Monday, November 19, 2007

His Hero's Journey

The journey of a thousand miles starts with a step, just as the journey of a hero starts with a decision. The first battles of a hero start at home. There he struggles and learns the primal matters for survival. There he feels the loveliest years of life: a hero’s childhood.

From the home, he travels to the meadows, mountains, forests, rivers; searching for his treasure that home once taught him to realize; a hero in the making. There he fights his battles, side-by-side with the Providence through his heart. He is born to battle. He is a hero.

He thinks about many things in the journey: love, women, sex, entertainment, prayer, and survival with all his heroic prudence. He thinks about anything under the great sun.

Once, he thought about happiness, thought about the love he left, women loved, curiosities passed, friends met, prayers doubted and graced, and how he survived for the time that he has been journeying. He asked and even doubted if he has become, and is happy being a hero. He despairs for a moment, and then again thought about his being.
I am a hero, I fight my own battles. I am a hero, winning means struggling. I am a hero, I didn’t choose to be one, but I was made one by Providence. Am I happy? Not quite, but the extremities of both sides of happiness and despair puts me in the middle and learns the virtue in between. I am happy yet loaded with all the problems imaginary and real that the journey offers a hero: am at ease and still searches for my Providence from whom I could ask for my treasure and thank for making me His hero.
He goes home after a long battle and celebrates his struggles. Either win or lose, he homes back and rest for a while. Gains strength and readies himself for another journey.

You are the hero of many people.
You are the hero of yourself.
You are the hero of the Providence.

Be one.

This composition is offered to a discouraged companion very dear to my heart.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Love Fears Nothing

What is love? If you'd ask John Denver, he would perhaps say that:
Perhaps love is like a resting place, a shelter from the storm
It exists to give you comfort, it is there to keep you warm
And in those times of trouble when you are most alone
The memory of love will bring you home

Perhaps love is like a window, perhaps an open door
It invites you to come closer, it wants to show you more
And even if you lose yourself and don't know what to do
The memory of love will see you through

Love to some is like a cloud, to some as strong as steel
For some a way of living, for some a way to feel
And someone say love is holding on and some say letting go
And some say love is everything, and some say they don't know

Perhaps love is like the ocean, full of conflict, full of pain
Like a fire when it's cold outside, thunder when it rains
If I should live forever, and all my dreams come true
My memories of love will be of you

Love may not be defined completely by this song “Perhaps Love,” nevertheless my own version tells me that there is a higher choice in discovering love. I think that is the choice to decide: love is decision, and fear is always intertwined with it. The challenge would normally go like, how much love did you give? But more so, how much love would you still able to give without the fear? Then faith is realized.