The Weaning of the Warrior – A New Year Guest Blog by Mark French

 A lone pine at hill's summit with snow-laden branches.
The wind passing through makes the sound of Hu, an ancient name for God.
      Poised:  naked warrior, stallion white, untamed
      Challenged:  armored soldier, adrenal fight, unblamed
The battlefield of the outer plane, threatens ever to detain, the prince/princess on sojourn's return.
From the hill overlooking s/he raises an arm as though summoning the ranks or extending blessing
  - light rays reflect unto particles of moisture in the atmosphere, becoming prisms, subtle pastel covenant.
What manner of warrior is this who chooses for sole protection the golden pen?
The cacophony of strife and struggle, battlefield's accoutrements, is overshadowed by the sound of locusts on the wing;
   the sky darkens, a pulsing cloud descends, the insect shall have its day here, the rider moves on, pushing in.
Silence!   There is no war.
   -the tension strengthens the confusion, the struggle strengthens the illusion,
    like bindings of wet rawhide.
               Love conquers all.
               Surrender.   Calm.   Not my but Thy will be done.
Pause.  Visualize.
 A mountain meadow, newly fallen snow;  light, ethereal, under moon glow.
 A palpable peacefulness pervades.
Reflection:  Quiet.  Shh; quieter still;
 still like the hoof print of a solitary pregnant doe, molding promise.
 A mountain stream; small, delicate, born short time ago as flake of snow.
Drink.  Partake of the joyous abundant life force.
           Quench.  Rejuvenate.   Push on.
You'll feel the buoyancy of your step ever-increasing, indefatigable.
Come now, noble rider, to the mountain pass opening into the great beyond;
   like Columbus setting sail or blazing the Oregon trail or opening the eye of Soul.
Dismount and pass through, come across, come in.
   No flags wave here, no pendants of separating secular pride;
   there are no divisions, this is union/reunion.
A vast ocean, virgin's unveiling, one will stand upon the shore and wonder if his/her travels have been circular.
The dawning unfolds; a misty deja vu which feels like the unwinding of a cornucopia.
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