Kirjahaku

This post-apocalyptic reality representation asks a crucial question: If humanity waits too long, what could possibly happen? Will the very worst of times come as a consequence? Will the world we have known come to a point where simple survival is not only incredibly challenging but nearly next to impossible? If mankind had acted sooner, would it still have been too late? Are we but the authors of our own troubled future, of a time and circumstance slowly starting to dramatically unfold?Is the one species granted the gift of self-awareness going to fail at the most critical juncture of its existence? Will human beings lack sufficient enough awareness to realize that it was by their own hand that they proved to be the creator of their own undoing? That is the essential underlying theme in this exploration of what could easily happen if humanity does not immediately wake up and collectively face the potential consequences of global inaction. Climate change is real. It poses a serious threat to the long-term existence of our species-not to mention an entire world of others. If a potent sense of urgency is not instigated in all of us now, we will suffer together as a result. We may well create the unquestionably challenging future we all deserve.

It was death defying. I shouldn't be here. The doctors said I should have died. Considering the severity of my skull fracture, accompanying concussion, and consequential troubling abscess, I should have been a goner. I was barely past my first birthday when it happened. My father said that, apparently, I had just gotten my one-year inoculations. Something about them, however, set me off-and badly. As a result, I was evidently overly fussy due to one of the drug's impact on my small body. I was in my highchair and angrily pushed my little legs firmly against the dining room table. I essentially propelled myself backward. My still pliable head struck the hard wooden floor. The floor was okay; my head wasn't. The impact fractured my skull and I went Humpty Dumpty on my soon frantic parents. The fracture to the back of my head and the resulting scar of baseball-sized stitching was vital evidence that what happened was both serious and life-threatening. That singular accident would have a profound impact on me. Even from my childhood perspective, I wasn't entirely right in the head and wouldn't be for years thereafter.

In the smallness of his early remembrance, he stood witness in a shadowed confine and watched as his father cowered and then fell to his knees-only to kiss the mud encrusted boots of a passing, perennial warlord. Even in his childhood estimation that profound loss of face thundered into his awareness like a ferocious summer storm. In spite of his youthful perspective, the weight of that excruciating moment hung heavily about his neck like a millstone of deepest humility. He hung his head in sullen disgrace, the moment etched into his soul like a monument carved out of poor quality jade. But a time later, as season eclipsed season, three wandering warriors-dressed for unknown battle foes-emerged god-like, as armored sentinels from the depths of darkened woods. Their imposing presence portended a promising example of a future free from humiliations' grip. As the young man groped for a resolve for his family's shame, he quietly left and hastily followed in the warrior's disciplined shadow. As days turned into months, he lingered ever so closely, clandestinely watching their every move. But the day finally came, when his childhood charade was finally exposed for its farcical foment. The garnered scraps he plundered from the remains of the day did not fill his hungered being. In desperation, he plunged headfirst into the warrior's camp. But their reception was tempered with the recognition that they had known full well of his attempted deceit. Their aloof and steadfast countenances did not entertain the likes of a peasant boy-a mere child. He was far too frail, too enabled by poverty's imposing grip to be of any use. But his persistent, persevering presence eclipsed their initial, calculating assessment. In spite of his slight frame of being, his ruthless determination portrayed a soul with some lasting merit-a spirit that, with absolute control-could be shaped into a man of lasting promise. A Samurai.

Through the course of a lifetime--from the shared joys to terrible tribulations--one is indeed blessed if they have the opportunity to encounter a soul of extraordinary wisdom and spiritual insight. That is especially the case if they are there to help guide those in need through the most crucial of experiences: the death of a parent. Mister Hunter was such an individual. He was one of those rare souls who was both incredibly aware and totally enigmatic at the same time. It would take multiple journeys to India fully comprehend the transforming impact he had on my sister and I. In time, and by his remarkable example, I would ultimately discover what it means to follow the path leading to enlightenment.

It is the nature of a family tragedy that it lingers, it festers, it changes all concerned and often for the remainder of a lifetime. But when the scope of that tragedy spreads out and touches one family and then those nearest to it, life becomes complicated and, at times, untenable. Such was the case with the Lawson's and the youngest son, Robert, in particular (or "Robber" as he was fondly known to his two older brothers). It was already challenging enough that Robber had followed in his brother's footsteps and became a Marine Special Ops warrior. But when life back home turned from difficult to unruly, Robber's life would never be the same again. Everything he held dear was now on the line.