please, Lord Buddha
more than a stony stare
this winter
The majority of the
people in the former Republic of South Vietnam are devout Mahayana Buddhists.
Infused into this belief is a mixture of animism, Confucianism, and
ancestor worship. The Vietnamese are a very religious people.
Holding onto one’s
faith during a war is not easy. I know, I participated in one. What I
saw and experienced will haunt me forever. Imagine what it was like for the
Vietnamese villagers, and other nonmilitary
personnel. How would it affect your faith
if you saw family members and friends maimed and slaughtered? Your sister lit
up like a torch from napalm?
the myna's song
eclipsed by
what wasn't heard
I visited several small villages in the Mekong Delta region of the former
Republic of South Vietnam in 1968. During the day, while many parents and older
siblings labored in the rice fields, the sound of children playing filled the
air. Public schools were non-existent. Grandparents looked after the young
children. Providing a
countermelody to the chorus of children were the songs of parrots and other
jungle denizens. It was a welcome cacophony. Silence in the villages, on the
other hand, meant one thing. All hell was about to break loose.
louder than the
parrot
the soldier in the field
drinking beer
Americans by nature
are a loud lot. In comparison, the Vietnamese people are soft
spoken and rarely raise their voice. It is considered rude to yell or speak
loudly. This is due in part to the Buddhist
influence. Many times I walked through
villages in the Mekong Delta. Always it was a peaceful experience. No loud
music, no screaming kids, no blaring television sets; the air permeated with
the soft whisper of woman doing chores, children
playing, animals grazing, and the
fluttering of banana leaves. A lot of
soldiers drank heavily. This is not uncommon in a war zone. Unfortunately,
the use of alcohol erases all inhibitions. This
made for loud voices, aggressive behavior,
and a lack of moral restraint. Several of my buddies drank themselves
drunk on weekend leave. Their voices pierced the quiet countryside; their
frustration, fear, and prejudices magnified tenfold. They became obnoxious,
disrespectful, and grabbed at passing women with
sexual abandon, oblivious to their
complaints. They were armed, the women were not. The only police in the village,
South Vietnamese Army guards who didn’t want to make waves. Unrestrained,
the drunken soldiers did what they pleased.
what I don't see
worries me,
this jungle with eyes
I couldn't relax when I was in the Republic of South Vietnam. Even when I was
off duty in a so-called "safe" town. No serviceman could. There was a
saying regarding the Vietnamese: "Friends during the day, enemies at
night." The Viet Cong didn't wear military issue clothing. They wore
civilian clothes. There was no way we could tell en enemy from an ally. During
the day, they were invisible, which made them all the more dangerous. They lived
next to our base in small villages, worked in the rice fields, walked past us in
town, and sold us drinks in bars. Some even worked on our Base as surveying
assistants, laborers, and
laundry workers. It was that kind of war. There were eyes everywhere.
when the cicada
stops singing
summer is near
The cacophony of
cicadas are a familiar sound in the jungles of Vietnam. The sound is monotonous
and unpleasant to the ear. Their song, however, was a soothing sound to soldiers
on patrol. Most servicemen were under twenty years of age. We were fresh out
of high school and emotionally unprepared for war.
When the jungle seized its song, our hearts
took its place, pounding out a cadence driven by fear, nervousness, and
apprehensiveness. Something we couldn’t
see was out there, watching, waiting, the lull before the storm.
At any moment, from any direction, we could become the target of automatic rifle
fire and hand grenades. The death, the carnage,
the horror, beyond comprehension or reason.
who will be next?
a harvest i don't
want to think about
During the height of the Vietnam War, one of my classmates in high school told
me he wanted "to go to Nam and kick some commie butt!" It was a
popular sentiment in America during the mid sixties when the anti-war movement
was still in its infancy. Many of us went to South Vietnam to protect the free
world from Communism. It was a long and protracted war with no winners.
Thousands of lives from all sides were extinguished. Countless others were
scarred forever, physically and mentally.
War is not a lark. It is not kicking another person's butt. It's taking the
lives of human beings like yourself. The memories never go away..
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