Live Man, Live

(Written in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. 10 years ago)

     Hurricane Katrina will, no doubt, go down as the worst storm in United States history. As a national guardsman I served in Dade County after the onslaught of Hurricane Andrew, and I thought that one was bad.

 

     Its been a week since Katrina turned the Gulf Coast region into a third world country. New Orleans is under water and Biloxi has been "cleaned off the map." New Orleans is being evacuated and the floating casinos of Biloxi have literally been swept inland. Bloated bodies drift in polluted canals. A gumbo soup of colors and persuasions fill that well-known indoor stadium, and will ultimately be housed on cruise ships and in FEMA trailers.

    Thousands languish without food and water. The Super Dome was a failure from Day One. The roof was damaged during the height of the storm. Wind and rain whip through open spaces. The football field is covered with garbage and excrement. Women are raped in public restrooms. One man warns people out of his way, and jumps to his death below.

     I have watched television for hours on end. The effects of the storm are both ugly and beautiful to behold. So the movie, Raiders of The Lost Ark. The scientist peers into The Ark of God and is heard to say “Wonderful,” before his features contort and melt like gelatin.

    One particular scene transfixes me. A couple of men are attempting to give artificial respiration to another man who has suddenly stopped breathing. One would-be rescuer shouts, “Live man, live!” To my knowledge he didn't.

     I know the feeling. Oh, I’ve never been that close to that exact scenario, but I have been there, nonetheless. You see, I’m a counselor, and in times gone by I was an addictions group leader. And I’ve attempted to pour what I call “resurrection life” into countless people; to no avail. So often saying, “Live man, Live!”

     But too often they have refused to live. I have met clients week after week, and week after week nothing changes. Their seeming response, “Man I don’t want to live. Death suits me better.” I find myself pouring that resurrection life into figurative corpses; my efforts head and shoulders beyond their own.

     I’m so glad it’s not always this way. For some suddenly gasp for air, and breathe deeply; rich oxygen permeating their spiritual lungs. Color returns. They stand. They move. They live.

 

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "Musings"