GROUND ZER0, New York, N.Y.--Dec. 30, 2003 --  Today is the 839th Day of Vigilance.  It marks a moment in my life when I chose to travel a different path in my life, one littered with the dead and wounded bodies of millions of children, all victims of the Beast of Terror.

      I walk the Path of Terror, the one carved by the brutality of  the Beast of Terror.    It is a slippery path, for the congealed blood from the children's bodies make it almost impossible not to slip and slide and nearly fall upon the piles of corpses that line the path.
      I grimace and gag as I walk this Path of Terror.   The revulsion of battered children's bodies, the sounds of their wails, the agony of their eyes staring blindly into the nothingness of space, dead stares of innocence robbed of life by tyranny and oppression, cut down at the blossom of their Spring, curdles my soul.   I clutch myself, as though I might protect my outsides from the chill of death gnawing inside the marrow of my bones.
      There is little glory in being a Sentinel of Vigilance.   To patrol the world of Terrorism requires the Sentinel to witness the death and destruction of the innocent, to wallow in the waste of human values.   I often stop on my journey and cry, my tears falling into the offal, gagging as I spy the entrails of those bloated bellies scorched by the sun, blackened by the hoards of flies feasting on their shards of ragged flesh.

     Sentinels are forced to crawl into the Belly of the Beast, to witness the horror of the Beast's wrath.   There can be no doubt in their minds what the Beast is capable of delivering to the innocent.   There can be no room for compassion or the allowance of quarter when facing the Beast.    Sentinels who deny the truth of the Beast might blink, might flinch.  If they do, the Beast's talons will swipe with lightening speed, slicing his jugular.  
      It is easier, sometimes, to want to fall Complacent, as so many victims of the Beast have done before.   It is easier sometimes to want someone else more hardened to walk the Path of the Beast, to see the waste he leaves behind.
      But that cannot be.
      I know the Beast would want that.  He would want me and all other Sentinels to not track him, to not follow his path of wrath that eventually leads to his lair where he can be cornered and contained.
      These past 839 days since Ground Zero, the attack on the World Trade Center, have taken me down many blood-stained avenues.   I have hunted the Beast of Terror with a ferocity unknown even to myself.   He has become a part of me, a necessity for my tracking of him.  I must think like the Beast, feel what the Beast feels, anticipate his actions, see through his eyes, or, I will walk into his mouth.    If I am not him, then he will consume me.   The true hunter knows he must become the hunted.  The TerrorHunter knows he must become the Beast of Terror, walk in his shoes, or he will never find him.

     I think about the price I pay for being a TerrorHunter.   Sometimes, I wonder whether it is worth it or not.   Is the constant awareness of Fear, Intimidation and Complacency--the Triads of Terrorism--worth the risk that they might turn on you?   Bite off your head?  Capture your soul?
      Then I think of the Children's Children's Children.   I think of the bodies of the victims of the Beast, the children who have died brutal deaths so that other children may live.    I force myself to see the torn and brutalized bodies of the children strewn along the Path of Terror as my heroes, my idols of Courage, Conviction and Right Actions for future generations.
       It is hard.
       How can a brutalized child, abused by a parent both physically and emotionally, be an Idol of Vigilance?  
      You see, not all the bodies on the Path of Terror are dead.   Many are in a state of torture, hanging on crucifixes or strapped on altars, or held in stocks.
      These are the children the Beast of Terror victimizes.    These are the children whose parents shout at them:  "I wish you were never born."   "Don't bother me, I'm busy."   "You're stupid!"   "Don't you know better."   "Leave me alone."   "Stop crying, damnit!"

      Children's hearts are fragile.   The sword of a parent's tongue can thrust deep into the soul of a child's sense of worth.    Rejecting a child's thirst to be loved, to be cared for, to be appreciated, feeds the Beast of Terror.   Each of these children's bodies ends up on the Path of Terror.
       Sadly, I witness them daily.   I hear their cries in the silent night, the moaning of their souls wailing into their pillows as they cry themselves to sleep, wondering why their parents don't love them, wondering what they have done to anger their mother or father, or to be so unimportant that their mother or father has no time to crawl inside their hearts, to learn of the Fears, their Intimidations their Complacencies.

        Despite the Path of the Beast I walk, I hold my head high.   Above the stench and ugliness of the children's torture, I see a rainbow on the horizon.   I know there are Parents of Vigilance, countless numbers of them that treat their children with respect and honor.   They nurture the beauty of their children and promote their children's evolution into strong human beings who care about the future of the world they have inherited.
       They oppose the children raised by parents who promote to their children self-seeking, self-aggrandizement, self-appreciation above all others.
        I use the rainbow to guide me on the Path of the Beast.  I believe that one day the Path of the Beast will be paved with the Path of Vigilance.    One day, countless millions will become Parents of Vigilance, Grandparents of Vigilance, Citizens and Loved Ones of Vigilance.

        I count on it.  But, quite honestly, the 839 days so far have worn me out.   I feel the sagging of my shoulders and my legs cramping under the weight of the mission.  Can I really defeat the Beast of Terror?   Can I really make a difference, however small, against such a formidable enemy?
       I mustn't dwell on the question, I know.   The Beast would love me to, for he knows that each time I ask it, the burden becomes greater, that my knees weaken just a little more, and my feet begin to slip.

       It is better for me to not count the sum of the days I have been in battle.   It is better to think of today as the only day in my life I hunt the Beast of Terror.   That way, I am fresher, have more vitality.

       It is the same reason I advocate that Parents of Vigilance retake the Pledge of Vigilance each day.   We must vow our allegiance to Vigilance daily or the Beast of Terror will eventually consume us with Complacency.   We will, over time, forget to remember the Beast's mission--to fill us with Fear, Intimidation and Complacency.  To erase our Courage, Conviction and Right Actions that benefit the Children's Children's Children.
       I must remember to take the medicine I proscribe.
       I must remember this is not day 839 along the Path of Terror, but rather Day One along the Path of Vigilance.
     

Dec. 29--Terrorism's New Year's Ball

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