Essays

Man is a warrior. Warriors are men. But there is a frequent misconception of the true meaning of being man, of being warrior. That is why we sometimes think not all man are warriors. But I tell you, all men are warriors and if he is not a warrior then he is not a man, they are synonyms.

But man is not born this way, the warrior must be created and in the end as a strange paradox, you will see the warrior was all the way here, it was within you. The warrior must become so he knows it has been for only a warrior recognizes a warrior.

And then again you might ask if you are somewhat curious what is a warrior. Is he a soldier? Is he an overcomer? Is he a fighter? We tend to associate a warrior to violent or bellicose activities, to destruction or aggression and these, in fact, may be a part of the warrior behavior and being, but are not exclusive for him nor are they decisive in his definition.

Warrior is the spirit of fire. The state of fire, the flame within is what turns a human into a warrior. Human is our birthright legacy, our definition and name as the top specie of animal evolution. But it is just there as a to serve as a container, a vessel to ignite and keep burning that which cannot be extinguished. What cannot be extinguished cannot be ignited either, thus the reality of the flame is that it has run through time since eternity.

A warrior is a man of peace, for peace only comes from strength, war comes from weakness. A warrior can afford peace as a man with nothing to prove, nothing to achieve. But until he realizes let there be war, let there be struggle.

Approach to ultimate perception of reality is approach to reality itself, for reality depends entirely on perception and though it might or might not be itself by itself. Total subjectiveness is total objectiveness.

Formerly Known VI

I laugh at myself kid, I'm an endless entertainment resource.

Formerly Known V

What am I?

Am I the boy gazing at the rose, or the rose being gazed at?
Am I the body in the stream, or the flow storming down?
Am I the start of the infinite worlds or the end of the only one?

Those questions, tainted my innermost pysche with doom and treachery, inflexions of my latent madness. Mad is he who knows he es bound by fate, he realizes truth inside destiny, we are nothing but puppets of eternity, not owners even of ourselves. Madness is the cure of letting loose the chains of misery called sanity. The knowledge of slavery is the key to freedom.

Only great men are mad, may be it's not my call.

I'll be relieved from this cross, from this weight, in your wings my dear. In your wings.

My body dirty, rotten, son of causality and casuality. Virgin is my spirit as before the first of days. Bow, your head on my shoes, your lips kissing, your hair falling. Realize yourself so you never again serve anyone, until you do... bow down and lick my boots.

The old man thought and spoke in suck ways, and he had a profound trust in this young girl. She seemed like his passed away daughter, but then again, much stronger. She was born in the same day Lizzy (his daughter died) throwing in his face the irony, mocking on the ancient bastard.

Her death set my free... I am old (but not venerable) and I want to be chained again.

That is one of a thousand things that do not keep me awake at night.

Such was the scene, the bearded one with gold hair at his feet, and an atempt being born in a knife and a hand.