Covered In Glory

Courage under fire in Vietnam.

Just finished the Vietnam in HD series on Netflix.  My reaction to the highlights of instinctual heroism is reflective of my deep, pessimistic insecurities - would I be the guy to fall on the grenade? Most men, I think, wonder the same thing.  It's why we do stupid things, hard things, vision quests, and rites of passage. It's why we're fascinated by war and why we bestow honor on those who've been through it, who've proved that yes, it's possible to crush the ogre of fear and violently tear ourselves in the opposite direction of our primal instinct for survival. Because we want to know how they did it.

Acquired from where?

I think back to a night of naked camping in the Pike National Forest with my friends Jeremy, Bill and Eric. That's right, naked camping.  In our early 20's, hiking around the remote wilderness wearing only our backpacks felt like a carefree expression of daring and freedom.  We'd strap on our gear, enter the forest, then strip down and hike to our destination unencumbered by social constraints, laughing and cavorting like idiots which, looking back, was apropos.

Pike National Forest, Colorado.

On this occasion, while scampering around Breakfast Rock in our birthday suits, we attempted to start a fire, with poor results.  As we gathered in soft, pink consternation around the recalcitrant brush heap I arrogantly unlimbered my red MSR container of white fuel and without thought or hesitation dumped half of it on the smoldering logs.

White fuel is a petroleum naptha distillate popularly used for camping lanterns and stoves, famous for its low flash point. In a split second the fire came roaring to life, the fuel justifying its fame by igniting the bottle in my hand with a dull whoosh.

The fire dancer's favorite.

My brain vapor-locked, time expanded to slow-motion. I had a bomb in my hand, was surrounded by naked men, all in equal measures of danger, so I instantly responded with instincts honed by a lifetime of interactions with hornets and spiders, - I frantically flicked it away from me as far as I could.  That wasn't far, it turned out.  

Burning Man.

My trajectory was too low and in my panic I'd spun it away with the open end outermost.  Centrifugal force sent the remaining fuel blasting through the blue flame that wreathed the rim, igniting the spray into a crackling crescent of bright, white fire that splattered all over my friends.  Nearest me was Jeremy, hitherto my most hirsute companion, who began a frantic, high-knee, arm-slapping dance after observing his nether parts aflame. To to my everlasting shame, I had scrambled in the opposite direction, surprisingly agile for the barefoot conditions, while howling with inappropriate mirth at the image Jeremy presented.

The danger is real!

The fuel burned too quickly to cause any lasting damage to my friends, but my psyche remains scarred from my cowardice.  The incident replays in my head from time to time, causing a wince and another round of self-castigation.  Darwin, I think, would argue that self-preservation is a virtue in the grim struggle for survival of the fittest - 'better a live dog than a dead lion', etc.  Why, then, do we celebrate and venerate the dead lions? Because, in defiance of their deeply programmed instincts, they loved something or someone more than themselves, not merely theoretically but ultimately, instantly.  The balance we maintain between fear and courage will, when called upon, squeeze down fear and open toward courage from love, if we have been bold and vulnerable enough to allow it in.  Ask any soldier why he fights: it's love for the man next to him. Knowing this, maybe I'll get it right next time.  There is, a wise man once said, nothing greater.

  

Love, over easy.