The Lesson of Loss

I sit along a quiet trail filled with the clammor of despair. Recently, I had to exact justice from a pair of brothers who stole coins from the local noble's domicile.

The door of their hovel broke inward after the booted kick of my foot. In the small dwelling, the two brothers sat counting their bounty over a small meal with their mother and father. God's will told me that justice was mandatory.

While one of the brothers uselessly stabbed at my chest armor with a rusty pitchfork, I thrust my sword into his stomach and lifted, splitting him apart. His last vision was to see his blood spray the hilt of my sword, now buried in his brother's neck. The brother briefly saw God's wrath in my countenance.

I reclaimed the noble's petty treasure and as God's presence left my swordarm, I witnessed the despair of the parents -- pleading, begging for their lives and the wailing sorrow of the sudden loss of their sons.

Here I felt a stab of empathy, and the harsh awareness that I am both man and servant of God. That I must do what I do for the purpose of my religion, and still suffer the morality that is the aftereffect of my service.

Knowing that I had a hand in changing the future of these people, I left and did not look back. And I am reminded of the King I once served, whose malice was added to God's decree.

So today, as the sun sets to ashed embers, I let the man separate from the divine instruction, and I lose myself in the sum of my loss, if only for a moment.

This too...
My Lord, let it pass.

Exile

It is in dreams where I communicate with you, for during my days I know nothing of technology. My days, like yours, are consumed with the focus of my life. At night, when I release my attention to now through sleep, I can wander through time, through places, through worlds.

I've been in exile, a self-administered place of quietude. Free from killing and wrath, I've sought the routine of my days in the cold high mountains. The few people who travel along roads far to the south speak a language I do not know, and have skin the color of light leather.

For the last few years, each day has been one of survival and routine, of finding peace for those I've slain for I know peace shall never be mine. God has whispered to me each day upon awakening, urging rest for now... other struggles will return soon enough.

Today God's voice said nothing, but the routine was interrupted. I dreamt of another of Delal's focus, Michael, when he reached out to me - across time and place, across mental boundary and world view. He needed a fighter to help him slay his demons. And like all who come from the same source, I stood and faced his demons without hesitation. We slew them, and he prevailed.

In that moment of connection so long ago, I realized I was more than I was. That God connected us as expressions of the same source. And I knew it was time for solace and to let time go by.

In the back of this long cave, my armor sits protected. My thoughts have turned toward it today and I know I must be ready soon to take it from its hiding place. Giver, my sword cries out for justice. Long unused, it yearns for God to reach into it and smite those who are wrong. And there are so many who are wrong.

I look about this cave, the familiar surroundings, and realize I will be gone from here soon. Breakfast, then... and a new day dawns.