Thursday, January 10, 2008 at 2:02am
The battle of Antietam
Column: Our Place in the Universe
It is a naïve man who thinks we are not / Engaged in a fierce battle, / For I see and hear brave foot soldiers / All around me going mad, / Falling on the ground in excruciating pain ...
Last week I went to Antietam with my nephew. He had a list of Civil War topics to choose from, and then had to visit the site and write a paper about his experience. On the list was "Antietam: the Bloodiest Battle of the Civil War." It was the word "bloodiest" that fascinated him.
I remember studying the Civil War in grammar school. There were Civil War cards that you could buy, with a stick of bubble gum in them. I collected them for a short time, until I started having nightmares about the gory scenes depicted on the cards. The pictures were true-to-life of the brutal death that comes from combat with bayonets, cannonballs and pointed wooden stockades.
We arrived at the battlefield by late morning, just in time to watch the one-hour documentary about the battle. By the end of the film the man in front of us was crying. He was a big, bull-necked fellow with a pretty wife. I wondered what he had seen in his own life that had touched him deeply enough to resonate with this suffering.
After the film, we decided to go outside on our own to walk the mile and a half around the cornfield that was the site of the initial early morning encounter. I was glad. I had enough of hearing statistics and strategies. 23,000 men were killed, maimed, left for dead or gone after 12 hours of savage combat.
"In the time that I am writing every stalk of corn in the northern and greater part of the field was cut as closely as could have been done with a knife, and the slain lay in rows precisely as they had stood in their ranks a few moments before. It was never my fortune to witness a more bloody, dismal battlefield." — Maj. Gen. Joseph Hooker, USA, Commander, I Corps, Army of the Potomac
I walked that bloody cornfield. What man died here? Who called out in pain or fear? Which one lay between the furrows with his life's blood leaking out? The fog of early morning lifted, carrying with it the souls of those already gone. I rounded a corner; a surprised flock of mourning doves flew into the air cooing in deference for the dead. The literature said that more soldiers died in this corner than elsewhere.
The field is still used to grow corn. Each stalk that had risen up into the summer sky was cut down like those dead and dying years ago. Now, broken and trampled underfoot, only the inheritance of both is left behind. The leaden sky dark with clouds opened for a moment, and the sun's rays came down across the field. Or was it really the spirits of the men that were ascending into the heavens that caused that shift in the light?
I am here on this cold December afternoon. I am there on that hot September morn. I feel the icy fingers of death running up and down my spine. Did the men of both sides feel the same? I take the last step out of the field into the open. The sky opens at that moment, and the life-giving sun pays homage to the slain.
What made them do it, I asked Christopher? What could they have possibly thought was worth losing 23,000 men that made them keep fighting all day despite the slaughter? They thought they were right, he said simply. At the end of the war they let everyone go home, he informed me, to keep the country together.
I don't know whether I believe that is worth the cost of so many lives. What I do believe is the time for death and dying is past. Now is the time for living — living with care; living with love. I believe that undergoing the pain and difficulty of changing one's heart can replace the pain and suffering of trying to be right in a world of too many "right causes."
Let me fight for a true and righteous heart, one that I can carry on my sleeve, despite the pain. Now that is a battle I feel worthy of engaging in. "You could become a victorious horseman / And carry your heart through this world / Like a life-giving sun. / Though only if you and God become sweet / Lovers!" (Hafiz)
— — —
Anne E. Ulvestad is a free-lance writer residing in Maryland. Having gotten her MA in earth literacy, she is now embarking on the further adventures of a Ph.D. in Wisdom Studies. She is available for public lectures and group presentations and rituals on Spirituality and the Environment. Anne can be reached at {email anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com}anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com{/email}. © copyright 2008 by Anne E. Ulvestad.
Last week I went to Antietam with my nephew. He had a list of Civil War topics to choose from, and then had to visit the site and write a paper about his experience. On the list was "Antietam: the Bloodiest Battle of the Civil War." It was the word "bloodiest" that fascinated him.
I remember studying the Civil War in grammar school. There were Civil War cards that you could buy, with a stick of bubble gum in them. I collected them for a short time, until I started having nightmares about the gory scenes depicted on the cards. The pictures were true-to-life of the brutal death that comes from combat with bayonets, cannonballs and pointed wooden stockades.
We arrived at the battlefield by late morning, just in time to watch the one-hour documentary about the battle. By the end of the film the man in front of us was crying. He was a big, bull-necked fellow with a pretty wife. I wondered what he had seen in his own life that had touched him deeply enough to resonate with this suffering.
After the film, we decided to go outside on our own to walk the mile and a half around the cornfield that was the site of the initial early morning encounter. I was glad. I had enough of hearing statistics and strategies. 23,000 men were killed, maimed, left for dead or gone after 12 hours of savage combat.
"In the time that I am writing every stalk of corn in the northern and greater part of the field was cut as closely as could have been done with a knife, and the slain lay in rows precisely as they had stood in their ranks a few moments before. It was never my fortune to witness a more bloody, dismal battlefield." — Maj. Gen. Joseph Hooker, USA, Commander, I Corps, Army of the Potomac
I walked that bloody cornfield. What man died here? Who called out in pain or fear? Which one lay between the furrows with his life's blood leaking out? The fog of early morning lifted, carrying with it the souls of those already gone. I rounded a corner; a surprised flock of mourning doves flew into the air cooing in deference for the dead. The literature said that more soldiers died in this corner than elsewhere.
The field is still used to grow corn. Each stalk that had risen up into the summer sky was cut down like those dead and dying years ago. Now, broken and trampled underfoot, only the inheritance of both is left behind. The leaden sky dark with clouds opened for a moment, and the sun's rays came down across the field. Or was it really the spirits of the men that were ascending into the heavens that caused that shift in the light?
I am here on this cold December afternoon. I am there on that hot September morn. I feel the icy fingers of death running up and down my spine. Did the men of both sides feel the same? I take the last step out of the field into the open. The sky opens at that moment, and the life-giving sun pays homage to the slain.
What made them do it, I asked Christopher? What could they have possibly thought was worth losing 23,000 men that made them keep fighting all day despite the slaughter? They thought they were right, he said simply. At the end of the war they let everyone go home, he informed me, to keep the country together.
I don't know whether I believe that is worth the cost of so many lives. What I do believe is the time for death and dying is past. Now is the time for living — living with care; living with love. I believe that undergoing the pain and difficulty of changing one's heart can replace the pain and suffering of trying to be right in a world of too many "right causes."
Let me fight for a true and righteous heart, one that I can carry on my sleeve, despite the pain. Now that is a battle I feel worthy of engaging in. "You could become a victorious horseman / And carry your heart through this world / Like a life-giving sun. / Though only if you and God become sweet / Lovers!" (Hafiz)
— — —
Anne E. Ulvestad is a free-lance writer residing in Maryland. Having gotten her MA in earth literacy, she is now embarking on the further adventures of a Ph.D. in Wisdom Studies. She is available for public lectures and group presentations and rituals on Spirituality and the Environment. Anne can be reached at {email anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com}anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com{/email}. © copyright 2008 by Anne E. Ulvestad.