"Me in the 9th U.S. Colored Volunteer Infantry",...1863

In these times of national troubles. I turned to Walt Whitman. His Civil War prose from "The Portable Walt Whitman" Penguin Classics. I've dragged this thing around with me for over 20 years now. It never lets ya down.

In particular his Civil War hospital notes. Written when a scribe with the War Department,...or was it Interior?

Well after Uncle Walt's duties he'd go over to the overflowing soldiers hospitals. These spread about Washington City as it was called then.

He would comfort wounded of both sides. He'd listen give little gifts of writing paper pencils hard candy. Take mail, and such. Small, but vital kindnesses.

The listening he wrote later.

The just being there seemed to these men the greatest gift.

Reading of these survivors from our most bitter war. They tore slashed burned, and shot each other to tatters. This for an idea. Traditionally one fought because your prince or king ordered you to. For them it was a matter of heart.

The unique nature of the War Amongst the American States was that it was fought over dreams. A tragic difference in dreams.

I was asked why would I as a person believing in peaceful resolutions wear a uniform? Below I'm in the tunic of the 9th New York Colored Volunteer Infantry, 1863. Well,...I wear it because like most of you. I'm am willing or not a combatant in the unfinished business of our Republic.

Here we are at a new stage of the great contest. Still imagining different Dreams. Our direction as a community of communities is still being decided. Though now on digital battlefields. The outcome remains as it has so long been,...Uncertain.