Listening to the South Tower Beam

 

In the 9/11 memorial, there’s a beam taken from the wreckage of the twin towers. It’s the only exhibit you are allowed to touch. In fact, you are encouraged to touch it. So I did. Not only did I touch it, but I stood there for several minutes trying to feel the energy radiating from it.  It was originally part of the south tower near the 30th floor. The heat was so intense that when the building collapsed it curled the end of the beam back onto itself.  Ironically, if you view it from the side, it forms the small letter “d” representing death.

Anticipating I might be able to absorb some energy transferred by the people who were in the south tower on that fateful day, I closed my eyes and tried to hear what the beam has to say. It was cold and dark. I felt deep sadness and rivers of tears. It had distinct emotions of terror, and fear.  I immediately became very sad as I realized that this beam still retains the emotions of the people who survived that day. Some of the people who were on or passed through the 30th floor are now dead.

Being one with this beam is a surreal experience.  To do it properly one must start by focusing their thought to the surface of the beam. Tune out the surrounding chatter from tourists talking to one another and asking why or how this happened.  Forget about the dazed looks on children’s faces who were not alive on that day and see but still don’t understand. Use your fingertips to feel all the little nooks, crannies and fire formed bubbles in the steel.  Divert all your thought into your hand and project it into the beam.  The steel in this beam is at least one inch thick.  It has four sides and it’s hollow in the middle.  I hear faint voices of people from that day reverberating inside of it. Echos of their screams are still with us today.  I hear prayers for salvation.  Frantic cries out to loved ones.  “Please Help Me God” is the single most noticeable plea that stands out above all.  

During my life, I’ve never personally experienced such fear and despair.  Touching that beam gave me a tiny glimpse into the horror of what these people must have experienced on the morning of September 11, 2001. All they wanted to do was to go to work. They didn’t want to die.

From there I went into the memorial room. Photography is not allowed. There is a wall with a photograph and name of each person that died that day. Across from the photos are computer monitors where you can find a person and tap on their photo.  It’s like sitting on the sofa in the living room and looking at a friends photo album. The victim’s photo collage is assembled out of respect for them by family and friends. Family pictures and celebrations.  Wedding pictures, holiday celebrations, people dressed up in funny costumes, smiling, and laughing.  Experiences where the deceased were once very much alive and enjoying themselves.  You can play an audio track of a family member or friend pronouncing their name.  I only had the strength to view two or three.  In a moment of vicarious grief, I felt this desire to want to know at least one or two of them. I wish I had the opportunity to invite them over for dinner before they died. To get to know them so I could mourn this real person not just some photo on a machine.  Somehow I missed them.  They were like a lost friend I had never met.  

These are people just like you and me with hopes and dreams for the future.

Dreams that were crushed in the rubble of the twin towers on 9/11.