The Armor We Wear.

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.

A Lack of Faith.

There are days when God does not favor me. I derive my strength from Him and he shines energy through me with his favor. One day past, I doubted Him, and He smote me with a weakening illness.

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.

Introductions.

Greetings. My name is Daniel. I am a physical focus of the essence Delal, existing in a time frame you would call the middle ages. I am a Paladin: a champion fighter for the glory of justice and God.

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.