Forging the Sword

Greetings to you, I the Stranger bid you welcome. The following commentary shall be divided into three parts. The first part shall consist of what I hope you are doing. The second what I expect you shall do. And both parts have this as their topic, spiritual warfare. So I shall begin, and I pray you benefit.


1 And you were dead in the trespasses and sins 2 in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience— 3 among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind. 4 But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, 5 even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ— by grace you have been saved— 6 and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus,

Ephesians 2:1-6.


This verse gives to us the basic layout of redemption, but I would point out it also shows the manner in which we wage warfare. This is the progression of man, he is sinful, he follows demons (i.e. either by possession or the ideas put forward by demonic influence), he is dead in his sins. But God, who loved us even while we sinned, raised us out of our death with the Resurrection of His Son, and seated us with Him in heaven.

Warfare is not a difficult concept to grasp, and in its makeup it is rather simple. And it is based on one crucial thing, the furtherance, proclamation, and deliverance of the Gospel.


3 For though we walk in the flesh, we are not waging war according to the flesh. 4 For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. 5 We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ,

2 Cor. 10:3-5


When the gospel is not our central and major theme warfare is nothing. It has no purpose, no destination, no point, and no goal. It is, in essence, degraded to an experiential subject and not given the seriousness it requires. And when the gospel is overlooked the enemy is either unaffected or not very affected (which can really make your life difficult). In light of this I propose the five things you should be doing right now.

1. Be regenerate. I know this isn't exactly a constant action but if you are not a Christian then spiritual warfare is not for you. See Acts 19:13-16. In fact those not bought by His blood are subject to demonic attack, influence, and possession (John 8:43-45). But if you are indeed a son and joint heir with Christ then the following steps are yours to employ.

2. Study the Word. All the time, breathe it in, memorize it, apply it to wage warfare against your own flesh. In fact if you practice warfare against sin then you shall find warfare against spirits follows the same pattern. If you resist long enough and quote scripture at your sin then it disappears. Thus with spirits.
James 4:6-8

3. Become a prayer warrior. If you are practiced in prayer then almost necessarily you are cultivating humility as well as the mindset of prayer. Or in other words, when there are trials in your life prayer comes as your first attempt to rectify your situation. Then when the enemy descends it is natural to turn first to the Father. And our example of humble prayer is found in our Lord;
Matthew 26:39; Psalm 35:1-3

4. Engage in fellowship. In order to build a network for you to rely on as your covering when in the midst of battle. The prayer of others are bolstering in the thick of battle. And having another to stand with you is comforting. Somehow it eases fear and pain. Also our hearts are deceitful, we would be blinded to sin, which makes us vulnerable to attack, and our fellows keep us humble and grounded in God (Proverbs 27:6).
Hebrews 3:12-13; James 5:16; 2 Timothy 2:3.

5. Grow roots in assurance. Faith is vital. In order for you to stand in the day of darkness you must have faith. Without faith you shall quickly fall, and fail despite whatever else you have done to prepare. And faith comes through God's Word as a matter of course, this wraps around to just how important the study of His Word really is.
Romans 10:14-17; Psalm 27:1-3

This is the preparation for battle and it is important for you to be already partaking of these things. For battle may possibly come at any moment, do not live with this in fear but rather may its truthfulness lead you to take this matter seriously. The next part shall be what you need to do when attacked by sin and its consequence.

Dt

Ashes

A tiny flame winks into life. The wood is young and green, so oil is applied. The fire runs across the pine, warming and crisping the bark. And heat is gently felt by the flame bringer. For a time the wood burns but only so long does the new log take to the flames. The oil runs low and a chill wind forces the little blaze to gutter... and fail.

And the wood has ashes, the ashes of its consumed bark float around it like a cry. No heat is felt and only the smoke of the flames could be seen, like a small wisp dissipating into space. And night falls on the world with no fire to meet it.

Wolves howl at first distantly, but drawing nearer. Yellow eyes spy the hiding place and they fear not a man with no fire. The only choice for them remained whether to eat quickly or slow. For their prey already caught could surely not escape.

Ashes still hung in the air, the wind yet whistled through the trees, and the wolves kept creeping up on the cave. Hopeless, depressed, the man stood to face his hunters. When the savage beasts approached the heatless pit another hunter cried a claim.

He came with fire, he came with oil, and he came prepared. Burning wolves and driving them off, the fire maker deftly defeated the canine fiends. He entered the dark cave to find the other man waiting for some sign of friendship. The hero took the unseasoned pine and put in its stead a large log of aged oak. And lighting it he also gave a torch and oil for the flames.

The relieved man took his torch and perceived the cave to be all around them and to stretch on for much farther than his light could reach. But the saving man showed him the endless wonders of the cave, for the ground was always dry and somehow wood was at hand whenever needed. No more to sit in ashes.

Dt

Nova Atitude

I shall be in louisville for quite a few days and will be unable to post, and then almost immediately following said trip is my sister's wedding! *GASP* Yes, I the Stranger shall be a very busy individual. Therefore if a post is made know it was probably the only one I could actually get in.

Dt

Surrender

This is the fate of fatigue, and the cause of slow defeats. The will when sapped no longer arises. Greetings to you, I the Stranger bid you to somberly read this short message. It won't be like my previous commentary, which was more like a rapid dump of many thoughts, but a concentrated topic on a serious theme.

Surrender and fatigue, do they conquer you? Or do you prevail through other means? Here's the skinny. Surrender is necessary, and surrender is to be avoided. Fatigue is a consequence, and fatigue can be banished. Personally one of my greatest enemies is fatigue. The desire to just lay back and slide through it all. But those times I regret bitterly, because the first thing to fall through the woodwork is my time with the Good Book.

It's the slow surrender, the creeping normalcy, the killing sand. And if it goes on long enough struggles become short and seemingly useless. Fatigue, discouragement, and despair go together on the road to sloth.

The only answer is surrender of another sort, but this surrender is a fight, a war. You have to ask for help, and WITH that help defeat your enemy. Not watch that help, not mildly struggle with the help, but using that help, that grace, as the source and tool of your escape. But not necessarily the action thereof. Defeating fatigue is easier at the beginning than at any other point, nip it in the bud and its much less of a hassle. But tearing fatigue up by its roots can be like levelling a mountain with a plastic shovel.

Fortunately our help is not a plastic shovel, but it isn't usually dynamite either. Our help is like the strength in your muscles, integrated into you for a purpose and meant to be used. Our help takes work, but without it we would not succeed even if we worked our entire lives. This grace makes futility possible, but it doesn't always make futility easy. Not that it can't but the most growth occurs when the larger challenges come, to force us to surrender to the right being in the right way.

Dt

Play, Rewind, Repeat

It was pitch black. The only thing I could hear was the sound of a person's footsteps, and the methodical rap of a cane on the concrete. The sound grew slowly louder and in the distance someone played a viola, a lament for something long lost... A soft fiery light was slowly eating at the darkness and a man came into view. Tall he was, and wearing dark clothing but no other features could I see. He spoke, "U pau ruskie?" were his thick and strange sounding words.

"Michael!" The sound of my name broke into my thoughts, like someone suddenly shedding light into tired eyes. My drawings were becoming better, and this project was promising. Time for another normal day. I quickly ate my breakfast, not even tasting the home baked goods, and rushed out the door calling back thanks and well wishes for the day. It was the big yellow doom bringer, and another day of insignificance.

So I took residence in my usual seat, and watched as the tall man drew closer. "Nim noga." I responded, he looked slightly pleased. "Well then my American friend, we shall speak in your language for the sake of courtesy." His accent was heavy, but manageable. "When does the target come into the area?" I asked, seeking to verify my intelligence. "In approximately 2 hours, and I won't bother telling you the other things you already know." He was mildly amused, but also mildly annoyed. Wonderful, I couldn't have received a more... flexible partner for the job. He seemed to be physically fit, and he didn't favor either leg with his cane. So I wondered at the inclusion of such a possibly cumbersome item for an elite man like him.

"Hey! Is it you again? Put your stuff away and come on, or you'll be late for homeroom." The buss driver was kindly, but she always had to put up with me straggling behind. I hurried and made it to homeroom as the bell was ringing. Fortunately it was my best subject, art, unfortunately we had a substitute teacher for the day. "Good morning everyone." I quite literally froze in my chair. He didn't just look like or sound like the man in my drawings, in my imagination, he appeared to actually be him.

"Today," he began, sounding like he had a genuine American accent, "we are going to take a look at pointillism." I didn't have time to worry about my teacher because pointillism happened to be a labor intensive art form. I drew a scene of moonlight falling on a field of wheat and the wind travelling across the plain, almost as if the wheat field was actually a pond and a stone had just created ripples across the once still surface.

At the end of class we each showed our work, apparently none of them satisfied the teacher much. "I know none of you have every used pointillism before, but all of you missed the point of it." The class moaned at his bad pun, I grinned, because I knew he was being hard to please on purpose. I hoped that for the first time, I had met someone who's expectation I could fulfill.

Dt

Muse(sick)

The muse called in sick today, although I can almost hear something in the background... But let's move on shall we? Once again I say greetings to you, for I the Stranger shall compose another commentary.

Welcome to the future. Imagine a world where everyone is sick with the same, crippling, terminal disease. And we all try everything we can think of to escape it. Science, ceremonies, drugs, etc. The cure, the panacea, we're dying for the eradication of our sickness. We even try politics, social restructuring, suicide.

It's all been done. Genocide, eugenics, DNA manipulation... we've done it, thought about it, or tried it all. If only we were not so very, incredibly, incurably infirm. I'm here to say it's happened, it's happening, and the world already knows how to stop it. They just don't want to.

Why would anyone avoid such a cure? Why would anyone reject it? What if, to put in a nice plot twist, only the few actually were aware of the pandemic. How ridiculous, posh you cry, how could anyone not KNOW in their bones they were mortally sick? You would be better off asking a fish what water is. A fish doesn't know what water is, to a fish water is what they have always taken for granted. It's what they live in, but even as they depend on it they are not aware that water is life to them.

In the same way how can someone truly know they are sick if everyone else has the same sickness? Status qou, if everyone is sick, then no one is sick. Welcome to the future, and no body is sick. Here we have an interesting assortment of statements, please follow.

People are desperate to cure something inside them.
People try anything to cure said sickness.
People don't acknowledge said sickness.
If all people ignore said sickness, then no one is sick.

In all of my years I have never seen such a grandiose fallacy of logic which simply flies in the face of all reason. Wait, you say, this is merely conjecture. An interesting argument but nothing solid. I object, strongly. It is easy, in fact, to see the pattern. In your own life, in the life of your best friend, your dad, mother, brother, auntie, President, Congressmen, crook, cop, everyone. Everyone you've ever known or heard of, everyone you've ever met.

Why do they all strive for the same thing? Happiness, contentment, but most of all fulfillment. Oooh, how that word has driven many men insane or worse by its tantalizing but ultimately forbidden fruit. Just barely out of your grasp, I have yet to meet someone who approaches the issue in this manner find his life fulfilled.

Very well, you acquiesce, what then is your answer? The first step to the cure, is admitting you are actually and most assuredly deathly ill. Once you realize you're on your death bed, your point of view tends to change quite a bit. Sure you've sought for answers but once you KNOW you're dying you will really get a move on.

The second step is to acquire the address for relief. Who can cure you? Is it money? Not really, money only wants more money. Is it fame? Fame is self destructive in its efforts for more fame. Is it the ultimate high? You'll climb so high, only to drop so low. Good deeds? Moral straightness? A well lived life? Anything? The second step is really quite a few steps, you must realize it's out of your hands friend.

Nothing you can do, nothing you strive for, work at, accomplish, or any person, ideal, or thing (no matter how noble) shall cure you. This world will suck you dry in this manner. So I ask you, who can you turn to? Material things will only whittle you down to nothingness. What about the non-material? Caution friend, step carefully.

Here the bravest quail, and the wisest lose their way. We have established your sickness, but by who's standard are you sick? Your own? No, you certainly did not know of your infirmity. Others? They are in the same predicament. It is by no standard of the world you are sick, therefore it is by a supra natural standard you are sick.

Yes, the natural is exhausted its usefulness, and it has no answers. We look to things unseen for aid. What can we surmise of such an unseen plane? That it is probably, 1. Like and unlike our own. Unlike our own in that it contains things powerful but invisible, and the answers to all our questions. Like our own in that it also contains those who cause harm and those who bring healing.

How can anyone tell the difference between one and another? How will you know if the one who answers your cry is holy or not so much? If you go straight to the source. You see, the standard is the answer to the question. Who set the standard, by whom is our state of being declared as not well? Either by an ultimate being of infinite good, or an ultimate being of infinite evil.

Someone has to be ultimate, and that being is most certainly not neutral or else there would be no standard at all. If the being was evil then the standard would be this, all things noble, all things good and right and just, all things healthy and honorable are hereby and forthwith deemed as the opposite. Honor is for cowards, justice for the weak, nobility for the craven, and goodness for the criminals.

No, the standard is not set by an evil one, but by a being so very good that He defined good and surpasses it. Very well, you must petition this being, a being so infinitely holy that the slightest hint of His essence would obliterate you entirely. Oh? You no longer wish to be cured? If only there was someone to place his one hand on us, and one hand on Him. Someone pure and holy, but also earthly and human.

A mediator between God and man, the Messiah! But He goes by so many names, Jesus Christ, Moad Dihp, Yeshua Hamashia, and so very many more. Which is the true savior? Which can really mediate effectively? Which is certifiably real? Choose cautiously, for you must choose all the way. No half-heartedness, no missteps, no mistakes on this one.

We already know God to be infinitely holy and good, and it stands to reason that He is ONE. Or something close to a singular being, you see the standard fixes our steps once again. If there is a supreme standard, there is a supreme being. There is one supreme being, there cannot be two equal beings, or many beings some more or less equal. For two equal beings would have two equal but antagonizing standards, and our sickness would not be singular but double. Two ways for being sick, when we only experience one. The same applies to many.

Therefore, there is one supreme and ultimate being. This swiftly destroys several hundred options. Leaving a handful, the Jew, the Muslim, and the Christian. (There are more, but dealing with these would resolve them as well) The Muslim does not, in the end, hold to a consistent god. This god is not really ultimately holy because you can work your way to heaven, making him somewhat less than absolutely good. He is, instead, just a little evil and can therefore accept just a little evil in you to get to heaven.

Such a god cannot have made an implacable standard. What of the Jew? In the Torah the law accurately mimics the standard we each feel in our souls. But there is a catch, only death can pay for breaking the standard. And repeatedly, and always must you sacrifice goat and lamb to have peace with Him.

But what if, what if there is the one we hope for? One who totally and fully sacrificed for all of the times we broke the standard and allowed us into the family of God? The one who completes the Torah in His own life, and satisfies the punishment in His own death. The Mediator between God and Man, the Man Jesus Christ.

Dt

A Bitter Cup

The air beat his ears, his heart grasped in pain. The silence ate at his soul, no response to his pleas. His knees were weak and his body was almost laying on the ground, as if under a great weight. Yet still he asked, he asked for a sweeter cup, if it was the will. Tears fell like rain, and mixed with the blood of his sweat. "My soul is sorrowful, even unto death."

Twice he returned to his friends for comfort, and twice they lay sleeping. Rejected and forgotten he could only weep. Already he was slowly draining a bitter cup, and he could feel the presence retreating. And he staggered onward, past the betrayer, beyond a viper's kiss, carrying splintered beams, upon a slashed back, bearing a fool's crown around a mangled head, yet most of all hearing no father's voice and only feeling wrath.

He hardly felt the whip when it fell, or the thorns when they pierced. He distantly saw the giant nails, and heard the hammer fall. More real to him were the fleeing friends, and those who hung beside him. More important to him were the accusing faces, and all the people behind them. Why? Why have you forsaken me? This was his resounding question, but with it was, father forgive. And as his spirit passed, the temples opened. Enter into the thief's peace, and remember the thrice morn glory.

Dt

The Love Note

I was bent over, leaning on my knees, and breathing hard. I had thought my rebirth would change things permanently, and maybe it did. But I could not see it. After she and I had walked away from the water, I was convinced things would be easier. Maybe not easy, but at least not the constant struggle, not the constant torment. I could not have been more mistaken.

What I thought was a lasting peace was merely a short reprieve before plunging into turmoil. Where only two things had been plaguing my, now stood three. And the third flayed my very soul when it visited. It didn't storm continually, but when the downpour was happening it was as violent as it had ever been. Yet still I strove, and this time I worked on my swordsmanship.

The blade held great potential, but for now it was too heavy for me to use. It was blunt, and rusty as well and whenever I practiced I would accidentally draw my own blood. If I thought the blade was difficult, then I did not know the shield. Where the blade was weighty, the shield crushed. The shield was stout and well suited to defense, the only problem was me, I was not suited to defense. I wasn't suited for anything.

But day in and out she drilled me, sharpening, honing, swinging, and blocking. Always practicing, always hurting. But ever so slowly, through months of failure and trying, I improved. If she didn't say it I wouldn't notice it, but she would not lie to me. So I trusted, and I trained. So that one day, some great and wonderous day, I could rid myself of them. Of the things rending my mind.

And that day did come. After journeying far and wide, after much toil, and after a long endurance. I held a sharp sword with no rust, and a shield. Firmly I confronted the things. The first to attack was the last to arrive, the one who twisted my own words. I could not take it alone and soon it was overwhelming me. But she helped and we slew it. She distracted the second as I faced my former master.

It was slippery, evading my attacks and trying to soothe my anger. I would not be soothed, and while it could run, it could not escape me. Then it too was slain. I turned on the second and she and I struck as one. Leaving it dead we simply journeyed on. At that moment there was a break in the clouds, and sunshine flowed down towards us. It felt like a warm hug, the first one I had ever received. And with it came a note.

It read, the arduous path was necessary, to make you strong in my ways. To give you wisdom and valour, to teach you how to lead others on the same journey. To show you that even in the bleakest times, and in the most dificult of tribulations that I would ever be with you. I, the one who gave you the strength to climb the fence, I the fire in your bones, I the light of the heavens, and I the love of your heart. I chose you, I will always choose you, I have wept with you, and now we will laugh together. Forever then, but your travels are not over, yet in the the moments of great trial remember this note, remember your victories, and remember I have won them all for you.

So we continued down this road, and traveled towards the sky. No more storms, only necessary rain.

Dt

P.s.

This is the end. But I will be re-writing the story sometime in the near future. I want it to be like a collection of entries into a journal of a long journey. It really needs about 5 more short stories in it to be more realistic of the immense amount of time and effort it takes for someone to go from possessed to saved.

Elemental

The light singed me in its radiant heat. The slow press upon me racked me with every moment. I sighed, another normal day. She and I had been traveling for a while now. Or at least that's what I saw, the road never changed and our destination never seemed the nearer. But still we travelled, and she assured me we were going to place that would suddenly appear when we had arrived. I didn't mind the walking, but what I did mind was how nothing happened. I fought and strove, cried and sweat, and no destination was reached. No achievement made.

It was always upon me now, and it had brought a companion. It seemed that before me stood the test of endurance. And even as the things worked together to break me she ever ministered to my wounds and needs. It wasn't impossible, it was just incredibly frustrating. How could I choose any more than I had? I would not allow myself to buckle into doubts and fears. No more despair, not if I could help it.

But I couldn't stop the depression. My road was black as pitch and I could only see because of her. The food she gave me tasted like medicine and simultaneously made me strong and weak. It was as if my determination grew as my body was worn down. I could no longer distinguish night from day nor did the ground change from hard rock. "You're going to have to get wet." She said matter of factly. I groaned, we had talked of this many times. I just knew, somehow it was going to be like dying. But... this road would continue forever if I did not consent to the necessary water death.

And before me the ground rolled up like a scroll and we stood on the banks of a pond. It wasn't like I wasn't wet already, soaked to my marrows from the ever present rain. But this water was different, it was going soak me in something utterly alien to me. I only hope that there is room in this husk for more others. I ignored the frantic clawing of the things and hobbled into the pond. I nodded at her, do it.

It was as if a mountain stood on my body, pressing me hard into her arms. The water swirled around me continually rushing past me. Washing me. Then the pond stilled and the pressure lifted, and in the silence I felt my stomach fill with a smoldering heat. The flame spread, slowly infiltrating all of me. It was then I noticed my puppet strings to be severed. But the flame didn't stop, it escalated exponentially inside of me. Burning all dark things. And when the fire had reached the point of being unbearable I was pulled out.

The things were still for now, and the rain had stopped even though the sky was still black. The land was no longer veiled and the light did not hurt so much. Somehow I had a sword in my hand and a shield was strapped to my back. Blinking away tears, and being filled with something new, but so very good. I had hope, and I was the Phoenix. I had been reborn.

Dt

On the Fence

"You can't stay there forever." She said calmly. I grimaced. The fence, the great barrier, it was seemingly impassable. Of course she was able to pass through it without a problem. But I had issues. The sides of the fence rose up in front of me appearing to scrape the sky. It was made of ice and spikes, slippery as oil, cutting like blades. If this was my only obstacle then I supposed it would have been manageable. However there was always more.

The ever present squall surged with renewed vigor, weighting my every movement with immense pressure. And the lightning struck the structure's metal and charging it with its current. Ice, metal, and electricity all around me as I climbed. If these were my only enemies then perhaps I still would have arrived. Yet, there was another.

It. Ever present, always hungry, tearing, clawing, choking, and pulling me apart. It screamed and raged at me even as it crooned and called to me. Whenever I was ready to just give in and fall to my doom, she would call and lend me strength. So I climbed the fence, and scaled its horrific heights. If only I truly had hope this would work, it is my only option and hope seems too difficult. So I merely do, work without hope.

When the storm seemed its strongest, when the fence swayed and bucked with the wind, and when it rent into me with hatred, at that moment I reached the top. It was the most dangerous time yet. The edge of the fence was thin like a blade and barbed with ruthless thorns. I soon found it was envenomed and the lightning fell most there. I had to choose, I had to move, to stay was certain death.

But the poison made me weak, and my hands could barely move from all the frost and cuts upon them. All my limbs were shocked and stiff, and my head felt torn asunder. Even then, in the moment of greatest pain, despair, and torment I knew I deserved more. Part of me wanted to be punished, to bear the penalty of my crimes. Yet I knew I had to continue, even if He wouldn't take me I had to know if it was possible... even with the longest odds there was still a small chance.

When I looked down I saw her kneeling, and for the first time I knelt. As best I could on the blade before me, I knelt and beseeched for aid. It was easier going down than climbing up. She smiled at me and I fainted into her arms. And in the dreamless darkness I knew my path was no longer certainly fixed for a coffin, but was it assuredly going to the sky? I did not yet know.

Dt

Persuaded, the life.

I walked downhill, always downhill, and the world turned by unnoticed. But I did not, at every town I left my marks, I left a crowd. Sometimes a person would travel beside me, but I always journeyed in solitude. My life became a living haze, and I became detached and it acted in my stead. It was then I was befriended by silence, because in silence nothing horrible happened.

There was a city up ahead, full of lights, people, sound... and opportunities. My legs went faster and my skull pounded. It is happening again, it hungers. When I reached the city we fell into our routine. The haze descended thick upon my eyes, I watched as it called to the people, and to other things. They all descended in droves and its act began.

Performing perfectly the part of darkness and despair. Convincing all of my immunity to the elements, but telling all the price therein. Strong then flowed its power, and all my body felt like a thousand slicing strings pulled and cut at every member. And at the moment of most sway in the crowd, when it had almost accomplished its goal, among them stepped forward a woman.

It laughed, I followed suit, but immediately the woman gazed right past me at it. I collapsed as it seethed in rage behind me, and my breath came shallow. But with my own eyes I saw the woman clad in white and heard her voice. Her voice was agony to me, but I can't imagine the pain that it felt. I was able to stand and I could barely feel the thing around me.

"You can be free," she said, but the storm, the storm will get me. "The storm is already getting you child." She countered. "Look, it's all around you, and inside of you now." My eyes were opened and the tempest appeared in the sky. "There is a way to escape the judgement permanently, and to live a life of no storms, only necessary rain." No more... lightning.

But, I have to see it, to know it is for me to have. Too many promises broken already, how could I trust? She sighed, "follow me, and soon enough you will have enough evidence to His unwavering promise." So I did, even though every step intensified the pain, with each breath I breathed a little less, and through my waking or sleeping eyes I saw its evil face. But will I and He agree?

Dt

Persuasion, the beginning

In the cauldron of the skies a bolt of lightning stirred the clay of my world. The rain was so many knives scarring the surface of the earth. I looked out at the storm from the shelters of these walls, hoping stone fared better than silt. It had stormed for so many years.

I am ready for a change, I declared, no more pelting downpours. But how, this question nagged at my mind and time and the ever present worry had driven me farther and deeper, looking, searching, needing an escape. Immersed in my contemplation as I was I did not hear the intruder. Yet soon the change in the atmosphere alerted me to a foreign presence.

And as I studied what little I could see, the storm sent down lightning like an invasion illuminating the world in blinding light. The piercing rays passed right through the one I saw and though the thunder brought me to my knees by its strength that thing did not waver. I had met an entity who was impervious to the tempest.

In the deafening darkness and the blind noise I felt myself ask how. How can I be like you? It did not respond. Is there no way? I pleaded, can you not help me? It did not even seem to see me. I would do anything, try anything, bear all burdens to escape the madness of the cyclone. Then as if being suddenly surprised the thing saw me.

And all hope abandoned me. For in the moment of it peering at me I perceived what it would require of me to enable me to weather the hurricane. Service for protection, fealty like enslavement, a cold barren cell in exchange for my thunderous hell. I would be punished for any reason, or none, I would be used as it pleased, and I would do it... or I would be cast out into the storm and denied all shelter.

No hope, no purpose of my own, no escapes. Sold body and soul, sold down to my bones. Yet not sold, stolen away a theft to the core and the thief my jailer. But despite the bleak reality I accepted my lot knowing fully I deserved far worse. I created the storm, I fashioned every wind and every raindrop. I brewed the lightning purposely and caused the clouds to gather.

And now because of my exchange I have accepted a storm beside my spirit in the place of a storm upon my flesh. Dealing done, and nothing won. All is lost and I care not, for my fate is sealed and no one can unseal it except one. And why would He unseal me? I've been persuaded, I can't stop it anymore. My road I walk, my journey into a coffin.

Dt

P.s.

If you think this rather depressing then you have missed the purpose. Indeed it is depressing, but it is a story. And the story is not over, no journey is completed without reaching a destination. So I invite you to endure the sadness and the suffering, to understand the path of one who is persuaded, who is possessed. But I want you to understand someone who is afflicted in this way, and to have a passion to help them. So I will continue the story, I will continue to unfold the misery, to show the depths into which they are forced.