General Daniel Morgan

The old memories hang like dusty fixtures in an attic.
Stored and forgotten under macabre lids and heaped linen.

I cannot presume to know who, or what I have done in the past.
I think, from my experience, there occurs a certain aridity of the spirit.
A disenchantment with the current boundaries one finds oneself in.
I have found myself at several crossroads facing a profound sense of loss.
This emotion does not correlate to a visible or tangible problem before me,
it is elusive, and an interior issue on the unconscious side.
It leaves me with a desire to seek closure.
But, then the mood passes and I settle back into like as usual.

Visions have come in dreams to me at various times.
They are not often. I compare them across my current situation,
and attitudes I habituate. Some things I have seen are difficult to associate with,
but can be saturated with a hold-over emotion that is heavily charged and
is not easily dismissed. Rage and contempt survive the threshold of physical death.
A career in eternity does not hold significant historical analogy.
It is therefore heavily discounted as of recent centuries.

General Morgan led some battles in the Revolutionary War.
He had success with directing sharp shooters in insurgency operations.
Emphasizing the skirmish line and individual marksmanship.
His efforts in leading the 11th Virginia Regiment were well coordinated and gave decisive
outcome in enemy engagments. I carry a vague and nagging impression of being a part of
this regiment. Sharpshooters carried actual rifles as opposed to muskets.
To harass and hound the enemy formations through skilled flanking or pursuits of confusion
served this light infantry who were designed to travel quickly, attack, and weigh immediate
outcome for possible further ingress.

I directly resonate with the sharp instincts involved in this type of warfare.
It is still a part of me, and holds some value when faced with danger.
I also remember a vivid scene of an ambush. As I lay in wait prone in the brush with rifle
aimed. The order was given. I shot. I saw a man fall. He was at one moment serene and
peaceful on his march. I destroyed his peace, his dreams, his life in an instant.
It all occurred with such inner disgust and regret because it was as if I had killed myself.
I wanted to help this soul and reach out my hand to him and convey the sorrow and remorse
for my act. But, I could not break rank. I was forced to witness the passing of a man in the
prime of life, not yet prepared for such a fate. I could read the disbelief in his face as he lay
dying. It was so hard and so sad. I never forgave myself.