Love and War
My first serious grownup love was with a Vietnam vet, a helicopter pilot. We danced around each other in a painful disorienting medley of desire and at-one-ness but, without getting into a long thiiiiing about this guy, I wanted to mention something I learned hanging out with various Vietnam vets - my interest in discerning their psyche fueled more or less entirely by my desire to understand this great love of mine.
Anyway, one idea out of many that have remained from what I learned from my friends:
That walking through jungles ever aware of danger; danger from anywhere unseen surrounding trains the senses to any element of human threat; the breath of threat fell heavy on the ears of soldiers walking through jungle terrain unlike any green in our north american landscapes.
And when they came home to the haunted halls of middle class myopia they kept attacking. They could not stop fighting and everyone said, "Oh. It's too bad. They can't get socialized. It's too bad. They have lost touch with reality."
But they said, "No one hears the violence underscoring their words. No one hears the threats implicit in polite conversation. When I hear those threats, I can't stop fighting."
Bring the war home meant to realize that the war was in us, in the way we spoke, in the way we meant harm, humiliation and doubt. The war in Vietnam was an extension of the polite wars we live every day. Our trained fighters could not turn their radar off just because they were home. When they heard the threat, they fought. They defended their lives. They defended our lives. They tried to teach us about ourselves. And they were not welcome. The disturbance was projected onto those who revealed it.