The Pace of War
Seems like it's fast at first. But it's a grind. A marathon every day for years.
My Ukrainian friends know what I’m talking about.
This is a war. If it weren’t a war, we wouldn’t be armies of clowns: we would be troops or lone wolves. I am the latter. You know the lone wolves. May not have ever used the word clown to describe them, but you know them. If you’re a clown and you know it, clap your hands. If you don’t think you are a clown - here’s a little secret every clown knows - we are all - each and every one of us a little bit of a clown. Many are taught to suppress their clown-nature, but you, too, can learn to bring it back. When was the last time you laughed at yourself? There’s your clown.
If you have ever laughed at yourself while crying - you are a veteran clown.
Little known fact - Gandalf was a clown magician/illusionist/trickster. Ok, probably not actually a fact, but this is a post-fact world, right? Mordor falls because a clown throws a ring into a caldera. And that clown is the clown least expected by anyone - ESPECIALLY unexpected for the clown that throws the ring.
EVERY D&D player ever is a clown - whether they know it or not. Even that angry dude who plays the rogue like a barbarian. You know I’m right because if you are a D&D player - you’ve laughed at him in good fun and he laughed with you. If he didn’t laugh with you, maybe you need a clown-troop side-quest?
The pace of warfare - information - psychological or kinetic or clown - is like this article. Grinding. Exhausting. Demoralizing far more often than uplifting. But you find ways to keep your humanity - or you lose your soul and then die. You create ways to keep your humanity. You foster this in others.
The pace of war ebbs and flows. For survivors of hot, kinetic combat - time is perceived very differently than most of their time - waiting - moving - waiting - moving - waiting. For the men and women on the front lines of hot, kinetic combat in Ukraine - time has mostly been hunkered down waiting for a million poor Russian troops, prisoners, and shanghai’d foreigners (true story). The pace of war is truly only understood by those who have lived it. I lived it in books at too young an age to be reading of such things. But I come from a family of anti-fascist, pro-democracy folks - both sides. But I know that reading about and IRL are two different things. The pace of war ebbs and flows like a chaotic tide on an angry moon. Sometimes tsunamis. Sometimes you can walk a mile of sand. The pace of war the pace of war the pace of war the pace of war is like this article. Grinding. Exhausting. Demoralizing far more often than uplifting. But you find ways to keep your humanity
No clown wants a war, and civil wars are the worst of wars for clowns who only want everyone in the whole wide world to rejoice!
But wars come. They come after rumors of war. Same now as it has always been (please tell me you didn’t skip to the last chapter of the Bible).
And clowns survive wars. We help others survive wars. And we laugh at ourselves while crying. Life truly is beautiful. Even on the front lines. It is precious (remember that VBS song?)
The pace of war is a grind, get used to it. Accept it. Learn to move with it.
As I write this, my friends in Kyiv are in subway stations or huddled under mattresses in the hallways of high-rises near stairwells. I promise one is laughing right now in this moment and that those around them are starting to chuckle. Not at the war, but at themselves. Not at the death, the maiming, the gore, the legions who have lost their souls while waiting to die - flying drones into family apartments and raining non-nuclear ICBMs down on Easter parades. No, the pace of war is in moments. One at a time and in this moment - they are laughing at themselves while crying. That is humanity. The pace of war is dehumanizing, but if you learn it and embrace it, you will ride the waves and live for those moments of clown. And serenity wherever it miraculously appears. Because after a long day of clowning, the clown is rewarded with serenity. And this is how a clown knows that they are blessed.
The pace of war is in the moment. In the breath. The one you take as you read this.
THE PACE OF WAR IS A HEADLINE
the pace of war is a whisper
The pace of war. Get used to it. Because we are in a global war on fascism. It started before most people thought it was coming. Like a magician’s trick. That’s how wars are. They start long before they are declared. The News is the last to know when a real war comes. In the last global war on fascism, the USA almost fought on the wrong side. We are taught about that war in simplistic terms, but it started well before Pearl Harbor. Here’s the thing about fascists - THEY LOVE TO FIGHT EACH OTHER! Don’t believe me? Go look at the latest wave of “fight clubs” in the USA. Thanks for missing the point of that book, whole asses. The clowns are coming for you where you least expect it - and it WILL BE HILARIOUS!
The pace of war is
a grind.
Find your breath. Slow down. The front-line soldiers who survive hot, kinetic combat are the ones who are good at slowing themselves down when taking fire. I don’t mean they don’t run, drop, roll, crawl, jump climb, run. I mean they slow their minds down and they listen to their senses instead. Breathe. Observe. Respond. Those who react - die. The pace of war is shrouded in death and mourning that will take lifetimes to heal.
A grind.
No, not your electric coffee grinder - that’s like a parrot’s screech. A grind. Day in. Day out. Easy does it. Interrupted now. And then.
The pace of war seems fast on TikTok and TV. It is an ebb and flow. Notice the parrot on your shoulder when it lands. Say hi when it interrupts, but keep typing if that is your current mission. Eat when you can and food is offered. Eat when you can and need to, offered or not. Pacing: break bread often. Share food every chance you get. Potlucks are the only way soldiers and refugees eat. Start making it a practice if you don’t already. Drink water when you can and need to. Sleep when you can. The pace of war hates sleep. Sleep anyway. Treasure when you sleep enough to dream - like a pirate in a Popeye cartoon.
The pace of war.
The sun still rises on schedule. Sets punctually as well. The moon phases in and out like it always has. The rains come. The rains go. Snow. Heat. Ticks and poison ivy. Bare trees hanging onto their last leaves. War becomes perennial, like the grass (thank you Martina wherever you are - you know who you are if you’re reading this).
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
The pace of war.
gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnndddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd
A grind of moments, desperate for joy.
The pace of war is in Einstein’s Dreams.
The pace of war is like this article. Grinding. Exhausting. Demoralizing far more often than uplifting. But you create ways to keep your humanity.
The parable of the Good Samaritan (whatever your faith) is a good one. Find your faith. There is a popular saying, There are no atheists on the battlefield. Not actually true, I have met atheist combat veterans. What god would give us this much free will? But even those atheist combat veterans had faith. Faith in family. Faith in country. Faith in pluralistic representative democracy. Faith in the Constitution that they swore to defend and uphold. Find yours. I don’t care if it’s faith in the resurrection of Bozo the Clown or faith that you personally will survive. Find it. Because in the grind, it will be tested, tortured, and traumatized. Find it. Protect it. Fight for it like your life depends on it, because in war: it does.
The pace of war is patience.
The pace of war is practice.
The pace of war is a pause.
The pace of war is here. Now. Get used to it.
Edits: no proofreader and how could I forget water, sleep, and Einstein’s Dreams? War is like that.