Thursday, March 03, 2005
This village will be emptied of life soon, and I, its deliverance. Sinners all.
My dreams have been awkward lately, filled with images and structures I do not understand: a woman, half-crazed and alone being torn apart by the gnashing teeth and fangs of wolves. A contented man in some dark age sliding gracefully across a frozen pond while his woman looks on in admiration. A young man, surrounded by containers of some kind of humming, buzzing insect is fighting for breath in a battle against a green-colored demon. He is me, but looks like another. I fight with him, feeling an unexpected kinship, helping him dispatch the beast before it consumes him. The man is strong hearted, but weakened by his long exertions. We part as brothers as I wake to the soft noises of this cave and the small creatures that have gathered around me in the night, seeking warmth.
A group of hunters from the village sets out in my general direction early this morning. They are my first quarry. They will never return. Soon, others will depart, looking for the first party, and I will sever their heads from their bodies. The final villagers, unsure of why their members are not returning home will be greeted by my presence, come to remind them of the price of infidelity to their Lord. That dream was given a week ago, and it was terribly clear.
The leather of my gloves creaks in the cold as my hand tightens around my weapon. It's gleam is strong from the sharpening I've been giving it. Tonight I will be ready, and tonight my terrible work begins. Lord, the prior weeks of rest have prepared me. My vacation from solace begins tonight.
Monday, February 07, 2005
This location is so remote, I have risked removing my armor and have laid aside the weapons, choosing the light leather garb the peasant folk employ. I am just above the tree line of this peak and the trees murmuring on the high winds below creak and sway gently in natural order. Staying awake long enough to cook dinner has been difficult.
A long forgotten rest tugs at my muscles. Coupled with the altitude and mental exertion, I desire repose and mindless contemplation. The last of the spiced tea is sitting at the bottom of the small cup, warming my hands and senses.
Tonight, sleep. Tomorrow, perhaps as well. I sense a large mission on the horizon, on the other side of this great hill.
Monday, January 31, 2005
The last few days have found me in several battles. Fortunately, I care for the very things that ensure my survival: my leather and plate armor, the sword I wield, and the mind which God gave me to navigate the world with. My spirit shines against any darkness.
As I clove in a brigand's head with my sword and punctured the lungs and heart of a ruffian, I wondered at the skills and tools we become so familiar and dependent upon. As a baker uses bread, ovens, and flour and as the millwright uses a mill and corn, I use these well-handled weapons, armor, and shields.
Sometimes I feel an advantage: God has granted me with excellent intellect and reflexes, and I am quite aware of how much the mind plays a part in any given battle: political, mental, or physical. Few stand a chance with my God-given abilities.
After the battles are over, and the men who attacked me are strewn in pieces on the ground or gasping mortally at their impending meeting with their maker, I sit and rest. That night, wrapped tightly in a cloak against the cold mountain air, I reflected on the events of the days and the days ahead. Something looms in the near distance.
As I spill wine on my leather boots, I wonder if perhaps my forced exile is nearly over--one way or the other.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
I'd passed through a village rife with corruption. At the inn I'd stopped at, I noticed a young woman and her young child. The child was energetic with a sweet smile. I wondered at my noticing of the two young ladies--wondered what God had in store for me.
Then, the child wandered off and I saw her--from the vantage of my remote corner of the common--stealing a piece of bread from a nobleman's plate while he was not looking. God's wrath rippled through me, and I knew what I had to do.
Yet, I doubted. I doubted my natural inclination for justice. Was this not stealing? Was this not a violation of the law God decreed for us? Why, then, doubt? The innocent smiling face saw that I'd seen her transgression. She did not know it was wrong. She only knew of her hunger.
I withdrew from my pouch a small silver coin. I beckoned the small girl with my eyes and pressed the coin into her tiny hand. With my eyes, I conveyed the thin edge upon which she walked: I, her justice, I her compassion. Her life hung in balance as our skin touched.
Then, she was gone, and so was I. I walked out into the night with my horse, not to return to that town, though much work was promised me there.
My forgiveness was not lost on God. Who was I to judge? Who was I to choose punishment or not? I am merely the vessel of His righteousness. And, I suffer from His punishment even still. But, He will not slay me. I lost faith for one moment--did not listen to the inner voice that is my God. Although I suffer for it, I know there is another day ahead. My work is not done.
Monday, January 10, 2005
Another essence of Delal, Michael Friedman, introduced me to this 'technology' and I find it a useful method of transcribing my thoughts and experiences to those of you in what I call the future. This "blog" is not about Michael, although the experiences of he and I, at their core, may be similar because we are of the same essence, or soul. We experience inner data in two vastly different ways, however: his through his time frame and beliefs, and mine through my time frame and beliefs.
There are other focuses of Delal. They may speak in the future if they wish. For now, I will simply begin.
I am in the mountains and it is cold. My horse is with me, carrying my burdens and simple necessities for travel. I am travelling alone from town to town, village to village to serve justice and the will of God. My justice is fair and keen. I can kill in the name of God or forgive in the name of God.
A fire is burning low, and a small rabbit is my meal tonight. The stars are out and the world around me is quiet. I do not have a King I serve nor anyone to whom I am responsible. I used to serve a King, but that relationship is no more. Perhaps I will speak of it someday. For now, suffice it to say I wander solely with God's direction.
My blade is a holy one, which I have named Giver. Provided by my father when I was younger, it sat for many years in a wooden chest at my bed foot until that fateful day when I heard the call of justice and doom. Of that I will not now speak.
I am quick to temper and yet infinitely patient and compassionate. I exact justice ruthlessly and yet with a keen solicitude. I am righteous, wrathful, and kind.
Tonight, for now, I am at peace. The simple quiet of living alone and traveling where I must to fulfill my destiny is water for my soul. I now shall sleep, to find God's will, and to wake to the next day and the path set before me.