warrior paradigm
I am a warrior.
There are some that choose urban warfare; others fight terrorists; while others fight in the bowels of buildings run by governments... all with the same cause. They fight the just wars that physically renounce despotism and oppression... and my freedom to pen this depends on them. I thank them, and honor their commitment and blood, and the sacrifice that their families make... including the pain of living past the ultimate sacrifice of a son or daughter... witness Priam's kissing the hands of Achilles... Priam's grief, the dim reflection of the grief of the One True God.
And here begins my story ... for I wrestle not with beings of flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness. Battle measured more in heart than blood, where to lose is to be damned to live without a real heart. And I have trained well… I was bred for this fight, warrior’s son of a warrior’s son, and was trained from the second day of my life. I have seen much, and have been wounded… wounds of warfare leaving no mark, but carrying the stench of death.
I am commissioned, and will execute… though one may not notice immediately. I work counter insurgence, with a wireless communication to Central… wear body armor but no cammo. As a forward observer in Enemy territory, I found that hardware only illuminated me as a target… I pack lightly… intellectual ammo with grenades that decimate darkness with light… made of the same heart material that the enemy seeks to destroy. I walk lightly because supply dumps are everywhere, some created by men who fought in the two previous millennia… no need to hoard.
Bleed with me my brothers, and if I fall, say only, “he fought well” and shed no tears. Guide my sons and daughters to their destiny, for they will fight more valiantly than I.
There are some that choose urban warfare; others fight terrorists; while others fight in the bowels of buildings run by governments... all with the same cause. They fight the just wars that physically renounce despotism and oppression... and my freedom to pen this depends on them. I thank them, and honor their commitment and blood, and the sacrifice that their families make... including the pain of living past the ultimate sacrifice of a son or daughter... witness Priam's kissing the hands of Achilles... Priam's grief, the dim reflection of the grief of the One True God.
And here begins my story ... for I wrestle not with beings of flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness. Battle measured more in heart than blood, where to lose is to be damned to live without a real heart. And I have trained well… I was bred for this fight, warrior’s son of a warrior’s son, and was trained from the second day of my life. I have seen much, and have been wounded… wounds of warfare leaving no mark, but carrying the stench of death.
I am commissioned, and will execute… though one may not notice immediately. I work counter insurgence, with a wireless communication to Central… wear body armor but no cammo. As a forward observer in Enemy territory, I found that hardware only illuminated me as a target… I pack lightly… intellectual ammo with grenades that decimate darkness with light… made of the same heart material that the enemy seeks to destroy. I walk lightly because supply dumps are everywhere, some created by men who fought in the two previous millennia… no need to hoard.
Bleed with me my brothers, and if I fall, say only, “he fought well” and shed no tears. Guide my sons and daughters to their destiny, for they will fight more valiantly than I.
posted by Vern Hyndman at 11:43 AM
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