One night on the Anu Heska, a look into Eaglesong, Book one of the Eun Trilogy.

So close now I can taste the Dwarven Ale… The journey has been so long.. so Very long.. but we are almost there.

What Say you

This is the prologue to my first novel, Book one of the Eun trilogy, Eaglesong. Please read, comment if you will. Prologue. Crisp winds swirled about a lonely figure, sitting in the wash of shadows…

Source: One night on the Anu Heska, a look into Eaglesong, Book one of the Eun Trilogy.

View original post

Taking the Hits, Because you can.

20161016_213532.jpg

There was a point in time where I could have so very easily described myself a walking wound. Not one great gaping display of  Fractured Psyche,  perforated organs and rendered flesh, but instead an amalgamated mass of well deserved,  foolishly created, blindsided  produced, and Machiavellian worthy self inflicted.

That time has passed.

I could, by means of forced remembrance and careful comparing of scars, to gather some detail which being the most fresh and least faded, deduce when I was no longer, in need of such constant triage. Instead I can conclude that, after the application of a sensible amount of stoicism and fair enough amount of Pride, I am alright.

Not healed, in utter remission, as fit as a fiddle, ready to hit the field, simply…

Alright.

I know so many analogies, and metaphors, that get regurgitated at these moments, I would quickly have the literary dry heaves……

My life Has been no Prize fight, this has been no Race of Champions.. I have been no ship in the storm.

But, I have been in a brawl, make no mistake, and as for of my time here, more of it I have been here than have I not been, Has been a race against Time itself, and there was no ship.. just the storm.

I got through It, that’s the point.. And the only thing that matters, Is Now I know I can take it..

I can take the hits.. I can suffer a wound or two.. it isn’t because I want to, or I am a glutton for punishment, or I cant fight back, or I have no esteem, to hold together myself, and let show.

I take the Hits because I can. I have earned the right to do that if needed, for those I love, I am willing to weather what others cannot, that’s what love is about. I have the wounds to prove it.

Love is worth the wounds, You will be alright.

 

I am still Here, But where is that Anyway?

20161123_175125

In what I allowed to become an endless process of self reflection, perpetual incantations of self actualization, and countless introductions to introspection. I found that I had via chronological GPS and emotional signal triangulation found had myself in the most fixed and certain of point of who I was and exactly where I was In this place I called my Life.

And I had no damned Idea where the hell that was after all.

Surprisingly, this was neither vexing, or as it turns out much of a surprise.. it was much more of a classic “Well…Shit” Sam Moment that as it turns out was rule here and not the exception.

I feel that it is of personal importance that I draw no lines of relativity here, it seems I have an overbearing sense of propriety selfishness in this moment. That this metamorphic journey to absolute “well, that was stupid” be mine to covet.

Then a thought occurred to me.. And then, even as I write this I am smiling.

It is so much better a thing to be alright with who you are, not knowing where you are, so long as  you are at peace with how you got to the place where its ok to be nowhere, cause wherever you want to go to from that point, you know yourself well enough, that your ready to go.

Its ok to get lost in the message, and who its meant for, so long as both the sender and the recipient is you.

Remembering Why we wanted to Forget.

dsc01434

Each one of us would like to think of ourselves fearless at some point, of something, in the course of lives. It could be something so utterly trivial, like losing to some novice in a game which me have mastered, or a matter of unquestioned certitude, such as the defense of ones child when grave peril shows its face.

These moments, if they have already come upon us, are often indelibly burned into a memory. A fixed point to forever reference so that we might, draw strength from, polish the shelf of it for the sake of nostalgic pride, or to remind us of what we are capable of when we face some great threat.

Then of course, there is the other side of this Boatman’s coin, one of which we will somberly collect through our days. That being those times, and those things in which we knew certain and palpable fear which forever changed our lives and we are always trying to forget.

The scope and magnitude, reach and consequence, of these instances are by their own nature, irrelevant. For they have and can be so much bigger, last longer, and take a greater toll, than we allow ourselves to believe, admit, understand , accept, or comprehend.

They make us angry, they paralyze, they deceive us, have us mistrust when we should have faith, beguile us when we see what is in front of us a smiling threat.

But worst of all.. they make us forget.. what they were, before they became so much more.

A moment of original fear can be such a terrible thing…. and as it is happening we often are thinking just one thing..

(How do I make this stop, Just let this End)

It does… and often.. and as fast as we can,, we will push down to the first empty space our mind thinks is there and close that door. Erasing it from the here and now.

Where it can, if we let it, Grow Forever.

Because we didn’t  take a deep breath at some point.. when we could and should have.

Remembering Why We Wanted to Forget.

Waking to the Forgotten Wounds.

     I have spent so many an hour putting thoughts to words on the absence of sleep, and its toll upon me, and so on and so forth, that I fell prey to the most common of human failings, despite how uncommon my own were in the nature of how mine came to be.

     That of allowing my own wounds, to become a weapon to wound another.

     I place enormous forethought, given all that transpired in the abyss of me that decades of sleepless nights created, to not levy any hurt upon another. Whether it be the casual passerby, or those for whom my heart beats. Yet, in doing so there is something that takes place that I had never contended for.

How Old wounds, laid low, in protection of others, gave rise to new ones, and they do not pay homage to the past when I did not sleep.

These wounds are fresh,  raw and tender, and will flair so painfully with the slightest touch. Often they happen right were an old one lay buried, bringing the past and present together in agonizing fashion, but worse yet, making me wonder when will I hurt in that way again.

Soon that wonder becomes fear, which gives way to threat, and is processed methodically, calculated so I can act with efficient pre-emption, be it counter move, skilled parry, pre-emptive strike.

And in that moment.. I have failed both my intentions, and those that matter. I have hurt them before they have done anything, however sure I am they would.

I have shown no faith in their humanity.

I have shown no foresight into their ability to shield me as I would them.

I have shown no trust in them.

I did nothing more… than attacked the Pain, before it could attack me.

Every time I do it I am the lesser man.

Your hurt belongs to you. If your lucky there will be those in your life whom will bear it with you. Never make them pay for it, and once you have healed, never use them as a shield to keep it from coming back.

Hurt makes us human, turning it into something that can help others makes you better for it.

We have all went to bed hurting.. some sprain limb, broken bone, or bed half empty for the better part of us is not there as they should be..

We awake and for just a moment,  all seems as it ought to.. till it strikes home..

Then we remember, that forgotten wound.

20161106_214430