Awakening of a Foot Soldier: A Journal of Liberation from the Suffering of War

By John M. Healey

I was in the recognition that I was here for many more reasons than I could possibly comprehend; the superficial, the psychological, the emotional, spiritual and the anything else ending with an "al" that could be squeezed into this being. I was here to seek, to sit, to eat, to make money, to live, and to die.

In 1992, author John M. Healey enlisted in the U.S. Army and was sent to Somalia. Upon his return three years later, he was declared mentally unfit for service and was discharged. In 1998, Healey found a backdoor entrance into the Army and reenlisted for a second term. He was then sent to Bosnia, and upon his return he disappeared, never to return to that life-in uniform-again.

Awakening of a Foot Soldier: A Journal of Liberation from the Suffering of War is a collection of journal entries that take place between August 2004 and February 2006. At the time of his first account, Healey is in Kuwait awaiting his entry into Iraq where he will work as a civilian contractor. Living in the darkness of depression and post-traumatic stress disorder, he goes to Iraq in search of death and ultimately finds inner peace.

Awakening of a Foot Soldier is an enlightening story that shares the vulnerability of a young man and his quest for peace and liberation from the darkness of war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 30, 2006
• ISBN: 9780595847372

John M. Healey

John M. Healey, though not yet settled, currently resides in New Mexico. He can be contacted through email at [e-mail].

Book preview

Awakening of a Foot Soldier

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A Journal of Liberation from the Suffering of War

John M. Healey

iUniverse, Inc.

New York Lincoln Shanghai

Awakening of a Foot Soldier

A Journal of Liberation from the Suffering of War

Copyright © 2006 by John Moran Healey

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

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ISBN-13: 978-0-595-40362-2 (pbk)

ISBN-13: 978-0-595-84737-2 (ebk)

ISBN-10: 0-595-40362-X (pbk)

ISBN-10: 0-595-84737-4 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

First Words

Prologue

Epilogue

Without sleep, no awakening.

~ Fortune cookie proverb

First Words

I would like to extend a warm and grateful welcome to all. I thank you from the deepest and warmest reaches of my being.

My name is John Healey. What originally began as a journey turned into a personal journal; from the form of a journal it became a blog and from a blog it took the form of a book.

The title of the book is, Awakening of a Foot Soldier: A Journal of Liberation from the Suffering of War.

I use awakening to describe the experience of the spiritual process that took place. I use foot soldier, both, literally and metaphorically. In the literal sense, I was once a soldier and served in Somalia and Bosnia. In the metaphoric sense we are all soldiers, trudging along in the mud drenched trenches of the war that is life; serving in the everyday wars within our own personal experiences.

What I mean by liberation is exactly that. Liberation is to be set free from oppression and bondage. I was once a prisoner of time, experience, war, family, school, and religion. I was once a prisoner living and struggling within the confines of my own delusional perceptions. I was a prisoner of Self.

In the spring of 2006, eighteen months after leaving Iraq, I found what it is to be truly liberated.

Awakening of a Foot Soldier is the experience of a man’s psychic and spiritual opening in the midst of war caught in the form of a reactive journal.

Please enjoy.

Prologue

My name is John Healey. I was born on December 15, 1972 in Scranton, Pennsylvania. I was then raised for eighteen years in a small town by the name of Car-bondale, just a short driving distance from where I was born. I lived with my parents, my two brothers, my sister, and our dog. For the first six years of my schooling I attended the local catholic school, St. Rose of Lima. For the last six years of my schooling I attended the local public school, Carbondale Area H.S. I graduated high school in 1991 and soon after I left to attend college in Utah. In 1992, shortly before completion of my second semester of college I was kindly asked to leave the dormitory and to never make a return. A few weeks after this event I was asked to vacate the small house I had rented just a few blocks away from the university campus. It was the very next day, after this event, that I found myself enlisting in the United States Army. Three years later, upon my return from Somalia, I was determined mentally unfit for service and was soon discharged. In 1998, I found a backdoor into the army and reenlisted for a second term. I was soon sent to Bosnia and upon my return, I disappeared, never to return to that life, in uniform, again.

This journal, and its entries, takes place between 18 August 2004, and 27 February 2006. At this time of my first journal entry, I was in Kuwait awaiting my entry into Iraq. I was going to work as a civilian contractor. This journal is more of a journey than anything else. This journal is a journey into war. It is a journey into the aftermath of war. It is a journey into the experience of life and death. It is the journey of a man who has experienced a psychic opening in the midst of war. This journal has the appearance of being the result of one man’s experiences in and out of war, but, from what this one man has seen, this journal is a reflection of everyone’s journey into the darkness that is the war of life. And it is in the war of life that the physical act of war is given birth.

18August 2004

Day one on the ground: the heat, and the familiar stench of the third world. The sand…so much reminds me of Somalia. So long ago it was. Mixtures of fuel and oil fumes fill the air, the stink of garbage, burning plastic and its familiar scent, sand and heat, hot heat, that hot fucking desert heat; unforgiving, inhospitable, and very unwelcoming. I can see images of the Somali coastline inside my head. I see so many images in my head, I was so young then. Much Like the many I see awaiting their entry into Iraq. I look at them and I know that they, too, will see their own images, within their heads, for many, many years.

I yearn for more travel, yet, I do not. I have done much already. I feel as if she and I, together, could conquer, extremely empowering, but, there is fear. The fear of another relationship failing, fear of not knowing what it is that I truly do want and need for myself, and the fear, the fear of betrayal, again. I am living, truly living, day to day. This waiting, this mindless fucking army, and its waiting games, an army that is no longer mine. My only wish is that Shawn, my brother, had not joined, one of us fucked in the head is enough for one family. I feel. I feel for these kids, these child warriors. I truly feel too much and, at times, with an intensity that can be quite overwhelming. I feel for all of them, much more than I care to.

19August 2004

And I’m yelling when I should be whispering. Too many thoughts, but actually, it is never too many. There can never be too many thoughts. I have catching up to do. First, these cats, so shifty. I watch as they dodge the human traffic that litters these alleys. They navigate within their own, eating, sleeping, mating, and surviving. I wonder what they think of us. They are the craziest little Egyptian looking things, so thin, gangly, definitely not stateside cats, quite sphinx-like.

I have been in Kuwait for a few days now, it’s really all a blur, I can’t really determine. My sleep schedule is disturbed. My thoughts continue to return to her; Cynthia, the girl, the woman who, at present, has decided to capture my attention. Her beauty shines, it comes from within. Never before have I come across another I would consider an equal, but she—she, from what I can see, definitely is that, an equal. Still, I know so little of her. The week spent at Bliss (Fort Bliss, Texas) or the magical three days she and I shared; the night she and I ate mushrooms and chased an electrical storm throughout Southern New Mexico. It is all too little.

Some of my luggage is lost. No matter, the less, the better. In the past, I would write, quite a bit, I did. I remember my writing ended shortly after my return from Somalia. In fact, there is quite a bit that ended, for me, after Somalia. I am feeling quite amateur now with this pen in hand. My thoughts, they wander, Eritrea, the country of and their struggle, chocolate, I love chocolate, Cynthia and Santa Fe, a return to school and my love of motorcycles. Once again, I am finding myself entering a war zone. Each time I enter I am serving in a different capacity; each time I enter I am a very different person. With each time that I leave I am changed, yet, again. My belief is that I progress in wisdom and maturity with each entry, perhaps I am correct, perhaps not, because there are those times when I, also, question all of what I have come to believe. I enjoy my life, I enjoy each moment, I enjoy love and I enjoy loving. Very fortunate, I am. Very fortunate to have what I have had, fortunate to do what I do and to have done what I have done. I am happy with me, the self, and happy with this life I have been given, this life I am creating, I am truly thankful. I thank you. Tomorrow, another waiting game.

20 August 2004

I love morning. I love being back on a regimented schedule. I slept through the night; smallpox wound on the arm is shrinking. It is so fucking nasty. My laundry is getting done and I have a new and awesomely improved MRE (meal ready to eat) just awaiting consumption. All is good. My thoughts, again, always my thoughts; and so they go, snow, mountains, skiing and sunshine. Always, a song playing in my head, background music for this movie that has become my life.

Last Friday (one week ago) Cynthia and I devoured a few mushrooms, enjoyed a tasty burrito and chased an electrical storm around the lower regions of New Mexico, the White Sands area. The storm was magnificent as it bounced back and forth across the white sandy desert, between the Organ Mountains and that other, nameless, range. We sat, a bench, at an overlook, 10,000 feet above the sea, in awe. My intentions were casual, quite honestly. In fact, I had no intention at all. Not so, at present. I suppose this is how things happen, innocently. She now occupies my thoughts and there are some feelings. I analyze, I dissect. I try to understand these thoughts and these feelings, understand where it is they come from, the root. Intense, I fear that it all could be false. Perhaps, situational,

I can ask if it is because she has given some attention to me. I can ask if it is rooted in my own loneliness, my longing for a partner, any partner. Fresh out of a relationship, I am. Laura and I, we ended long ago, but not. Our last year together has been one long and tiring goodbye, a period of cooling down.

And with this, I offer my apologies, a slight interruption. I love how they come to me for information on how things work, where to go, how to get what is needed. At this point, it all comes so naturally, whether it involves a forgery of a record or simply locating the cleanest shower and shithouse in the immediate area, they all come. I love me, I love my life. I am in my element here. I am in my element, the element of war. Not always easy, there are those times when it can catch up, and when it does, fuck, it can hurt. There are those times when someone stands in the way, catches on and creates a little resistance, it can be difficult. Being this way, some say different, has never been easy, yet it has been easy. I recognize this in Cynthia, she is not the norm and she is so out of her comfort zone here. She will learn. She will use it to gain. But, there are those times when it can be a drain and there is the learning curve, it is a bitch. Damn, I do love this life, sunshine, laundry, shorts (no uniform for me) and the MRE’s already creating a response within to vomit, guess I was wrong, not too improved. Good to be here, much to gain, so little to lose.

I will make my best attempt to keep an active journal and perhaps, a dream log. I am fortunate, fortunate indeed. I am blessed with wonderful interactions and friendships, experiences beyond the normal. My writing becomes so fragmented, but it merely follows the thought pattern of the mind, rarely a complete thought. As one thought fades another quickly moves in to take its place.

For some not-so-strange reason, I feel, I am to be here. More lessons to be learned? I have questioned time and time again. Months ago, I wanted no piece of this conflict. Years ago, I saw this coming and wanted no part, and here I am in the middle of this shit again, perhaps, the correct time has presented itself. Last February I had fear, a feeling deep within my being. It was a result of being offered that first contract to work here, in Iraq; that first contract that opened me up to something so new. So strange, so deep and hurtful, disgusting and powerful, it felt like death. I understand there had to be a deeper connection, something, of unfamiliar nature. I had to embrace these feelings and explore all aspects, to include, the fear. Associations made between former life experiences and this one at present. I never really put much thought into whether I had lived before, or not. I wonder what her thoughts would be in regard to what I speak of now, past life experiences and my being in Iraq, at present. Not here for the money, but to merely settle a debt and get the fuck out.

I believe she recognizes energy, the energy, but like me, has no training, she is distracted. Aware, she is aware, to a degree. She will continue to try with him, the excitement of the new (not that I am not new). He is old and new and it is what is comfortable. She is so very aware of what she is doing. Her beauty, it is not as physical as it is internal. She becomes so physically beautiful when she allows the inner to be as it is, without hiding or covering it up. It is the same with so many. Is this a new found crush or can this be something of depth? I recognize many, many feelings within, yet I observe, careful not to move without awareness. Never am I far from recognizing what is truly happening. I do believe in love. I can feel my mind attempting to convince me otherwise. Still, I do know so little of her. I have noticed her sizing me up, in the way that women do, always so superficial. I don’t fit her mold. I never fit the mold. There is no mold, I have no mold. The mold is something we create in our stupid little heads, something we must move beyond, something to overcome.

So many of my thoughts and my feelings remind me of Somalia, the Door’s song, The End, it is playing in my head. This is the end beautiful friend, this is the end my only friend, the end. I wasn’t supposed to make it home, but I did. I did make it because I was supposed to come home. What the fuck do I know? It is what was intended. I know I will experience the normal ups and downs in this near distant future, but I will remain aware. I really do not want to return, home, to the United States. I have tired of American life. The American way of life is so very much like war. For now, she too, fits a mold, a mold I am creating. She bikes, climbs, kayaks and lives for the mountains and snow. She has no desire for children, nor do I. I am slowing down in life, physically, mentally. I am creating the balance I want and need. I am over compensating while learning to do this, the focus being on learning, my learning. I smile in thought, Kansas, Dust in the Wind, playing inside my little head. Many of these soldiers show so little respect for foreigners, remember the towers? Cause and affect my friends. This illness is not limited to soldiers and their treatment of foreigners. It is far more extensive, it falls much deeper. For the moment, I enjoy my civilian-ness; no schedule, no demands, nothing, just me, complete and total me-ness. I stop where I like, I sit where I choose and when I choose. I speak when I choose to speak and to whom I choose to speak with. I like this, war without the rules.

I love my little monkey, my Hannah. I say my, with the understanding that she is no way a possession of mine.

21August 2004

Baghdad—arrived this morning. I was up all night. We finally made it, it so good to be here. How many say that it is so good to be in a war zone? It feels as if I am coming home, again. And, once again, the thoughts and feelings, I am flooded, too many, no time to put them to paper. There are always the superficial, hunger and what have you. I haven’t seen much, Saddam’s palace (one of many). People, emails, let them know I am here, and Cynthia, thoughts of Cynthia. Bumped into her this afternoon, one can only wish. Last night, I found myself sitting in the middle of a military working dog convention while in possession of one quarter of an ounce. Nowhere else to sit, the fucking irony, is there humor to this at all. Eyelids wish to close; sitting out enjoying the sky, music is on, gunfire earlier, distant, of no concern, an explosion; stupid fuckers, always shooting into the air, rednecks and third world primitives. I never could understand why it is so common in these countries to fire into the air, celebratory gunfire, what goes up must come down, stupid fucks. At the moment, I am here, here to work and nothing more. I am here to learn and to take away more from this experience, more knowledge. I can hope for more knowledge and some money for school. Gotta love the Special Forces attitude, how many times have I heard, just shoot ‘em in the fucking face, today? Let’s not exhaust the self with thinking, their world is beyond your control, just enjoy this moment. Momentary enjoyment, I am so close to everything, more of Asia, Somalia, and Eastern Europe. At times, I just want to go, I want to walk into this world and disappear into the nothing. Ifthese flip flops could only hold up.

22August 2004

People amaze me. At this moment, my thinking is how damn interesting and purposeful people can be on an individual basis. Put them together in groups and the dynamics change. Remove learned behaviors, cultural influences and fear; the end result being love, I think. But, the collective truth being the reality of this very world we occupy, the war and hate that creates this war. A young boy asks his grandfather how to make love. Not man/woman intimate love, but how to actually create, produce, and manufacture love. Children: so purely innocent, simple and perceptive. How to create love in order to increate this war; any war, all war. The difficulty lies in the articulation of my own feelings, our language being so limiting. I am with you kid, but, I have seen, these people don’t want love and they don’t want peace, they only want what they want and they want it now. It matters not where you are in this world you can see this in everyone. As I have concluded earlier, there is a feeling of knowing, no longer is there questioning, no longer am I asking, why? It is helping others understand and ask their very own why? No longer, is it a question of why do we do this, why do we do that, but rather, why do you? Why do you choose to act in the way that you do? Why do you choose to say what you say? What is prompting this action or thought? What really drives the you? Where does this connection begin and where does it end? No real beginning, no real and authentic end, cyclic in nature.

As confusedly twisted as this may seem, there is no other place I would rather be right now. This could change and perhaps, in time, it will, I will wait and see. For the most part I feel content being here, in Baghdad, plenty of downtime to reenergize. I came to reenergize in the midst of this Iraqi war!! What does this say about domestic life, and what does this say about me? Once the actual work begins the burnout will come quick, depending on our actual mission. A religious conversation, I dare not engage, for it is what wars are fought in the name of, is it not? Day rolls quickly into the night, no in between state. No, or little, perfect part of the day, like sunset in New Mexico. Here, it goes quickly from super bright to black dark. Tired, sleeping less, eating less, the food so unimpressive.

24 August 2004

And today, we will discuss what I consider fear. Fear as defined by Webster, is anticipation of danger. Fear as defined by Healey, is the fucking anticipation of fucking danger. I was feeling somewhat safe, confident. We had armored cars, built to withstand multiple heavy blasts, plenty of shooters (security personnel), and my very own sidearm, and then, then things change. Typical of the military and the contracting environment, even when not in the military we are in the military. Our C-4 (explosive) is to be carried in external compartments, RPG (rocket propelled grenade) zone, how fucking wonderful, perhaps nothing would be felt! And later, I find out that because we are going to work in Fallujah we do not need the armored vehicles. Now, if I am not correct, please feel free to make corrections here, but, from what I can recall, Fallujah and the area surrounding is a fucking hotbed of hostile activity. They have taken the armored trucks from our team and given us white Ford pickups. Sweet.

Strange, I used to write quite a bit, in the past. I am barely scratching surface with this shit. If I could only articulate better, I could then share what is truly happening within. How can I share, how can I communicate the peace, anxiety, fear and insecurities that I am; these feelings and thoughts that occupy my body and mind on a more than regular basis. I love life, I truly do. I am fortunate and blessed to be in this experience, at least for the now. I will know when it is time, for me, to move on. I appreciate the opportunity to just walk, each morning, back from the chow hall, past Saddam’s palace, the lakes, the amazing environment that this place is. I say hello to all who pass, soldiers, foreigners, birds and the fish too. The activity and bustle of this conflict and the support of, so fucking grand in the way America goes to war; cheeseburgers, t-shirts, and DVD players. These man made lakes that surround this base, the wildlife. Saw a few Indians pull a big ol’ fish from the filthy water, enormous, full of color and beautiful. At night, the fruit bats.I wonder if the others stop, in the midst of this war, to observe the life, ordinary life that continues on, to appreciate life and living, or, are they clinging to their very own? Although, I do feel great happiness and joy, the conditions of this world and the attitudes I see, everyday, create a deep sadness, within. My mission here, in Iraq, is to create a peace within my own being, for I have seen that it will not be happening in this world too soon. Today, is a sad one, a down or low energy day. Laura, this damn Laura, I give and give and she takes and takes. It takes quite a bit of my energy to deal with her, takes from what I am attempting to create as wholeness. On another note, I am not feeling the compulsion to go out and wander around this great city that they call a base camp, this is not normal for me. I am quite content in confinement for now, which is also, not quite normal for me to be saying. I have, somewhat, of a routine which keeps me moving on schedule, and all is well. Damn glad I bought those boots. Low energy, must force a smile. There is a damn mouse in here, leaves me with one of two options; befriend or behead. Befriending has only led to disappointment, in the past, anger too. All due to the high expectations that come with friendship, I would hope that mouse would respect my wishes and just shit elsewhere. And this is all I really ask for. Killing mouse will only bring a temporary solution to a much larger problem. Another will take its place and another and another. And the guilt, I do not wish to carry the guilt for ending his life, only because we are both doing what everyone else here is trying to do, and that is to survive. I think he just bumped into my foot! Mouse, can we please live in peace together? I do find this interesting, a banana that had been left out, it has been nibbled on by what appears to be a mouse. Looks like mouse mouth marks, but there are no droppings near, I see no mouse dung anywhere. Hmmm.per-haps, I was premature in my assessment of the situation. Maybe, just maybe these Arabian mice are more cordial to their hosts than their American counterparts, who shit wherever they damn well please. Mouse, I thank you, mouse, I honor you.

25August 2004

This nagging feeling, almost, as if, I am walking into my death. It is not a feeling I would consider to be a constant one, but it is there regularly, it has been there since last spring. Partly reason for my contacting Donna, the feeling, I am not so insecure with. The realness behind this feeling, I am. Is this something I have created, is this fear? Yet, I sense no fear does exist. Created thoughts,