The Veteran’s Reiki Page

Do you know a Veteran or a Veteran’s organization who could use Reiki and Meditation? This service is free for our Veterans. Please email Diane at Diane@the-reiki-room.comImage-1

After the passing of my brother, (CSM Driver)
I struggled in many ways. The grief, the anger, and the loss. All roads led me to this journey of Reiki and to in some small way honor his life and help other Veterans -especially those suffering from PTSD , depression , anxiety and so much more . Then the idea came to me. It was like a perfect union of intention and love for my brother and to all those that serve.
I’m happy to announce I am accepting veterans for this free Reiki program!
With gratitude , Diane

Whenever I need a good laugh or memory of my brother , this here does it!

Jeff deployed was the Scout Platoon Sergeant in HHC, 1-505 PIR back in 1993. I served as HHC’s 1SG. I brought Jeff to the Scout Platoon shortly after I left A Company where Jeff was a squad leader.

The battalion was the 82nd Airborne Divisions “Ready Force One unit, meaning that all soldiers were on a two hour recall, could not drink, party or otherwise involve themselves in those activities that soldiers involve themselves in during hours of “down time.”

Four of Jeff’s soldiers were hanging out in their barracks rooms. Cable TV in the barracks was a relatively new oddity. These young men were bored of computer, board and card games.

One of these stalwarts noticed that the “boys” next door (the barracks across about a fifty foot wide strip of dirt and grass were having a “good ole time” whooping it up and doing what these soldiers wanted to do.

A few weeks past one of Jeff’s soldiers purchased a HUGE rubber “slingshot” made of surgical tubing at Myrtle Beach.

After a period of watching and listening to “those geeks from 3rd Battalion”

having a swell time that Saturday night, Jeff’s boys decided they would fill up some balloons with water and launch these balloons at the barracks next door. In their collective mind’s eye the sound and appearance of balloons breaking against windows would send a no so subtle message for the “Three Panther” soldiers to pipe down and let the boys in “One Panther” observe their miserable condition in peace. (1-505 was the DRF-1 battalion over the Christmas and New Year’s holiday period, so the chances of being called out short of full scale war was next to zero)

Jeff’s well-trained scouts did a brief reconnaissance of their intended target area in order to choose the specific target on the objective area. In the meantime, another couple of these soldiers’ compatriots who the original group recruited stockpiled ammunition (water-filled balloons.)

When the recon team returned, these solders prepared their “firing position.” These youngsters open the window adjacent to their selected target area, enlisted a number of their peers to “anchor” the “firing device” by stretching this HUGE slingshot across the room where the window was open.

Two other solders stretched this surgical tubing about 30 feet, pulling these two strands of tubing out one door, across the hallway into another room occupied by one of these “great geniuses.” Another soldier carefully placed a “loaded” water balloon into the sling.

Soldiers selected to serve in a Scout Platoon normally represent the “elite” of an airborne infantry battalion. These kids are on great shape and are among the best-disciplined, sharpest dressed and most loyal in the battalion. However, no one ever asked them to write a thesis concerning Einstein’s theory of relativity, Darwin’s hypotheses concerning the evolution of mankind. None of these knuckleheads had ever heard of Euclid, Socrates, Sir Issac Newton or any of the other great mathematicians in history.

Most reasonable high school graduates knew of the theory that states “mass times acceleration equals force.” Most learned that theory during Driver’s Education; however, the spirit of the moment caused these normally reserved young men to “temporarily lose their presence of mind. That approximately 6 ounce water balloon multiplied by the number of feet per second that this thinly-cased water-filled middle would missile would weigh when it collided with the target.

PFC Edgar Jones was a mild-manner young man who served as a clerk typist in 3-505 PIR’s Personnel Action Center (PAC). He’d just purchased himself a 386 desktop computer from the PX and sat down behind said computer to play a game.

Jeff’s boys launched their “ordinance” at Edgar’s window. Just about the time that Edgar was typing his password in to open his screen, a light blue bomb smashed through the window where he sat behind his computer, slammed into the case holding the CPU and promptly fried all circuits in the computer.

Jeff’s boys did not hear the glass break next door. In fact these young men “fired for effect” by hurtling salvo after salvo of water balloons at the barracks across the way. Their range to target, accuracy and ammunition selection was quite effective. These soldiers broke four other windows and one television set besides Edgar Smith’s computer.

“When it rains, it pours’ in a figurative sense because the 82nd Airborne Division’s field officer of the day showed up to the 3rd Battalion area to perform a random security check.

My telephone at my house out near Methodist College (some 15 miles or so away) rang around 0230 that chilly December evening.

I was never one to take bad news well in the first place. Furthermore, I took every individual act of ill-discipline in my unit personally. Being awakened by an irate field grade officer who was not in my unit at that time of the morning ignited my temper much like a trail of gunpowder from a powder keg.

While I wiped the sleep from my eyes and got dressed, I called my unit’s duty NCO and ordered “every $&–#^}>>£€ NCO in the Scout Platoon to “wake their behinds up and report to the Company. I furthered directed the duty NCO to wake up the entire Scout Platoon and have them in formation when I got there.

Jeff called the platoon to attention as I walked into the company area. He snapped a salute as he did every day and reported.

“First Sergeant,” he said, fighting back laughter “Animal House is all present.”

I paused for a moment and tried to put things in perspective. Jeff knew that I was going to have to stand in front of a number of senior leaders on Monday morning and answer the “Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot” surrounding the circumstances of this incident.

I returned Jeff’s salute and proceeded on a tirade of profanities that would make Satan himself blush.

Jeff looked at me in the eyes (after I called the platoon to attention when my blistering speech ended) and he ran back to his position in front of the platoon.

Jeff told me “Don’t worry First Sergeant, we will find the miscreants who did this heinous act. His eyes still sparkles, and I knew he was fighting back laughter, which he knew if he laughed, I would crucify him.

I went back to my office, started a pot of coffee and stewed while I flipped through and glanced at a couple of military-themed magazines I had on a table in my office. I had a ten o’clock tee time that Sunday morning. My normal playing partners were influential members of the 82nd Airborne Division staff and I knew those folks read the FOD log every day.

Jeff came back into the orderly room before the coffee completely brewed. He had the slingshot, the remaining “loaded balloons) and a box of “shell casings” yet to be filled with water.

His investigation proved thorough. He had the list of culprits complete with their confessions of their involvement in what Jeff called “the bombardment of 3rd Battalion.” We shared a cup of coffee during which I calmed down. As we stood up to leave, Jeff looked me in the eye once more and said “First Sergeant, are you not proud of my scouts? These kids planned and executed an “assault by fire” operation without any NCO or officer leadership. Did I not train these men well or what?”