowd is only his or her excuse for being where they are. They are working. Hunting. Observing. If there is going to be a problem, it is going to be that person—and naturally— they notice a person noticing. Like two lions hidden in scrub surveying an antelope herd, they see each other, and they know they are both marked by their natures.

He remembered having read something about a “Great Awakening” in the history books. These were moments where America suddenly changed course due to a religious shift that had seismic consequence in the social strata of the nation. The first ones most often had to do with slavery, and getting one’s relationship with God square. Of course, a lot of people apparently had said “Fuck that,” and the outcome was the Civil War where God effectively replied, “Nah, I do not think so.” Many unnecessary traumatic deaths later, and the slaves were set free—or at least were placed on the road to it. Everyone else, of course, fought over who was right and who was wrong although none of that brought a single person back from the grave who died for the cause except for some occasional vengeful ghost near the remains of what was described as a ruined stone pyramid at Gettysburg. You know a war must have majorly sucked when the ghosts are still hundreds of years beyond the event and are still pissed off in earnest like it had happened yesterday. The living went on to fight for their pensions and absolution from the flow of blood. Some of them were missing parts of their faces and limbs. More witnesses to an event that nobody wanted. Of course, everyone wanted a part of the glory, but none of the blame.

This guy shuffles down the sidewalk. He is lost in his thoughts, but the words of a “Great Awakening” bounce around in his skull. He was awake all right. He was awake to the fact that his fellow people were content to be asleep. Funny thing about wars is that sometimes spiritual awakenings awaken a person to—to what? More war.

Patton, the tank commander from WWII, was not displeased to find himself in a war, because, and this is key, he considered himself to be a reincarnated warrior from other wars, and when the time arose, he figured, he would be re-born and thrust into another war. This is a curiously different response to war than many others have with that vacant stare. This type of being seems to like war, or else has accepted it is part of their essence. While World War II raged, Patton was on the fields of Rome in various kinds of armor doing what, exactly? More war. Turtle shells all the way down for him--except the shells are various wars. Simple to understand, perhaps. Somewhat puzzling. On the other hand, Patton was in the right place to be lauded as a warrior—at least for a time. America loved the pearl-handled revolvers. Here was a cowboy who could kick some Nazi ass.

One might wonder, though, had Patton not been born then, had there not been a global war raging, what his life might have been? He might have also been walking down this same street due to some Great Awakening. Of course, in such a scenario, while he might know himself to be a re-incarnated soldier, no one else is inclined to give him the time of day. He would be awake without any of the recognition. Worse, he might be derided instead of honored. A famous General that helped turn the tide of a World War is then, in such a situation, reduced to a vagrant.

Our fellow walking down the street is also a vagrant now. He had assisted in the Great Awakening which was both military and civilian in nature. He himself had seen some military service, but had, as things played out, lost his home. So, he was awake. What he woke up to, however, was a willingness for his fellow men and women to allow him to become homeless—mostly because they did not like what he had to say—or more to the point what he represented. For this, the web of civilization had failed to catch him. Instead, he had become homeless and people felt like they were doing him a favor now if they bought him a sandwich—never mind the fact that he had to see them drive by in their 80,000 dollar SUV’s. They might condescend to speak on their way to Church since the Messiah had said something or another about helping the homeless. Of course, if it interfered too much with work the next day, or screwed up the worship choir singing schedule, the guy would just have to ask the Lord to send him help from somewhere else. He had learned that people would give compassion to the homeless for only so long and after that period was up—whether or not it was their fault that they were homeless—it was their fault nonetheless.

Indeed, there were those who thrived on being homeless—or at least did not mind committing suicide that way. Mental illnesses and drug addictions were many and the streets were full of these too. Yet, everyone would hear stories about some country half way across the world somewhere that had been a shithole for as long as anyone could remember receiving aid from the United States. Likewise, Churches in the United States would go on mission trips to places in the Third World ostensibly to spread the Gospel. This guy wandering down the street could have saved them the expense of a plane ticket, and in some cases, the necessity of purchasing a plane. They did not have to go that far. The reality was, though, like the town alcoholic who goes to the neighboring pub so people start fewer rumors about his behavior—Churches liked going somewhere else country-wise it seemed for a similar reason. Spread the Gospel and outsource the shame of abandoning your fellow people, maybe.

The Great Awakening had uncovered a lot of evil. Yet, the thing it had hidden was the evil people were doing who considered themselves awake. On a field of battle if a fellow soldier takes a bullet, you might expose yourself to danger to drag him to safety so he does not become a fatality. In the Great Awakening, you are just another story for someone’s platform to get some clicks. You add clout to their reputation. People know them for YOUR story, but they do not lift a finger to get you off the street. Everyone is talking about what you did, or how you did it, but then, there is our guy, walking down the sidewalk unrecognized other than for being homeless. It’s like you are Jimmy Doolittle doing your raid on Japan, except when you get home, everyone is talking about Rob Parsnets as though he were you. Of course, you were there. You have that special stare. You know why the guy is walking down the street the way he is. It’s actually not his situation he’s trying to make sense of. It is all the Rob Parsnets of the world and those that follow him like some Pied Piper. The man walking does not need the glory. You do not need the glory. You simply need the love of your God, and of your fellow men to care about your condition enough to at least drag you off the battlefield into some cover until a medic arrives. This is not an especially fancy lesson, here, in this Great Awakening. It is the most simple core of the teaching of the Messiah. Everyone is awake, though. They are shouting about their beliefs and the imminent End of the World. Nobody, though, seems to think they ought to do what the Messiah said to do for one another and to not be caught unaware on that day. They are too busy with their Youtube and meaningless office jobs which are, after all, in the shadow of this Great Awakening.

So, the man walks down the street. He is awake. He fought in the Great Awakening—whether he knew it or not. What he is awake to is the Hell of indifference—of stuffing a sacrifice under the altar and muzzling it. He, of course, all ready knew about all that. After all, the Bible says the world is not to be trusted. What makes this situation special is the hypocrisy of the scenario. He is living in one of the richest nations on the planet, and everyone wants to make excuses for why they should not have to help him. “Shoulda kept your mouth shut. Shoulda sat and colored. Shoudn’t piss off people who can take your life and home and mess it up.” Right. Cause Messiah said all that.

The man walks down the street silently, but his voice is a crying out in the wilderness. The deaf and lame blame the spiritually awake. Somewhere, off in the distance, a rooster crows three times.

Word Count: 2019