Anima Mundi

It was one of those beautiful September mornings, perfect blue sky and crisp air, a quality of last days of summer…

Getting to the office in Downtown Manhattan was uneventful, a quick subway ride and a short walk — basking a little longer in the sun before going indoors. My office window had a full view of the Twin Towers rising majestically a few blocks away. A normal day at the office, early start, computer on, discussing something work related with two of my colleagues.

8:46AM — a foreign and terrifying boom, a sound of screeching metal and a tremor of our building made us look out the window. A hole at the top of the North Tower resembling the slightly tilted image of a plane carved in the building, through which papers flew and smoke began to seep, is what we first saw. The brain cannot comprehend or explain what we are seeing. I called home to ask what my family could see on TV about this accident, or whatever it was. At first nothing, then the fact that an airplane had flown into One World Trade Center — and a few minutes later, that it was on purpose.

We did not know what to do with that information so we continued our discussion. One of my colleagues said with an astounded voice, “Look at those large papers flying out of the hole!” We all went to the window and I instantly realized that those were actually people jumping out through their destroyed office walls, choosing and praying that they would die before hitting the ground rather than being burned alive. I said, “Let’s not watch someone’s dying last moments…” and decided to turn down the shades.

A few minutes later we left the office and headed home, understanding that from this point on anything could happen — better not to be stuck downtown. The area was already swarming with police and fire trucks.

People in the subway were blissfully unaware of the events. I told the ones I saw ready to get off at our station not to, because of what had just happened. Nobody believed me, all looking at me as if I was crazy.

By the time I got off the train, the second plane had hit the South Tower and the images were all over the news.

This day remains etched into my brain and soul for eternity. Every crisp perfect morning reminds me of it — the chemical burn smells, the noises, the feeling of walking on ashes which were most likely containing human remains, come flooding in. Some may call it PTSD. I call it an eternal remembrance…

Every year I say I will go to the downtown monument for the ceremonies and I just cannot bring myself to. Last year I said I will definitely go for the 25th anniversary… but I cannot. My own way of remembering is to watch, every year on this day, a beautiful and raw documentary made by PBS shortly after the terrible events — Faith and Doubt at Ground Zero.

Another deeply spiritual, philosophical and anti-war piece was written by the famous essayist Wendell Berry immediately following the 9/11 attacks, titled In the Presence of Fear — a reflection questioning whether America would lose its soul to a cycle of state-sponsored violence and military industrialism. He argued that the true soul of America lay not in its military power, but in its local communities, its land, and its capacity for peace.

Watching the documentary and reading the essay, then looking back at the past 25 years, is an exercise in maturity and wisdom.

As always, my intent is to write or point you to things that will make you stop and ponder… I cannot and will not ask for anything more.