Thursday, June 30, 2011

Project ECHO - Dying Fish & The Fry

Is there a doctor in the house?

- by Moises Medina (originally published on Doc Medina's Soapbox).

Based on current events, it’s safe to say that liberty and the American way are in critical condition. Freedom, much like a wounded soldier, is strong but in urgent need of first responder aid. Most Americans may never have the privilege of tending to a soldier in need of medical treatment in a far away land. On the other hand, we all can tend to the wounds of freedom here at home. The basics of treating a patient are often called ABC's- Airway, Breathing, and Circulation.

Airway: The airway of liberty is already open. On a daily basis millions of Americans log on to their various web accounts. There is a free flow of information at our fingertips. The average American spends roughly 30 hours online every month. If everyone took just a fraction of that time to review the constitution or find out the legality of government actions, we'd be on our way to restoring our nation.

Breathing: Exactly what this blog and several others like it intend to accomplish. Upon doing a bit of research and contrasting the key factors with the basic principles of freedom; we all have a basic civic duty to get involved. Help others understand what is happening and how to fix it. "Because freedom can't protect itself."(A.C.L.U.) I know A.C.L.U. gets a bad rep from the conservative crowd, but, they are trying to defend freedom the way they see fit. What are those critics doing?

Circulation: When the American people get informed and begin to take action, liberty will hemorrhage no more. The breath of freedom will once again oxygenate every cell of American life. Only then can we enjoy the stability of a truly free society again.

The role of a first responder is to stabilize a patient until they can receive superior care, usually from a surgeon or doctor. Now I leave you with the words of, Congressman and 2012 Presidential Candidate, Dr. Ron Paul: "Refusing to reassess our mistakes and insisting on just more and more of a failed remedy is destined to kill the patient. In this case, the casualties will be our liberties and prosperity, here at home, and peace abroad."

Watercolor, Pencil Pen and Ink 9X12”
DYING FISH & THE FRY: I am attempting to articulate the economic climate during the falling housing market. Rising fuel costs dominated conversations. One day I drove passed a closed retail store and later saw businesses regaining some viability. When I painted this, I thought of the changes in the economy, bankruptcies and businesses closures, and the ill-logic of profit built on the maxim of constant expansion. The entire system cycles on a perpetual spending model and is becoming a questionable reality. Larger and specialized stores became difficult to sustain. The large fish represents this unsustainable state; its death in the dried pond left room for the fry. The fry is young and its future ahead, still to contend for the confines of this water. The fry hopes that the oncoming storm will rain upon its water.

Dying Fish & The Fry - written in 2009, by Jin Kong (originally published on Thinking Out Loud)

Sometimes a dream seems so real that you actually believe the memories of that dream, but when you wake, you are reminded of the degree of freedom uninhibited by the providence of that dream. From there, you remember the details and suddenly you realize that faith only in part determines your existence, and it is the power of your choice – to remember, to live, and to hope – that determines the eventual worth of your life.

I dreamt last night that I was back in the military again. I was in my green camouflaged uniform issued during basic training and assigned on a day duty at a store on base. At first I couldn’t recognize the base and I couldn’t tell what I was doing there except to simply be there. But as the day came to a conclusion, and I was relieved of my duties, I walked pass familiar surroundings. I saw myself holding up a duffle bag in front of me, on my first day of basic training, sweat dripping down the side of my face.

Funny, I don’t remember being tired.

I saw my drill instructors screaming into my ear, taking turns to question my self-worth in almost a choreographed way. I saw myself following instructions, collecting my initial issued items, desperately trying to fit all of the gears into a standard size duffle, and trying as hard as I can to keep pace so I can get on that cow-truck to go “down range.”

I walked pass myself, because it was the end of my duty day, I didn’t even give my exhausted self-reflection a second look. I walked pass the area where it was forbidden to basic-trainees, where the commissary was. I headed out to the base’s main gate. I can look beyond the fences and see myself marching with my platoon early in the twilight.

I saw myself hunched over, carrying my rucksack on my back, hunched over with my M4 in hand cleverly lodged onto my belt to relieve some of its weight on that 25 mile hike.

I turned my head, looked away. I was focused on getting pass the main gate, because it was the end of my duty day. I wanted to get back home.

I can see the small opening in front of me. I can see the landscape beyond the Army base littered with trash and bodies. I see that small boy, whose parents were killed in a mortar attack, who followed me the entire day and never smiled once.

I saw him walking aimlessly, looking at the bodies littered outside, looking for his parents perhaps.

I tried to walk out the front gate, to help him. I tried to walk pass the opening to leave behind the memories. A gush of wind picked up, and somehow directly funneled against me through the front gate. I lowered my head, held on to my field cap, and walked painfully against the wind.

I woke up in a panic. Have I left the military? Have I left the providence of death and resurrection? Have I shed the tears for my friends whose souls are kept in the flow of Tigris?

What of this dream now? Can I make sense of it in the years to come? Am I able to weather the storm that is pending on my horizon?

Like a well trained medic, all I can remember are my ABCs . . .

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