*If you remember 2001, chances are you remember it for a dreadful day in New York in September. And you’re in numerous and respectable company if you see the violence of that day as creating a watershed moment that has changed everything. I wouldn’t wish to minimize its horror, nor to convey any lack of respect toward its victims.
As a child of 1941, however, and as one who looks anxiously but confidently toward a better existence after this one has lurched through its course, I have to confess that the events of “9/11” surprised me very little. And that, even years later, it seems rather to confirm my durable understanding of the impermanence of this world, and of my expectation that it will be transformed when Shiloh comes, not at the hands of mere enemy aliens.
I have no photos that recall that day, nor its victims, nor its heroes. Nor, for that matter, did I take any pictures of the many flags that betokened patriotism, sympathy, and unity—prevailing over all too brief an interval. Our life continued much as before, if sobered by a new increment of sorrow, pity, and regret.
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