Who Will Remember The Heroes of Peace?
I post this every year on Veteran’s Day, because I think it matters.
It’s the best piece of writing I’ve ever read.
Of course, I’m a little prejudiced.
It was written by my sister about our brother and our father.
My personal connection to our veterans has always been through my father, Frank, and my brother, Greg. They are buried a few steps from each other at Fort Sam Houston National Cemetery.
A year after Greg was killed in a fighter jet crash near Ellington Field outside Houston, my sister Kathy wrote the following Veterans Day meditation. It was published in the Houston Chronicle, the Los Angeles Times and several other newspapers nationwide.
On Veterans Day over the years, I have read it on the radio and shared it online.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“Who Will Remember The Heroes of Peace?”
by Kathleen Simpson
Veterans Day 1981
The vast Texas sky was cloudless, silent. An Indian summer sun baked the rows of small white crosses. The honor guard dressed in Air Force blue raised the flag above the casket of the young pilot. Five times the jolt of rifles cracked the air. The bugler raised the trumpet to his lips. On the breeze the strains of “Taps” lingered, faltered, breathlessly faded away. From the widow and the mother, from the sisters and the brother, from the small sea of blue-dressed men and women, there was not a whimper to hear, not a sigh.
Suddenly the silence shattered. Thundering toward the grave of the young pilot, four Phantom fighter jets screamed across the sky. Once they circled low over the rows of small white crosses, over the small blue human sea. Racing again toward the grave site, one plane broke the formation, thrust its steely nose straight up into the sun and vanished.
It is a farewell reserved for heroes. For combat aces and high ranking officers of distinguished career, the acrobats of the air fly by. But the young pilot, who was my brother, had never flown into battle. His prayer was that he would never fly to kill. Educated in the classroom of war, he abhorred the lesson that the innocent are the ultimate victims of the bomb and the sword. When he flew an F-101 jet fighter of the Texas Air National Guard on October 22, 1980, he believed in his mission to protect the innocent with his quicksilver wings of peace.
But the winged horse my brother rode that day was destined to be a Pegasus of power and peril. Seconds after he lifted the huge machine into the air from Ellington Air Force Base, an explosion ripped part of the tail from the plane. On the ground below him a crowded subdivision lay in the path of the flaming, flailing craft. A horrified witness reported: “The jet banked steeply to the left, went into a steep climb and then fell into the open field. It looked to me like the pilot intentionally turned away to avoid hitting those houses.”
In the last 60 seconds of his life, my brother’s only thought must have been of the innocent people living in the innocent safety of their homes below him. The airplane burned into the dust of a pasture just 500 yards away from those homes. The investigators retrieved his helmet from the crash. They bequeathed it to his widow, who keeps it for their small son. Sleep well, brother Greg; your prayer is answered. Never will you fly to kill.
Sifting still through the wreckage of my grief, I wonder. On the day of the Armistice of the first global war – the war that Woodrow Wilson called the war to end all wars – I wonder about the price that the governments of this century have elected to pay in the purchase of peace.
I wonder about all the brave young warriors of this peace, men and women proud of their mission, honored by their duty to safeguard our shores. Do their spouses sleep soundly while they fly through the night? Do the children play fearlessly in the schoolyard as their fathers or mothers crawl into the missile hole at day? Who will remember the heroes of this peace?
A few feet from where my brother now rests, another pilot sleeps. This man, our father, also abhorred violence and war. But as a young man my father saw havoc in the skies above Europe. Dreams of the innocent, the faceless victims of the bombs that fell from his plane, haunted his sleep every night he lived.
Dreamless now, father and son together sleep. The old veteran of war shares the soil of liberty with the young veteran of peace.
Today, the 11th day of November, at the 11th hour in the morning, flags fall to half-staff across the country in honor of the nation’s veterans. The statesmen lay huge floral wreaths at the monuments of the nameless soldiers. The widows crown the crosses of their loved ones with garlands from their gardens. Silence falls for a moment over the burial grounds of the warriors.
Then cannon volley and bugles blare. It is festival time in the graveyard. The 5-year-old son of my dead brother cheers as the mighty Phantom jets scream their power across the sky. He delights in the pageant of the parade marching by. His mother takes his small hand in hers when she cries. What will she tell him when he asks her why?
The Last Time I Saw Greg
This is the last moment I saw my older brother Greg alive.
July 1980.
He’s goofing around and making all of us laugh, as he often did.
He was 31.
I was 19 as I took this photo.
I was a cadet at the Air Force Academy, aspiring to be a fighter pilot, like he was.
He had become an Air Force pilot like our father, who died when I was four.
We never know when we’re seeing someone we love for the last time.
We’re lulled into believing that there will be many more moments with them.
But this precious existence is fleeting.
On October 22nd 1980, Greg’s fighter jet’s engines flared out shortly after takeoff in East Texas.
Had he and his navigator ejected, the jet would have slammed into a neighborhood.
The two pilots chose to steer the flaming craft into an adjacent field instead.
That’s my brother, Greg.
Funny, Loving, Heroic.
It was 36 years ago today.
Seems like yesterday.
Seems like a million years ago.
Changed everything for countless people.
Damn, I miss him.
And I’m thankful to have had such a wonderful brother.
#ThisIsTheSacredMoment #BrothersOfTheSky
And Still I Grieve
This is the Sacred Moment
Have you ever taken very deep breaths, calmed yourself into a moment of clarity and considered how very sacred and fleeting this life is?
When you remove your mind’s default settings of living in the past or thinking about the future, you realize that all you really have is this very moment.
Before this moment was the past. It contains billions of years of star collisions and the astronomical improbability that led to creating the one and only you.
But it’s over. It’s past. Even yesterday and the last hour are gone forever. Phantasms.
Beyond this moment is the future we cannot see, but the near certainty that your physical life is a blink in the eye of the vast expanse of time.
So what is real?
This breath.
This moment.
They truly are sacred and fleeting.
The ancient wisdom traditions urge us to place our focus upon the here and now.
Instead of obsessing about thoughts of the past or the future, you can choose to be conscious of the blessing, the gift that you have right now.
All recorded and unrecorded history since the Big Bang and beyond culminates right now.
Right here.
Where you are.
With your eyes on these words.
In this sacred moment.
(It’s actually mind blowing when you think of the implications)
When you acknowledge this sacred moment you are operating from a higher level of consciousness.
You are no longer trapped in the Māyā.
Anything and everything happens in this moment, including magic.
The magic to see your life and your world as you were born to see it and born to become.
Don’t take my word for it.
Try it.
Breathe.
Deeply.
Let go of past and future and truly exist right here, right now.
Distractions may pull you into thoughts of the past or the future – this is normal. Just consciously keep your attention and your breath to the here and now.
Stay here.
Stay now.
For just a little longer.
Open up to the experience.
And see where it takes you.
I have a feeling you will enjoy the ride.
The World is Not As It Seems, The World is As You Are
The world is not as it seems
The world is as you are
Like attracts like
Vibration attracts vibration
You are living in Heaven
Or you are living in Hell
As Albert Einstein said,
“There are only two ways to live your life
One is as though nothing is a miracle
The other is as though everything is a miracle.”
The beauty of life is that this choice is yours
To quote Jesus from the Gospel of Thomas,
“The Kingdom of Heaven is spread upon the Earth
But men do not see it.”
Some women do
Some men do
They are those who choose
To pull back the veil
Open to the miracle
And realize
This is the sacred moment
Brothers of The Sky
Twenty-five years ago today, at high noon, I watched day turn to night in the ancient Aztec village of Ixtlán de las Garzas, Mexico.
For nearly eight minutes (the longest total solar eclipse of the 20th Century) I was bathed in the dark, fleeting shadow of the Moon.
The Sun disappeared. The stars sparkled in the eerie twilight sky at midday as the temperature fell several degrees.
It was an experience so cosmically profound that its mystical echo reverberates through my psyche all these years later.
Within minutes, the Sun emerged from behind the Moon and daytime returned across Mexico.
For human beings to be directly in the shadow of the Moon is a very rare event. You must either find a way into the path of a total solar eclipse or have been one of the 27 Apollo astronauts who circled around the dark side of the Moon in the late Sixties and early Seventies.
While viewing a lunar eclipse (the Moon moving into the Earth’s shadow) or a partial solar eclipse (the Sun not fully obscured by the shadow of the Moon) is relatively common, a total solar eclipse is one of the rarest celestial events to be witnessed from this planet.
This transcendent moment was especially meaningful because I shared it with one of my dearest friends, Henry Iglesias, a singer-songwriter and Renaissance man.
Henry and his family were originally from Mexico, so were watching this eclipse from his native soil.
Henry was my guide into his ancestral homeland and into the shadow of the Moon.
Those moments in the Moon’s shadow with Henry were among the most magical moments of my life.
In 2007, much too young, Henry left this Earthly existence. He was taken by a brain tumor nine months after his diagnois.
Every July 11th, I think of Henry and I think of those few moments in the shadow of the Moon.
In honor of the Henry and the Eclipse, I offer you two expressions of art. The first is a poem of mine and the second is Henry’s quintessential offering, the last song he wrote and produced before his passing.
First, my poem…
A remembrance of our time in the Moon’s shadow…
With Henry, In The Shadow Of The Moon”
Another time
Another century
Another life.
But the time
And the centuryAnd the life
Were mine.
And his.
Planets were aligning
Celestial spheres inexorably drawn.
Eleventh of July, 1991.
When the heavens offer a gift
You must be present to receive.
He led me into Mexico
The land of his birth
The land would birth me
To transcendence
To bliss
To awe.
I knew he was my friend
I know he was my shaman
Guiding me to the light
And the shadow
Where few have truly been:
Astronauts orbiting the lunar dark side
And fortunate few on the planet
Or dreamers like us
Who seek the shadow.
We arrived on hallowed ground
On ancient Aztec soil
Eyes cast skyward
The shadow rushing toward us
We felt it coming
The animals, birds, insects, trees felt it coming.
All became still
Temperature dropped
Time fell away
And then, oh, so suddenly
It… all… merged…
Sun, Moon, Shadow, Earth
Moon, Earth, Shadow, Sun
Earth, Sun, Shadow, Moon
Sun, Moon, Shadow
Moon, Shadow
Shadow
Shadow
Shadow
Here.
Now.
Day turned to night.
I.
I. See.
I. See. Stars.
I. See. Stars. At. Noon.
Henry, look at the stars!
And the Sun eclipsed by the Moon
Oh!
My!
God!
Rapt.
Bathed in the splendor
Of the cosmic dance of spheres
In holy, holy, holy communion.
Eternal
My friend, my shaman
Thank you for guiding me there
Years fly by.
You find true love
You write and sing
About the Smile of God
And Brothers of The Sky
And then, oh, so suddenly
Your body eclipsed by a brain tumor
Henry, look at the stars!
They shine with you among them.
The shadow lingers
Your spirit lives.
Another time
Another century
Another life.
If I go back
To seek the shadow
Will you meet me there?
Years before Henry died, he told me of a vision for a song titled, “Brothers of The Sky.”
It was about your ultimate brother or guide or guardian angel who will fly you from this world to the next.
The idea resonates with me, having lost my older brother Greg at a young age and more recently, having lost Henry and other dear friends and loved ones.
In the final months of his life, although he was battling a brain tumor and all of the debilitating challenges that come with it, Henry managed to record and produce his farewell song as the final track on his last album.
I see it as the culmination of his life’s work as an artist, a father, a son, a husband and a human being.
Here it is…
“Brothers of The Sky”
Words and Music by Henry Iglesias
I am the voice inside of you
A whispering constant in your life
Everyone fears the letting go
Until they glimpse the other side
I am the voice from far away
I have the ears that hear your prayer
A guardian angel sent to say
Someone out there really cares
I’ll take your hand
When it’s time to walk into the night
Please understand
I am your brother in the sky
Traveling across the Universe
Children of the stars that burn so bright
Voyaging to foreverness
You and I are brothers of the sky
Everyone finds me their own way
In every land and everywhere
Some take a lifetime, some a day
Seeking a piece of Heaven’s share
I am the shining star above
I am the glimmer in the light
I am the power of your love
I am your brother in the sky
Just take my hand
When it’s time for you to say goodnight
And we will fly
A wondrous journey deep into the light
Traveling across eternity
Going to the place we all have been
Going to the place where souls are free
Beyond the timeless stars are friends
Traveling into the other side
The universe is all inside God’s eye
Children of the stars eternally
You and I are brothers of the sky
Do not fear your own mortality
Cause there’s more to life than meets the eye
In the end all of us will be free
Don’t be afraid to say goodbye
I’ll close your eyes
Softly close your eyes
And we will fly
Like brothers of the sky
The Universe
The Universe
The Universe
Is all inside God’s eye
Dedicated to the eternal spirit of Henry Robert Iglesias
My Brother of The Sky
The Summer of Our Discontent
How do we make sense of the senseless?
Beheadings and car bombs on the other side of the world.
Civilian “soft targets,” from Paris to Brussels to Istanbul, suicide bombed by “martyrs” in the name of their God.
A slaughter in an Orlando nightclub.
Over 2,000 gun deaths in Chicago this year.
Cell phone video of highly questionable shootings of African Americans.
And now, the ambush and assassination of Dallas Police officers during an otherwise peaceful protest.
Ironically, this most recent national tragedy occurred very close to Dealey Plaza, the site of America’s most notorious assassination.
How do we make sense of the senseless?
We cannot.
But there are things we can do.
We can affect our own individual spheres of influence.
Our family, friends, neighbors and communities.
It starts small. It starts organically. It starts with you. And it grows.
We can choose reason over insanity.
We can choose light over darkness.
We can choose love over fear.
We can increase the peace.
In our communities, in our state, in our nation, in our world.
The good people in this world vastly outnumber the misguided, vicious ones.
I am convinced that in the end, love wins.
We just need to consciously, actively intend the light and the love a little more.
“The Love You Take Is Equal To The Love You Make”
Last night, in the blink of an eye, my friend Alan Weinkrantz left this world.
He was sitting down to dinner in an outdoor sidewalk cafe on a beautiful, starry June night.
I saw the news of his death appear on my iPhone around 9:30pm while I was participating in the final night of the KLRN Auction, raising funds for San Antonio’s PBS television station. Seconds later, KLRN VP Katrina Kehoe walked down the stairs from her position coordinating auction activities. I could see by the look of shock on her face that she had just read the news as well. We couldn’t wrap our heads around the notion that Alan was gone.
Alan volunteered for the KLRN Auction every year. He would probably have been with us last night if he were not in Israel, where he traveled frequently to participate in the country’s growing tech community.
When I read that Alan died at a Tel Aviv sidewalk cafe, my first thought was that an act of terror must have taken place. This was not terrorism, however, but a very tragic accident.
Reports indicate that as Alan was having dinner, a man had a heart attack while driving his car at a high rate of speed. The out of control vehicle instantaneously jumped the curb and slammed into the tables of the outdoor cafe.
Alan, another restaurant patron and the driver were killed at the scene. Six others were injured.
Alan was a wonderful man who exuded joy and enthusiasm. He was an evangelist and mentor for the tech and start up communities in San Antonio, in Israel and around the world.
He had a passion for technology, innovation, entrepreneurship and music. We shared a love for The Beatles and had wonderful conversations about the brilliance of their songs.
One of the most mind expanding ideas that Alan shared with me was that rock and roll music is code, akin to the code that is used to program computer software and apps.
As Alan said in this interview,
The idea began during I period when I was spending a lot of time at a good friend’s high-end guitar shop in San Antonio. Being surrounded by music all the time I started studying the history of rock n’ roll. And then it hit me.
It’s all code.
I went back in time, listening to old albums from the Kinks, the Who, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones. I realized that all the albums, the songs, the lyrics — they’re code. The code isn’t manifested as “lines of code” but rather in the stories built, layered and played.
If you look at the way musical history progressed, it seems each band was creating a new experience for their audience — not just musically but, story wise. We’re talking about their narrative, where they came from, how they got famous, their clothes, their sound and the overall experience which is just as important as the music itself — if not more.
Just like startups.
And just like startups, Rock & roll bands, work together iteratively. Collaboratively. And hopefully, harmonically.
I will always remember Alan for his contagious sense of wonder and his passion for big ideas. He mentored people of all ages seeking to find their path in a complex digital world, including me.
I trust he’s now in Rock and Roll Heaven, making music, creating code and embarking on his next cosmic adventures.
In the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. – The Beatles
Learn more about Alan in this story by Bob Rivard in his Rivard Report.
Above: Alan’s Facebook cover photo. His Mac at night at an outdoor cafe with the words, “Do Something That Matters.”
Perfect.
What Will You Create With This Wondrous Opportunity?
Every day, every moment, every second is new.
You are reborn constantly, if you will only become conscious of this.
Every single possibility is open to you, right here and right now.
Do not believe in limitations.
That is an illusion that can enslave you, if you let it.
Every exploding universe, star, planet and atom since the beginning of time has conspired to bring you to this very moment here and now.
Create something wonderful.
You have the power.
That’s why you’re here.