To be alone in grave danger; To be alone to do battle in a war with no end; To be alone to fight the whimsical fury of nature; To be alone to struggle incessantly with others already wounded; To be alone day after day and night after night searching the depth of the soul; To be alone and score victories day after day and night after night until there is pride; To be alone defines Heroic Man. In the modern world no one is alone. Six billion people are inter-connected. But for a brief “Classical Period” in the modern world there surfaced a Heroic Man.
Santa Fe The Dream
Heroic Man The nature of Heroic Man, and all men, is to reach the city called Freedom. It is in the State of Mind. The first stop is the City of Survival. Once they leave here the next stop is The City of Goodness where there is a war going on between good and evil. If Goodness wins this war then it is a clear, pure, simple road to Freedom. There they can create a unique reality.
“I’m only nine, but I wasn’t afraid.” “El Hombre estaba loco en la cabeza.” “All the Marines got off in Oceanside. He was alone.” “I’m from Britain and I’m going home. America is evil.” “Sorry about the driver, but that’s his job―isn’t it?” “No, we didn’t see anything. We are blind.” “It was so terrible, so, so terrible.” “Yes I would call him a hero. No, he was not a hero, he was Heroic.”
The war for survival was about to begin again. The battles they fought so valiantly in 1983 are now, seven years later, only a memory. It is a memory rich in substance. They thought they won. They were fools. Those on top are relentless. They may lose a battle here and there but they always win the war. “The drivers are stupid, they always had been, they are now, and they always will be,” Ernie said as he read from the bulletin board. “We are the common man,” another driver said. “Someone ought to tell them what the hell we do! They are going to ruin all the pride we have,” Ernie said emphatically. The CEO of the Company had warned them not to strike or they would be replaced permanently this time. “It’s simple what we do Ernie. We drive a bus―a piece of cake. I drive mine three-hundred and thirty miles down the beautiful California Coast.” Mike was being sarcastic. Other drivers got into the conversation: “What do you do George?” “I drive an express bus. Twenty stops every hundred miles.” The dispatcher chimed in. “That’s why Joe Lynch bid out to the desert. No trees for the dog to raise its leg.” Tomorrow they were scheduled to strike. This could be their last trip for a long time. But they had work to do. Both northbound and southbound buses were in. The drivers’ room was cramped and had an ambivalent closeness. The drivers arriving were relaxed; those leaving were nervously counting their tickets. Mike was having a last cigarette. “Only ten passengers tonight, it should be an easy trip.” “Thanks Ernie, but there is no such animal.” Mike never anticipated an easy trip. Twenty years ago, at the ripe old age of twenty-six he learned better. It was between Casa Grande and Yuma, Arizona. Mike was enjoying a brilliant desert afternoon. There were a few quiet passengers on board; he had a nice bus, and he felt great when suddenly a man with a metal hook attached to his arm ran screaming down the aisle toward the front of the bus. Mike dynamited the brakes and the man went crashing into the front dash but not before catching the hook in Mike’s collar. That was the last of the “easy trips”. It was drizzling outside as Mike set his bus up for the night’s trip. Mechanically he checked the lights, bumped the tires, adjusted his mirrors, and as perfunctory, glanced at the passengers. He looked at the sky and spotted patches of clear sky between the dark storm clouds. 8:45 P.M. Mike pulled out of the San Luis Obispo, California bus depot after loading only two passengers. He was on time. He made an announcement on the microphone, “Good evening, folks. This is your thru schedule to San Diego. We are scheduled to arrive in San Diego at 5:10 A.M. We’ll have brief breaks at Santa Barbara at 11:00 P.M. and at Los Angeles at 2:00 A.M. We will be making a total of fifteen stops. If you have a radio or tape player please use headsets; no alcohol or pot smoking please, and there’s a rest room in the back for your convenience, and thanks for traveling with us.” Because of the power of the bus, its smoothness, and it being so quiet, Mike knew immediately as he accelerated on to the freeway that he had a very good bus. Quickly he went through his checklist. He checked the gauges, the inside and outside mirrors, the physical area around the seat, the traffic, which was light, and the alignment of the bus on the road. Then he concentrated on his own body. He began with his neck muscles, getting them to relax, and letting his blood flow to his toes. Sometimes he could completely relax in just a few minutes; other times it would take hours. But before lapsing into thought he had to relax or disaster would befall him in the form of the visitor. Like a bright star the moon guided him out of the canyon to the coast. Then it pillowed itself on top of the ocean fighting for space among the storm clouds.
|