Robert F. Scott Was A Global Hero

                                          A LIFE OF COURAGE AND TRAGEDY

     "Polar exploration is at once the cleanest and most isolated way of having a bad time which has been devised." -The Worst Journey In the World

    "Men wanted for hazardous journey. Low wages, bitter cold, long hours of complete darkness. Safe return doubtful. Honour and recognition in event of success." -Shackleton

     "Take it all in all, I do not believe anybody on earth has a worse time than an Emperor penguin." -Robert F. Scott

      "I may not have proved a great explorer but we have done the greatest march ever made and come very near to great success". -Robert F. Scott

    Cpt. Robert F Scott the ill fated British polar explorer, much maligned for his inability to bring his little expedition back safely experienced death on the frozen edge of Antarctica. His untimely demise was a national tragedy. When one is biking 15 miles a day in sub below temperatures, thoughts of freezing to death begin to cross ones mind. Thoughts of Scott and his bravery in perilous conditions occupied my mind. I researched more in depth his journals and experiences while traversing the harshest and most bitter of climates known to our world. The team had set out on its final push to the Pole in January of 1912. They knew they were in a race to be the first to reach the Pole. Their competition was a Norwegian expedition lead by Roald Amundsen. Amundsen relied on dogs to haul his men and supplies over the frozen Antarctic wasteland whilst Scott preferred horses, once these died from extreme conditions the sleds were man-hauled to the Pole and back. In fact, Scott distrusted the Norwegian's reliance on dogs. Their use was somehow a less 'manly' approach to the adventure and certainly not representative of the English tradition of "toughing it out" under extreme circumstances. Man could manage Nature. A similar spirit guided the building of the "unsinkable" Titanic and then supplied the ship with far too few lifeboats to hold its passengers if disaster did strike. Just as the passengers of the Titanic paid a price for this arrogance, so too did Captain Scott and his four companions.

     However, recent analysis of his ill-fated return from the pole shifted blame to the men under his command – crucial orders left by Scott to run the base camp in his absence were not followed, allowing the expedition to suffer and die 11 miles from a food depot that could have saved their lives. The expedition members left behind instead, made a series of bungled decisions that delayed attempts to rescue their leader. Scott left the base camp in Cape Evans on Antarctica’s coast with four other men in November 1911 on an attempt to be the first humans to reach the South Pole. Arriving at their goal three months later only to find Norwegian Roald Amundsen had beaten them. During the 800 mile trek back, Scott and his party perished in bitterly cold temperatures of -44 degrees C towards the end of March 1912, just 11 miles from a food depot. The official journal of the Scott Polar Research Institute, said "written instructions left by Scott before his departure had ordered the men left at base camp to send dog sleds out past the food depot to meet him and his party as they returned from the pole". These orders were neglected resulting in the ensuing deaths of Scott and his party. A careful journal was kept by Scott documenting their every move: Upon nearing the pole Scott wrote: "We started at 7.30, none of us having slept much. We followed the Norwegian sledge tracks for some way. Then the weather overcast, decided to make straight for the Pole. To-night little Bowers is laying himself out to get sights in terrible difficult circumstances; the wind is blowing hard, T. - 21 degrees, and there is that curious damp, cold feeling in the air which chills one to the bone in no time. We have been descending again, I think, but there looks to be a rise ahead; otherwise there is very little that is different from the awful monotony of past days."

  Upon discovering Amundson had already beat him to the Pole Scott writes: "Great God! this is an awful place and terrible enough for us to have laboured to it without the reward of priority! Well, it is something to have got here, and the wind may be our friend to-morrow. ...Now for the run home and a desperate struggle. I wonder if we can do it" -- They did not do make it. This was a tragedy of emotional desperation for Scott and his men on the return back, upon discovering the Swede's had beaten him to the pole, their was naught but the hopeful chance of possible survival enabling their legs to continue plodding forward.

    Another entry describes the fate of a fellow expeditioner: "A very terrible day. Evans looked a little better after a good sleep, and declared, as he always did, that he was quite well. The surface was awful, the soft recently fallen snow clogging the ski and runners at every step, the sledge groaning, the sky overcast, and the land hazy. After lunch, and Evans still not appearing, we looked out, to see him still afar off. By this time we were alarmed, and all four started back on ski. I was first to reach the poor man and shocked at his appearance; he was on his knees with clothing disarranged, hands uncovered and frostbitten, and a wild look in his eyes. Asked what was the matter, he replied with a slow speech that he didn't know, but thought he must have fainted. We got him on his feet, but after two or three steps he sank down again. He showed every sign of complete collapse. Wilson, Bowers, and I went back for the sledge, whilst Oates remained with him. When we returned he was practically unconscious, and when we got him into the tent quite comatose. He died quietly at 12.30 A.M. On discussing the symptoms we think he began to get weaker just before we reached the Pole, and that his downward path was accelerated first by the shock of his frostbitten fingers, and later by falls during rough travelling on the glacier, further by his loss of all confidence in himself. Wilson thinks it certain he must have injured his brain by a fall."

   Another entry shows the death of another team member as 'Oates walks into oblivion': "Friday, March 16 or Saturday 17th:  Lost track of dates, but think the last correct. Tragedy all along the line. At lunch, the day before yesterday, poor Titus Oates said he couldn't go on; he proposed we should leave him in his sleeping-bag. That we could not do, and we induced him to come on. In spite of its awful nature for him he struggled on and we made a few miles. At night he was worse and we knew the end had come. Should this be found I want these facts recorded. Oates' last thoughts were of his Mother, but immediately before he took pride in thinking that his company would be pleased with the bold way in which he met his death. We can testify to his bravery. He has borne intense suffering for weeks without complaint, and to the very last was able and willing to discuss outside subjects. He did not - would not - give up hope till the very end. He was a brave soul. This was the end. He slept through the night before last, hoping not to wake; but he woke in the morning - yesterday. It was blowing a blizzard. He  'I am just going outside and may be some time.' and he went out into the blizzard, we have not seen him since. Scott wrote, "We knew that poor Oates was walking to his death, but though we tried to dissuade him, we knew it was the act of a brave man and an English gentleman". Oates was never to be seen again. On March 20 they awoke to a raging blizzard. Scott's right foot became a problem and he knew "these are the steps of my downfall". Amputation was a certainty "but will the trouble spread?" That is the serious question.

Following are the last entries before Scott perished:

    Wednesday, March 21 - Severe blizzard. To-day forlorn hope, Wilson and Bowers going to depot for fuel.

    Thursday, March 22 and 23 - Blizzard bad as ever - Wilson and Bowers unable to start - to-morrow last chance - no fuel and only one or two of food left - must be near the end. Have decided it shall be natural - we shall march for the depot with or without our effects and die in our tracks.

    Thursday, March 29 - Since the 21st we have had a continuous gale from W.S.W. and S.W. We had fuel to make two cups of tea apiece and bare food for two days on the 20th. Every day we have been ready to start for our depot 11 miles away, but outside the door of the tent it remains a scene of whirling drift. I do not think we can hope for any better things now. We shall stick it out to the end, but we are getting weaker, of course, and the end cannot be far. It seems a pity, but I do not think I can write more.

-R. Scott

Last entry:

"For God's sake look after our people."

   I find it admirable that even to to the bitter end, at death's door, Scott's thoughts drifted to his family and county. Remarkably, Scott was able to find the strength, despite being half starved and three quarters frozen, to write 12 legible letters. To his widow he was leaving behind. He left these endearing words: "Dearest Darling -- we are in a very tight corner and I have doubts of pulling through --In our short lunch hours I take advantage of a very small measure of warmth to write letters preparatory to a possible end — the first is naturally to you on whom my thoughts mostly dwell waking or sleeping -- if anything happens to me I shall like you to know how much you have meant to me and that pleasant recollections are with me as I depart "

   "We have gone down hill a good deal since I wrote the above. Poor Titus Oates has gone — he was in a bad state — the rest of us keep going and imagine we have a chance to get through but the cold weather doesn't let up at all — we are now only 20 miles from a depot but we have very little food or fuel."

   He wrote to Oates' and Bowers' mothers and to Wilson's wife. "looking forward to the day when we shall all meet together in the hereafter. I have had a very happy life and I look forward to a very happy life hereafter when we shall all be together again. God knows I have no fear of meeting Him--for He will be merciful to all of us. My poor Ory may or may not have long to wait". Letters were written expressing regrets for leaving the expedition in such a state of affairs, "But we have been to the Pole and we shall die like gentlemen". In Scott's letter to Kathleen, he wrote of hopes for his son, "I had looked forward to helping you to bring him up, but it is a satisfaction to know that he will be safe with you...Make the boy interested in natural history if you can. It is better than games. They encourage it in some schools. I know you will keep him in the open air. Try to make him believe in a God, it is comforting...and guard him against indolence. Make him a strenuous man. I had to force myself into being strenuous, as you know--had always an inclination to be idle"

   "You know I cherish no sentimental rubbish about remarriage. When the right man comes to help you in life you ought to be your happy self again--I wasn't a very good husband but I hope I shall be a good memory...The inevitable must be faced, you urged me to be the leader of this party, and I know you felt it would be dangerous. I have taken my place throughout, haven't I?...What lots and lots I could tell you of this journey. How much better it has been than lounging about in too great comfort at home. What tales you would have had for the boy, but oh, what a price to pay.— to forfeit the sight of your dear dear face, only don't be too proud to accept help for the boys sake, be good to the old Mother. I haven't had time to write to Sir Clements. Tell him I thought much of him, and never regretted his putting me in charge of the Discovery". Finally, there was a Message to the Public. He explained how the expedition's disaster was not due to poor planning, but by bad weather and bad luck. It was no one's fault..."but for my own sake I do not regret this journey, which has shown that Englishmen can endure hardships, help one another, and meet death with as great a fortitude as ever in the past. We took risks, we knew we took them; things have come out against us, and therefore we have no cause for complaint, but bow to the will of providence, determined still to do our best to the last"

   "Well dear heart I want you to take the whole thing very sensibly as I am sure you will — the boy will be your comfort. I think both he and you ought to be specially looked after by the country for which after all we have given our lives with something of spirit which makes for example. I hope I shall be a good memory certainly the end is nothing for you to be ashamed. It is not easy to write because of the cold — 70 degrees below zero and nothing but the shelter of our tent — you know I have loved you, you know my thoughts must have constantly dwelt on you and oh dear me you must know that quite the worst aspect of this situation is the thought that I shall not see you again — The inevitable must be faced " "I think the best chance has gone, we have decided not to kill ourselves but to fight it to the last for that depot but in the fighting there is a painless end so don't worry..  I have written letters on odd pages of this book — will you manage to get them sent? Oh my boy what dreams I have had of his future and yet oh my girl I know you will face it stoically — your portrait and the boy's will be found in my breast."

   "For four days we have been unable to leave the tent – the gale howling about us. We are weak, writing is difficult, but for my own sake I do not regret this journey, which has shown that Englishmen can endure hardships, help one another, and meet death with as great a fortitude as ever in the past. We took risks, we knew we took them; things have come out against us, and therefore we have no cause for complaint, but bow to the will of Providence, determined still to do our best to the last. But if we have been willing to give our lives to this enterprise, which is for the honour of our country, I appeal to our countrymen to see that those who depend on us are properly cared for.

   "Had we lived, I should have had a tale to tell of the hardihood, endurance, and courage of my companions which would have stirred the heart of every Englishman. These rough notes and our dead bodies must tell the tale."

     The blizzard raged on for another ten days before Scott's last entry on March 29, 1912. It was not until November 12 that Atkinson, led by a 12- man search party sent to look for them after they did not return from their journey to the ends of the Earth, found their tent, all but buried in snow. When "Silas" Wright pulled the flap aside, they saw the three men in their sleeping bags. On the left was Wilson, his hands crossed on his chest; on the right, Bowers, wrapped in his bag. It appeared that both had died peacefully in their sleep. But Scott was lying half out of his bag with one arm stretched towards Wilson, "It was a horrid sight. It was clear he had had a very hard last minutes. His skin was yellow, frostbites all over". Gran envied them. "They died having done something great--how hard must not death be having done nothing". Petty Officer Williamson said, "His face was very pinched and his hands, I should say, had been terribly frostbitten...Never again in my life do I want to behold the sight we have just seen". At the age of forty-three, Scott had been the last to die. It is my strong opinion that one would be hard pressed to find another explorer, nobleman or individual, more calm, brave, cool and collected amidst immense physical hardship, in his last moments on earth as British explorer Sir Robert Falcon Scott..

    "He [Scott] cried more easily than any man I have ever known. What pulled Scott through was character, sheer good grain which ran over and under and through his weaker self and clamped it all together."  -The Worst Journey in the World.

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Love is a stronger emotion than hate

        If you happen to have some degree of interest in literary works of fantasy, you will find a common theme littered throughout. That theme is one of self-sacrifice. In many great novels a propitiatory measure is being taken to ensure 'greater good'. Ingrained in our very DNA is a strive for means of happiness outside ourselves, one we cant fully understand or comprehend yet are inherently aware we possess. All of us could agree there is something wrong with the world and ourselves that elicits the need for fulfillment in other concepts: whither they be ideals of grandeur, emotional gratification or addictive stimulants. The current underlying theme of  these all is the need for a sublime figure to restore peace. A champion of justice to do what is deemed most honorable. You will find it embedded within subliminal plot lines in movies: In Batman, Christian Bale take's the grenade for helpless Gotham. In 300, Leonidas taking the famous stand, dying so that Sparta can be free.Will Smith in 'I am legend' screaming behind the glass that he's holding 'the cure' yelling "your sick! I can save you!" To no avail, as he then  takes the grenade so a mother and child could escape to safety. In JK Rowlings apprised series, you find Harry Potter dying so that Hogswart could be free.Well there was one hero these stories are so desperately attempting to understand: the kind of joy and satisfaction from a powerful force that sacrifices for the many. It is the silver lining in most every revered literary work down to the works of Charles Dickens; in one of many of his classic works: "A Tale of Two Cities": Sydney Carton exchanges places with his wrongfully convicted friend whose features uncannily resemble his own the night before he was sentenced to be guillotined. This apparent 'dishonor' or egregious exchange of one's life for another's out of honor, whither sub-consciously or intentionally  strikes a cord within our own hears and we well find it fulfilling, it could be attributed to a emotion that strikes our sentiment with mysticism and awe.

     J.R.R Tolkien's life work was spent perfecting and illuminating 'The Lord of the Rings', enlightening us to the many wonders, of his fantasy realm 'middle earth' down to the bloodlines and genealogies of elves, dwarves and men, all the way to creating his own language, that of the elves. Hollywood has mass produced his works in several visual thrillers with special effects so stocked full of impetus energy it dazzles and dizzies you. But what gets missed beneath the visual stunning allure of the special effects is the allegorical representations and hidden meanings that Tolkien places in each and every chapter of that book. Like JK Rowlings was getting at in her famous series was that same understood concept; that sometimes in order to fix a problem you have to dig into the very heart and ugly core of the issue.

          In regards to "Gollum" that once innocent, yet now transfigured morbid and deformed creature, Frodo mentions: Because of "all those horrible deeds" that Gollum has done, "He deserves death." Gandalf replies, "Deserves it! I daresay he does. Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. For even the very wise cannot see all ends. I have not much hope that Gollum can be cured before he dies, but there is a chance of it." "Sméagol's life is a sad story. Yes, Sméagol he was once called. Before the Ring found him… before it drove him mad." In reply, Frodo then says, "It's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance!" Gandalf candidly replies:  "Do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. Even the very wise can not see all ends. My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or ill…" Gandalf's recitations here remind me that even the evil dark things, the unfriendlies who make their whereabouts in the dark, while they lurk about in this world have yet a part to play all for the Divine Makers will, whither willing or un-willing, most likely the latter, still yet,  they have a part to play in the grand scheme of this precious tapestry we all call 'life'.

     Despite all these ever-present illusions in the world, you can peer underneath and see the silver lining. We get captivated by novels of magical lore, but this is all indeed a very part of the truth, look no further than Lord Of the Rings: Gandalf, a Christ-representative, armed with the "great white light" is standing in the way of the demon "Balrog" sacrificing himself for the others behind him, by falling to the pit, yet he comes back after defeating him as stronger than ever. The hobbits journey to middle earth seemed like a fools mission, because if that little one slipped up just once, the whole future of the world would fall into blackness and terror. Yet he had to journey in the very heart of the enemy's stronghold to overcome him; one that took a death of a being (once pure) defiled, wretched and tainted by sins curse (Gollum) was the mechanism that saved all Middle Earth from the great blackness that enveloped it. In this case the heart of the problem was (violance, torture and fear).

   Everything has a metaphor, underlying meaning and covert agenda one is trying to push on you; sometimes you have to peel back the veils to understand the worldview of the one telling you. In the Bible the cross was mount doom, the ring Gods grace...

Because sometimes in order to fix a problem you have to dig into the very heart and ugly core of the issue...

     This world is eternity's pit stop and heaven will make Disneyland look like a Honeybucket. But to understand a Way Out, in order to get there we have no choice but to understand where we are "now." the "spiritual ghetto," the dark end of eternity's street. This is simply the world you and I were born into, the "testing ground." Perhaps the place the Programmer sorts out the parts that He wishes to keep most. It was at our conception that we made the choice that our Maker has tried to undo with incredible care, patience and self-sacrifice.

    Okay that being said I'm sure most of you have seen 'The Notebook' at least once, for those that haven't, the movie details the efforts of an older husband reading the journals of his wife who suffers from a severe form of alzheimers, at the very end of the movie they get back together one last time on this earth and pass away in a hospital bed, as touching and romantic as that may be, it is essentially what I believe a representation of what God try's to do with us. Noah reading their love story back to her while desperately trying to get her to understand who He is, is basically what God does through the Bible, reading the history of the greatest love story ever that all these earthly representations unwittingly are trying so desperately to capture.

In the movie - after a while of Noah's weary recitation, she for one instance, had a moment of enlightenment, and looked at him and said all along its been you! Right before she demonizes and attacks him,  just like her experience, we get these 'aha' moments and we're on fire for truth, full of vigor and geared up to do anything. Then the cares of the world quench this, but what God says is unchangeable," I who I am, I'm your best friend, savior, lover, protector, provider of every good thing you've had, just come back, you have a disease (we are all afflicted with spiritual alzheimers), just like hate-blinded zombies assaulting Will Smith in "I am Legend" yet ironically, they didn't devour themselves...because they didnt know they were sick! They didn't know he had the cure to save them, yet in the end sacrificial love won out; just like Noah's plead to his wife is God's plea to us to understand who he is to connect with us eternally. What God has showed us, is that sacrificial love is a stronger emotion than hate. We know this, because on a tree over 2 thousand years ago, love won out over hate.

     This Christmas, let's remember the real reason we celebrate. The birth of the savior of the world, who came down and wallowed in the pig sty with with the worst of us, just so that you and I could experience life unending with the best of us! A life untainted from the deadly confines of this unhealthy incarceration. Life, hope, joy unending are there for the taking because of one persons birth and sacrifice. And just maybe The Son of God's heart echoed the same sentient of Sydney Cartons did in the bitter climax of (A Tale of Two Cities), as he's awaiting execution, knowing his broken body was the meeting point between heaven and earth as he stumbles on Calvary's rocky slopes with the weight of a cross his sentiment and purpose remained the same:

"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."

In the last rays of the vanishing light: "You live in my heart"

Merry Christmas Everyone,

Kyle

The Last Trek Of Our Adventure

    I awoke in a cold gravel-filled parking lot, around 5 am somewhere outside Las Vegas to Darien being in great discomfort"she needed to pee" Fumbling around, I groped for keys, inserting them into the ignition, still half awake - slammed the accelerator, spewing dust and gravel in all directions as  I peeled out of the lot, before the car rolled to a stop, the car door slid open and Darien rushed in. By the time she returned, I was fully awake. I spotted her a few bucks to grab me coffee and I hit the road. The scenery was abysmal, hundreds of miles of Nevada desert was laid out for our viewing pleasure.. I entertained the idea of going through Yosemite and then San Fran to see my cousin, but low on funds, decided the quickest route to Washington the best course. Coming across some large body of water in central Nevada, I mentioned "look darien, you can actually see the ocean again" Her eyes lit up, after being marooned in Oklahoma for so long, this was like heaven. We pulled to a stop, got out, while sitting atop a pile of rocks and gazing over the watery mass Darien's imagination seemed to be running wild. She kept pointing out points of interest: "Here's the ancient Indian lands, docks, places they could draw water from, tepee's and huts as well as the burial grounds. They could have had a war here" I was amazed at her illicit imagination as she re-enacted the many potential historical events. It felt to me as if two lost souls, adrift in our own realms, had reconnected. As if passing time outside some forlorn freeway in central Nevada was no big deal at all..

       We spent the next 4-5 hours being witness to the most boring un-intriguing space of land the continental Unitied States could provide before being pulled over. We were outside Goldfield, NV cited for going 40 in a 25. It was one of those trap towns where the posted speed goes from 80 to 25, around a corner on a 20% gradient, going downhill. As soon as I saw the cop around the corner I knew I was F*ked. He asked for license and registration. I fumbled around the mess of stuffed paperwork in the glove compartment for about 5 minutes before coming up with it. He returned, asking to search our car. I hesitated, knowing it was within my rights to refuse, yet decided to allow for investigation. We were promptly marched out of the car and the officer began his intensive examination. I managed to procure a pipe in my pocket which passed the pat-down. As I was standing outside I whispered to Darien, "Shit, the fifth of vodka. It's still under the passenger seat, I forgot about it" Did you grab the rest of the weed like I asked?" (She didn't) "we're f*ked" I mused. This is it, we got an open container, weed in the car, we're both getting hauled off to jail. And my family, who still thinks I'm in WA, for all I know, will be pleased to hear of my lastest bout of misfortune. My thoughts were racing as fast as my hearbeat. The whole time I was whispering to Darien how shit out of luck we were another officer was glaring us down from the police car like we were the nutjobs of the wild west. I smiled at him then went on with my sideways whispering to Darien, "He's going to find the bottle soon,  its inevitable, I'm sure he's already discovered the weed... on our behalf, however, there's only a nug left.  Just smile and nod poilitely when he holds it up like a grand prize" Sure enough the bottle was discovered, and he deftly placed it on the hood of the car as he sauntered over our direction. "Do you guys happen to have any illegal substances in the car, marijuana maybe by chance?" Well I'm not about that life officer, you know, if you were to find something...IDK why you would, it would be conveniently located under the passenger seat," He thanked me for my honesty and said "Here's what I'm going to do, I'm dumping out this bottle, (there was only about a pull remaining, giving it a brisk shake (shoulda tossed it at the last gas station I mused) he then pulled out the bag of marijuana (only enough left to cause a sneeze) and emptied it. "This never happened he said" Now, I will cite you for speeding which he did. We both breathed a sigh of relief as we re-entered the car and sped off northbound toward the Cal border.

     It was dusk before we entered the Cal border. we were both tired and I had my pandora station set on fountains of wayne, we were soon both belting out "Stacies mom" I felt like a kid again, freed from all the limitations and restrictions of life, it was very liberating. It was nightfall around the time we hit the Oregon border and Darien had done some strategic maneuvering in the passenger seat, I glanced over to see her  feet up over the seat and head placed down in front of the glove compartment. As she was falling asleep, she lackadaisically reached over for my hand it connected with mine and as I grasped it firmly. I realized only then... how content I was. Life wasn't going great, I was short on funds, out of school, in debt, yet all that didn't matter. Darien was safe, off the streets, out of a rough crowd she'd been involved in, away from the worthless scumbag of a step dad who kicked her out in Oklahoma. He could pound sand for all I was concerned. She was coming home, Darien was coming home, back to the PNW, where the evergreens grow tall and the wind off the pacific coast blows clear fresh air, untainted from that putrid dust of the great plains. My mind was wandering, I soon realized how tired I was. After locating a cheap motel in Kalama, we stayed there the night. Grateful for both a warm shower and bed.

     We got up and set out for Crater Lake around 8 am after a enjoying continental breakfast which I wasn't surprised to discover was comprised of nothing but packages of cheap boxed honey bun cakes. I grabbed about 8 and with 2 cups of coffee in hand, headed back to the room. While surfing the channels I found "Wolverine" of the X men series to be airing on AMC, We watched about an hours worth before checking out and hitting the road again. I was feeling much refreshed and less weary, tired and bedraggled. We hit crater lake around 11 that morning and were witness to clear skies. The weather was perfect for sightseeing. It was freezing cold however and our stay was not long. We hit the visitor center where I purchased 2 hot cocoas and after a brief walk around a section of the lake returned to the car where there was not much relief from the bitter cold due to my heater not working. It was like a fat rat crawled up the pipes and was plugging the air flow. The best current of heat I could get was when I was going at least 55 and that was still weak velocity.

   Darien had contracted some sort of ailment recently and was complaining bitterly about sharp side pain, fearing the worse I considered taking her to the nearest doctor/hospital but she refused saying we were almost to Vancouver and just to push through. It was hard for me seeing her pained expression the nest 4-5 hours. The best I could do was hold her hand as she winced in pain: "Look we are almost home, see all the evergreens around us, this is far better than Oklahoma right?" I reminded her, trying to keep her mind off the pain. When we finally did roll into Vancouver it was late, around 8 pm, we had been through approx 3 hours of bumper-to-bumper rush hour traffic and I swore I if I saw another blinking taillight, I was going to go postal. I dropped her off with a good friend of her's from her AA meeting a few years back in Vancouver, and he thanked me repeatedly for bring her. I was assured she was in good hands, Darien had connections here (besides she's a survivor, she'll figure it out:)

     I promptly called home "hey im about 30 min out, in downtown vancouver now, it's really cold, could use a place to crash tonight", "you're where? was the stunned reply, I'm in town I reitereated" My older brother was in town for a job bid he was overseeing and I was fortunate to see him as well. It had been awhile. I rolled back into town on the wings of a storm and entered the house after being almost knocked clear over by the force of the fierce gale. Here in Washougal the winds can howl mercilessly whipping through the funnel of the gorge and we lose one or two tree's a year from it. I enlightened a stunned audience of my most recent adventures and passed out for the night in the living room next to fire...I had accomplished what I had set out for. I had no $. I had no reason to assume it wouldn't be downhill from here. But I was home. I was safe. Life will all shake out. I hope to be on the right side of the rapture in the end, but you just keep rolling.

It would be an honor defending "Legends Of The Fall"

     Legends Of The Fall celebrates its 20th anniversary this week. Legends of the Fall is a film about brothers who remain linked together as time marches ever on. One may fall, one may run away, and one may stay, but they are always together.

      The setting is the Rocky Mountains of Montana in the early 1900s, and this is a tale of love, betrayal, and brotherhood. After being discharged, Colonel Ludlow decides to move to the wilds of Montana, where they can grow up away from the government and society he has learned to despise. Colonel Ludlow's favorite son, Tristan is willful and as wild as the mountains. Impossibly handsome and charming, even his younger brothers fiancee' cant help herself from falling for him. As the brothers set out to fight a war in Europe, suspicion and jealousy threatens to tear apart their once indestructible bond.

     At first I was preparing for a schmaltzy, excessively sentimental chick flick, yet I was stunned to discover that I loved it. It sold me as much then as it does now. I can acknowledge how the movie appears unrelenting in its “Do you understand this is a very sad moment and a wise, old Native American is narrating the story?” way of going about its business. Yet, after the initial plunge, the result was quite refreshing. I bought in. I became a card-carrying member of the Ludlow family. 

   

     It's really more than a story, because like the film’s Alfred and Tristan, we can have our disagreements, and that doesn’t change anything. I’m Tristan in this scenario. I grew up with two brothers on a farm in back country Washougal, and like Tristan, was always wild at heart. Growing up our  cousins would come visit and we'd don camo-coveralls, head out into our dense forest, hacking trails and building forts, like we were the explorers of the wild west. Donning coon skinned caps and wielding machetes and hatchets; we were cast under the spell of "we gotta be savage". I still recall our many adventures with a smile. Those experiences I would not  take back for the world. Yet what remains between us through the toil, hardships and pain of time's passing is a bond unending. There is nothing we wouldn't do for each other. Or me for my brothers. I love my brothers and cousins like my own heart. I may have a poor way of showing it at times yet if it took my life itself to lay down for their happiness I would neither hesitate or second guess myself to provide it.

   Like this timely classic, my brothers are similar in a way, my older  brother Kelvin was always an admirable gentleman. One I looked up to like no other. Yet failed in my aspirations to match either his couth, demeanor or success. One driven and focused, sophisticated and a born leader of men, he was very similar to Alfred in this tale. My younger brother not unlike Samuel, is undoubtedly the best of all of us, smart, witty, well liked with a good sense of humor. Not given over to a quick temper or angry resolve. He certainly is the best of all of us, and not much you could say to me would convince me otherwise.

There are many quotes throughout this timeless classic that strike me as memorable:

“Once … once!”

“And make an honest woman of her?”

“Yes!”

“Just give him a God damn beer!”

Samuel: “Nice shiner.”
Tristan: “Yeah, well, I hit her back”

“I followed all of the rules, man's and God's. And you, you followed none of them. And they all loved you more: Samuel, Father, and my... even my own wife.”

“She was like the water that freezes inside a rock and breaks it apart. It was no more her fault than it is the fault of the water when the rock shatters.”

“It is hard to tell of happiness. Time goes by and we feel safe too soon.”

Tristan: “Samuel, God bless you. You are good at everything you try to do. I'm sure it'll be the same with fucking.”
Samuel: “Tristan, really. We're talking about my future wife.”
Tristan: “Oh, you're not gonna fuck her?”
Samuel: “No!”
Tristan: “No?”
Samuel: “No! I'm planning to be with her.”
Tristan: “I recommend fucking.”

Alfred: “I don't know what to say. Tristan's always been wild. You love him for that.
Susannah: Do I? Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“Tristan, I have nowhere to send this letter and no reason to believe you wish to receive it. I write it only for myself. And so I will hide it away along with all the things left unsaid and undone between us.”

[Describing Tristan] “I think it was the bear, growling inside him. Making him do bad things. Nothing that Tristan did was truly his own fault. It was the bear.”

"Screw the Government, screw em!"

“I don’t want my boy to see. I don’t want my boy to see!.”

“It doesn't take a genius to tell they'll be coming after you for this”..Watch my boys for me...“Brother, It would be an honor”

“It was a good death.”

“Tristan died in 1963. The moon of the popping trees. He was last seen up in the North Country, where the hunting was still good. His grave is unmarked, but it does not matter. He had always lived in the borderland anyway, somewhere between this world and the Other.”

“Alfred: You have won her.....I am bringing her home.”

“I thought Tristan would never live to be an old man. I was wrong about that. I was wrong about many things. It was those who loved him most who died young. He was a rock they broke themselves against however much he tried to protect them.”

       I could go on, but by now the point is as sharp as Tristan’s hair is long. And I will always beleive this is an underrated classic and should recieve greater precendence than even "The Dark Knight Rises" In the wake of Heath Ledgers untimely demise.

      Legends of the Fall isn’t going to get the attention of a Shawshank or Pulp Fiction this year, despite its anniversary. I understand why, and so I’ve come to accept it as a guilty pleasure in many ways. But whenever I watch it. I'm reminded or growing up; of boys striving to find their place in this great world of fairy tales we once contrived to invent, visions of grandeur and resolve. We haven’t had to deal with one of us passing away or setting off to war, but we have had our fights. We’ve grown apart in ways both personal and geographic, and we’ve just plain grown up. There are now, wives, distance and change in the equation, but the brotherhood we shared then and now still resonates with me, as I hope it does with them. I’ll put it this way: Should any corrupt politicians and bootleggers ever attempt an attack on their lives, I’ll be ready in my three-piece suit with shotgun in hand. Ready to defend. Both guns blazin' shootin' from the hip.

"It would be an honor."

-Kyle Crockford

The Sacrifice (A poem)

Like a wind that whispers naught, the pain of passing,
He fought not.
With head bowed low, he took upon him to bestow.
The great gift of eternal life, that those who knew not might know.
Taking neither flight nor knife, yet let enthrall great many life.
To His great might we may fight, yet those less witted refused his light.

Yet not to one's eternal resting place one goes without fighting death's throes.
To this great struggle, we have our leader.
Our great savant who shall be our pleader.
Let this be known, though earthly shown, beauty without measure, was torn asunder to earths great wonder.
He who was despised though earthly wise, made all that was die by His disguise.

The fall and depth of it all, led through this dark  squall.
Memoirs of the fight, so we might recall, tis all we need to redeem us from the fall.
In great dismay as Satan has his way.
Naught a heavenly creature let flutter.
Angels shudder now witness to him stutter,
Yet to Calvary he went without a mutter.
Great drops of scarlet were sweat so we might not fret
The Rose of Sharon let trample, led to an inheritance ample.
The womb of one once barren,
opened so that we might share therein'.
A heavenly blessing of which could not be compared. O' for a thousand tongues to sing so we might  be an heir within.

As befallen all man was allotted by the nails in his hand.
The greatest glory, made the lowest lowery throughout the land.
Him who knew no sin, now broken that we might win.

The greatest love story of all time, could be yours or mine.
Twas' the very purpose of your first breath.
The very moment you were born to the day of your death.
If only you will accept what was so glorious once bereft.
For you He suffered, for you received our wrath that you could find the path.
The ascent to heaven leads through miles of clouded pain, yet in time it will wain.
You will achieve far greater gain.

-Kyle Crockford

The Dragon and Darkness Last Stand: The Crucifixion of Jesus Christ

        This was the moment the innumerable unseen forces of darkness had been waiting for, all hell gathered together to unleash their full fury on the chosen one of God; it was way more than just you and me it was the battle between good and evil that would decide the history of this planet and turn every pre-conceived ideal the world had upside down. Jesus incarnate, laid weak and vulnerable to the very creatures he had once damned.  Indeed, even the most hideous thing that that dwells in the deep cries out in preparation for an end. 

  Outward towards the cold, empty space between planets and stars. The empty space that mankind had once called, a “universe” The cosmic playing field is taking shape;  all the hosts of heaven watch on, as the dark prince's army comes forth. They cry out in one thunderous voice GIVE HIM TO US!...IF YOU WANT YOUR SONS AND DAUTHERS, GIVE HIM TO US! All heaven is silent, there is no answer, then there rises a figure from their midst, with head hung low, he approaches the midst of these two vast armies.. (images flash over my mind) I see him walking, to the post, to be whipped, and afterwards struggling to carry a cross. A crooked smile forms over the dark Lords lips, "Look...who doth come bearing gifts?  I will break him,. I will make him scream; he will feel hell as none has felt before, as he sentenced me. My loving king, you are no match for the weapons I have devised."

      And, in this hour, there was no shortage of hideous things: In multitudes and dark masses, they had formed a barricade around the last stronghold left,  There were trillions of them; like a globe of darkness stained with a hint of red. Those holding red orbs stood affront legions of creatures with the flutter of brown tinted wings and faces of men. At the core of this madness were beasts nothing short of monsters with gnarled faces, fingers of razor sharp bone. A floating maze of tangled bodies, sheer mayhem, squeaky little bottom-feeder “grunt” demon noises and the chatter that comes with them. they were eager, snarling, ready to win paradise back, fervent to catch a glimpse, a single piece of the holy one; mocking scathing and spitting, each waiting turns at tearing his bodily form to peices; if they could get the chosen one to slip up just once, to where he could no longer endure the agony, they would have victory, by forcing their hated opponent to tap out, their mechanisms of violence and terror superseding love. Yet He did not give up or cry out even once, unrecognizable now, as his body transforms to bloody shreds. Before this dark day the same blood sweated out from his pores. He was begging and pleading with the Almighty. Scarcely able to bear the thought of what He was about to endure, yet that cup of wrath was drained to the dregs. In this moment he was desperately hoping there would be another way to break sins curse, to unwind the spell, mankind was all under. Understanding within himself the hellish pain about to ensue and yet that answer remained the same "Long ago before before the creation of the world, before substance and thought became reality, before light was separated from dark, before we decided love would become a stronger more powerful emotion than all, that this was the only way so not a single loop or tact would be left to human chance". "It is so, enough! Not my will, but yours be done" turning now away...he began walking right into the teeth of the enemy's stronghold...

     Hell's gates are unleashed, from the blackest canyons and darkest depth of the abyss they spill out: cruelsome fanged creature's, the fallen arch angels of old, half-breed nephilim of antediluvian renown who were chained to hells darkest depths were there; the author of life now granting the prince of the power of the air ability unleash them. Witness to a great spectacle: their creators death. "this would be darkness last stand"  It had been spoken by the lips of the One they feared most.  Seeing what none of his frightened and scattered apostles could see, it was as if Jesus was saying, "take a seat back, you are no match for the power and horrors of hell, I am the only one that can, and will pay" 

Did Jesus fear the night before arise from the infernal suggestion that he was utterly forsaken? There may be more dreadful trials than this, but surely it is one of the worst to be utterly forsaken? "See," said Satan, "thou has a friend nowhere! Thy Father has shut up the bowels of his compassion against thee. Not an angel in his courts will stretch out his hand to help thee. All heaven is alienated from thee; thou art left alone. See the companions with whom thou hast taken sweet counsel, what are they worth? Son of Mary, see there thy brother James, see there thy loved disciple John, and thy bold apostle Peter, how the cowards sleep when you art in your sufferings! Lo! Thou hast no friend left in heaven or earth. All hell is against thee. I have stirred up mine infernal den. I have sent my missives throughout all regions summoning every prince of darkness to set upon thee this night, and we will spare no arrows, we will use all our infernal might to overwhelm thee: and what wilt thou do, thou solitary one?" It may be, this was the temptation; we think it was, because the appearance of an angel unto him strengthening him removed that fear. He was heard in that he feared; he was no more alone, but heaven was with him. It may be that this is the reason of his coming three times to his disciples--as Hart puts it--

"Backwards and forwards thrice he ran,

As if he sought some help from man."

He would see for himself whether it were really true that all men had forsaken him; he found them all asleep; but perhaps he gained some faint comfort from the thought that they were sleeping, not from treachery, but from sorrow, the spirit indeed was willing, but the flesh was weak. At any rate, he was heard in that he feared. Jesus was heard in his deepest woe.

         Yet Just,vengeful wrath is soon poured out, the holy aura of protection present throughout his earthly life now begins to falter, that spiritual connection tethered to the Father, binded by the spirit. To counter this, The dark prince intended to seperate the father from the son, the trinity was too powerful a force to take on himself.  If he could detach one from the other, victory could be achieved. Onto the chosen one, he poured the power and might of his blackest cruelty: "the black flame" He had concocted this magic deep within hell's abyss. He had exerted much time and energy into its creation. Through many dark enchantments, tampering and spells, he had a product that could indeed swallow light, even the brightest light, his dark schemes may be enough to pull His spiritual substance to the depths. He had long awaited for this moment... to unleash it. Procuring his unholy flame he wielded it with great force upon the aura of protection. The sheer evil poured into the making of this substance horrified the Father, not one to be exposed to darkness and a careful avoider of its devises, he was now being shown the full force of its ugly horor, being subject and witness to his most cared for son now tarnished, it was indeed transpiring as He divised cutting away the spiritual protection and separating Father from son. God the father was now seeing his most precious treasure, becoming and being consumed by "the black flame" sheer evil, that which he despised most. The pain was insufferable. The arch angel Micheall standing by now witness  glances at the Father, grieved to the core, riveted in deep, anguished emotion "send me now, I can alter this battle, "no!" the Father says "no" hold, hold, he can do this, he will make it... 

        The connection...is now weakening even further. Seeing the onslaught of unspeakable terror and nameless horror in full view and sensing He could take no more., He turned and nodded to his mightiest angel saying"Go!  the connection will not last much longer! A diversion is what I require. Spare him from the possession of the evil one, but his physical body, do not save, it will be be the sacrifice for all mankind, what has come to pass must be fulfilled"

     The black prince now standing tall, hand outstretched, forms a crooked smile on his formidable face, sensing victory in hand, separating the connection through billlows of the black flame, now swallowing light.  The connection was weakening even further as the arch angel micheal and his legion of angels begin their descent toward earth, a tumultuous clash and scheer mayham ensues. Chaos reigns supreme..A flood of pristine wings and armored angels in perfect bodies rush at the pitch black. It was as an army made of nothing less than light itself. Crash! With a grand and dazzling splash, they hit darkness’s outer wall in sheer violent force. “Push!” A multitude of demons atop scaled beasts cry out. “They must not take Golgotha! Hold them! They must be held!” These beasts, these hideous hoards, these entities of darkness, these mutants of decay, were all that remains of the most glorious group of angels. These, now stabbed, gouged, bludgeoned and some torn to shreds, were ones once intended to co-author eternity. Yet now, the time of all such innocence had passed. In unbridled rage, the strongest of all hell’s attack beasts and large winged demons, came forth and clashed against arch warriors; gripping them firm on all sides. Struggling with unnatural might, the fluttering of these powerful brownish-red winged monsters emerged to reinforce. With gritted teeth, all became a vicious entanglement of light and dark. For these monsters only held one goal in mind; to prove that even an arch angel can bleed. ----The battle raged in fury. The connection weakening, was now broke. ..A fell voice cried out amid the chaos  "To the cross!" "To the cross!"  sensing victory near--all hell rushed in with renewed vigor and force. The connection now broken. Jesus incarnate, seperated from the father, now laid bare for the taking,  rushing forward with great ferocity, the prince of darkness lunged forward. The archangel micheal witnessing the connection broken and sensinig the hordes of hell retreating yelled in thunderous voice "To the cross! To the cross!" The host under his command lurched forward slashing and stabbing, lunging aimlessly at will toward any unfortunate foe who happened to cross paths. 

      A loud voice cried out  "eli eli lama sebachin!" (my God, my God why have you forsaken me?!) Hearing these words the angel Micheal and his forces pushed forward with renewed vigor and force. Knowing the power of the trinity was broken, the prince of darkness sensed precious opportunity. Now could Jesus spiritual substance be pulled to the depths, If he could reach Golgotha before the prince of peace spirit had fled its tethered body....Jesus, abandoned by God, forsaken by the world, hated by all, brain throbbing from thorns, dying of thirst, delusional, blinded by bloodflow was at this very moment going through a cardiac arrest, yet his last pained breaths brought life. Sensing all around him, hordes of darkness and Lucifer himself, the dragon of old, snarling and crying out in bloodthirsty glee, The loving kings heart was  breaking as this sinister oppression surrounded him. Now, in the throes of death amid all the hordes of darkness, a strong cry rends the air "It is finished!" "It is finished!" A violent blast ensues. Right before Lucifer himself reaches the cross, now sending shock waves of spiritual aggression throughout dark hordes.  The savior of the world had breathed his last.  A thunderous split was soon heard and the temple was torn asunder. The chosen one of God had completed his mission. He woud now be promoted as  mediator, sacrifices were no longer neccessary,  having broken down the wall of hostility by his own blood, Satan the oppressor and all his mechanisms were utterly destroyed, they had failed him to the utmost, even death, the last weapon hurled ar him could not pin him down. For He was not bound by it due to his perfect nature, the curse was reversed. All Hell was in a perpetual free fall; a fell voice screamed out amid the darkness "Fallen!, Fallen! Is babylon the great!" The Dragon himself had taken on a mortal head wound, peering inside the chaos, amid all the forces of darkness a great beast could be seen writhing in pain holding the top of a wound that seemed to be gushing with a dark pulsating fluid. Satan, the dragon of old was shaken to the core by such energy, power and might, having come this close to grasping vicory, yet being thwarted at this moment, now  enraged the dark prince even more,many of his forces were now overcome with dread  scurrying back to the abyss in which they had been summoned from. Only his most trusted warriors and fallen angels remained with the wounded prince of darkness. Micheal and his angels having being witness to this bizarre chain of events were still fighting.

    "Darkness shrouded the world, the sun turned black. The Souls of many who had departed this earthly world were awakened The dark prince, although mortally wounded was yelling orders to those who still remained, to the christians, the apostles, Jesus dearest friend, these he advanced upon, with blind hatred and reckless abandon. He only wished to tear them apart. The Archangel Micheal, now the capatin of the Lords host in command, taking his orders directly from the Most High, to these precious souls He wished to protect, thwarting the Dark princes advance at every move while forming a hedge of protection around these souls, the battle still raged. After 72 hours of intense clashing...From the masses, the mounds of captive souls, the claws of ancient fiends and the slush of dismembered spiritual parts, came a figure. "To me!, To me! was the rallying cry"

        Climbing atop the tallest pile of dying demons in a wasteland of eternal, nerves that still twitched, a small angelic figure emerged.... the demons began to laugh and heckle. Yet it was in that moment that this warrior reached down and pulled forth the most glorious prize. He pulled forth the prince of darkness from their midst,  as it kicked and screamed. The laughter ceased. In silent awe even the most frightening thing in the abyss stepped back taking a deep breath. Casting this captured creature to its trembling knees, the little angel cried out, “Behold, I give you the dragon!”

     Across the vastness of the Creator’s dark cancer came a snarl from every hideous face. Pointing their swords toward the one who held the prince of lies by the mane of his own long hair, fangs emerged from the drool of decaying lips. Indeed, Satan, the great prince of demons, the mightiest of all the ancient x-angels, the dark heart of the rebellion, had been plucked out from the inside. Greater still, he was thrust down before all his armies.

       Encircled on every side by a cast of countless millions; soldiers of darkness witness to their leaders grim fate. He now released the son of perdition to fall on his face. Dusting off his hand, he took firm grip of his adversary. Looking directly at the sharpened edge of all hell’s blades, a fire ignited in His eyes.

     “I bring you a message from the Most High!” He cried out. “This is your last stand! In this hour your war shall be at its end! I have been sent as your judge! I’ve been sent as the voice of the One who made you! You no longer battle all heaven’s hosts, nor the blades of the arch angels or the Master’s finest! Rather,” he cocked his head to the side, “it is now just you and I! Should you wish to keep your kingdom, then you must save your prince!”

     “Come oh ye rebellion!” He pointed his dagger at the endless hoards. “Rescue this beast from my hand that what has begun may be finished! For today, you are tested with fire!” He seethed, stepped forward and pinned the ancient dragon to the ground with the heel of his boot.

     Like a flood of poison stained pitch black; hell, with every weapon it possessed, rushed in. In that moment He smiled, Boom! With a single thrust of the blade there was a burst of light and spirit that cast the bodies of beasts tumbling into the darkness; like nothing more than  rag dolls or grains of sand tossed in the wind. They were not laughing now, they knew who this was...

      As He turned to sling his blade again, a weak voice came from the one named the dragon. Wait.” The great prince of demons leaned up onto his knees, gestured out in surrender. “Wait… I know who you are. I know how this ends. I do not wish to resist. I wish to give all this back.” 

       He slowly paused before stabbing him to the ground through the shoulder. The devil screamed as He leaned in close. “I am afraid the time for that has passed.”

       “I appeal to you to let me come before the Father!” He cried out in pain.

“The same right given to any son!”

      “The problem is,” He gave a somber shake of the head, “you are

not a son. You are a servant; a rebellious, unprofitable servant at that.”

     “You must let me be judged by my Maker!” He screamed as the blade twisted inside him. “No matter your appearance in this hour, those that have passed, or the day I was first made; I know you always. You have blocked me from my rightful place from the very beginning. You have sided with the experiment; the temporal. The so called sons that I have shown over, and over, and over will do nothing but spit in the Father’s face. Thus I say again,” he seethed and leaned up into the blade, “let me appeal to my Maker!  You are the Father’s Right Hand!”

     Firmly nodding his head. Taking a step backwards and withdrawing the blade, his shape gently shifted into the form of a mortal man. “Why does it hurt!” The beast gripped his shoulder and cried out in sheer agony. “Why am I not healing?” “My virtue . . .” He calmly gestured to Himself. “the Father’s virtue ... the life giving connection to His voice, His will, and the regeneration of creation

itself, has just been cut. What you feel now is called pain. I know,” he paused to

look at the ancient prince, “I didn’t like it either.”

     “From here on, you now live under the same curse as all flesh, your legions and the decay from which We have held you exempt until this very day. That cut in your shoulder, that mortal wound on your head, shall be with you even until the ends of time. It marks this moment as a memory to all who see you of this hour; this hour in which I

put my boot in your neck.”

        “So, I guess in the end,” he held out his hands with holes in each one, “we

all have our scars.” “Indeed my old friend, servant and adversary, what you forget now is what you always forgot then; that the Right Hand is as much the Father as His feet, His legs, His arms or His eyes. The purpose of the Right Hand is also no different now than it was then. It can either be there to lift up or come with force to knock down. As you know, it is not I, but the Father who decides if I come as an open palm or a closed fist.”

     “You now ask for my help in no more than the second hour after you asked the sons of flesh to put me on a cross. Then, you smiled about it.” He leaned to meet the devil face-to-face. “Let me ask you, why aren’t you smiling now?” “You are the Son.” Lucifer lowered his head. “To me, that is not the same as the Source. If I am to be judged, if I am to be condemned; then I beg of you a single mercy. Let my end be issued by the One who made me.” 

      “You wish to see your Maker,” He nodded, “the Voice of all Creation, the Father of all flesh. You are not foolish you old serpent, surely you know the burn from the sharpened edge of the One who made you. He has been present

this whole time even until now. For today He was my Right Hand, as I also am

His.” It was then that a blinding light came as He lifted the blade in His right hand. There was an image of pure radiation so bright that every eye squinted and every head turned. A soft blast of purplish illumination washed across all

that was made of spirit, flesh or bone. A fine layer of ash covered everything as a thin residue on angel and demon alike; the remains of death drifting as dust in the solar wind. All was light. No black space; rather, light space. The stars and

sun were like matches that merely burned out. All that remained were the galaxies of spinning minerals in oceans of endless and brilliant illumination. 

         That moment was the last of mankind, those having survived to the end, first opened their eyes. Their bodies, now no longer temporal, took on the form of youth and the condition each remembered and treasured most. Yet, they gasped in awe, shock and terror to find themselves standing in a sea of blades, devils and ancient warriors. But, there was no time for fear. “Is that you my servant?” A voice of intense vibration rumbled out. Every eye rested upon the beautiful beast bowed before the One with scars in His hands. “Yes my Master.” He thrust his face down into the fine layers of ash and gleaming dirt.

      “It seems we have been here more than once before.” The vibration of the voice of God traveled outward. “In fact, I do believe this is where we began. Need I remind you of the day you first put your sword to My face, the day you, became the thing you are now, the day you first embraced any place that I am not, the day you told Me just how grand you were, the day I allowed you to be My cancer just so that I could spare your life.” “Yet,” God continued,” here we are again, your sword to the face of  my sons for the last 6,000 years. So tell Me, my sinful, arrogant and rebelliousservant; why do you think that I should save you again this time?”

       The devil was without response.

       “Are you afraid to answer?” The sentence came as both light and sound. “Look up My servant. Have you no faith in the integrity of your actions? I see now and here just how much you tremble. I feel a river of fear and shame in your spirit. Before I even pass judgment, you have already found yourself at fault.”

      He was now in the center of a stadium of those named saints. Before him was the Father, an image of radiance. Behind was every beast from his army, the earth, the black abyss and the bottomless pit. Each was held captive by an

angel holding a knife to his neck. On a layer just beneath all these were the caged souls of mankind; the lost, the deceived, the blind, those who never found the Father, those who said there is no life beyond the flesh, those who lived in their own desires, their own will, their own evil, or, their own self-proclaimed good deeds. These were all those who were too preoccupied with the cares of the first life to consider the concerns required for the next. Those who laughed, mocked or shrugged at the Name of the King of Kings, the Lord Jesus Christ. Those who, without even knowing it, had held a great big middle finger at the Father of all life.

Yet, there was no laughing now, just the silent screams from tongue-less souls. This was the closest to their Creator that these caged would ever get. With the desperation of fiends, they violently clawed their way over, around, past and through one another for a single glimpse at that which only hours before they so arrogantly proclaimed didn’t even exist. “You caused a lot of pain.” The image of God now shone brightly. “Should I now put you in the same cage with those you have condemned?”

      “I did as I was told.” Lucifer firmly stated.

      “As you were told?” The tone of the Creator’s voice deepened to a darker

shade.

      “My Father!” He cried out. “My Maker . . . My Creator . . . My Lord . . .My Master . . . My King . . . The One who knows hearts. The One who knows minds. The One who knows the end even before the beginning. The One who designed my purpose. The One who spoke this end even before I had begun. The One who shows mercy and undeserved kindness. I now bow and ask of You to read my heart, read my intentions. Not perhaps what they became; but rather, what they were when we began.”

     “You know me. You made me. You fashioned me with your fingers and set me over much. You appointed me head of the Seraphim; the artisans of all eternity, the most beautiful angels that only now stand before you as the most hideous things.”

       “My Lord.” He bowed his head under the light of a sorrowfully haze. “I was also very new . . . very naive . . . and very young.” “In that hour my King, there were no fleshlings. There were no arch angels. There were no messengers. There were no middle-men. There was no rebellion. There was no dark void. There were no cages. There was no death. There was no pain.”

      “There was only You, Your Son, the Spirit of Creation, the seraphim, and

me.”  “My Maker.” He leaned up and spoke. “Can You yourself not imagine,

not conceive, not understand, not sympathize with the pain I felt on the day You

told me my purpose?

       “How, my Loving Lord and King, could You have expected anything less. You, the great Architect of all eternity; did you really not know how I would respond? Did You really not know that in that hour, with Your own lips, You birthed the darkness. You birthed the hatred. You birthed the turmoil, cries and screams. You birthed the death and decay for those barred from Your presence. You birthed the monsters, the demons, the x-angels, the dead souls.You birthed the very ones who now go by the very name shadows.” “Thus my Lord,” the devil looked up into the Father’s light, “it is You that began this war...by prolific affection for your own glory"..At the end of these words, the angels tightened their grip on the endless hoards. All creatures from the abyss cried out in agreement, even with blades to their throats. The cages of mankind, grunts, glitchers and uninfected grays shook the bars of their cages. The stadium of saints and all things from the realm of the real began to wildly chatter amongst themselves.

       “Father!” Lucifer cried out. “I have just of this hour fulfilled my purpose! Just as in the beginning, I have been vigorous to do that for which I was assigned. I have kept the rules. We have all lived here in the cage, the birthplace of the experiment, the void where Your light does not come, the big black pit in eternity. We have died and decayed

one day at a time with the stench of these creatures, these humans that I said would be worthless from the very start.” “But, my Lord, my Father . . . in this thing . . . this second purpose that you assigned after the hour You revived me and birthed them, I have been faithful. Thus my King, I have done Your will. I have been Your tester. I have

successfully finished this purpose. I have found fault, defect and disobedience in

all sons save one. Except for Your grace, they all would be condemned this day.”

    “My servant . . . you have done no purpose of mine. Your every action has been an aversion to My will. You ran from your purpose. Your purpose was to serve, to be right here with Me even to this day. Not only did you not serve, not only did you not fulfill your purpose; more than that, you cursed into My face. You foolishly tried to draw weapons against Me; then, you woke up in a

dark place.”

      “This thing you have been doing, this title of dragon, prince of demons, father of lies, servicer of sin for the system of shadows; this was not a purpose, it was an allowance of space awaiting this day, this day of judgment. I have allowed you to do your own will; a task which could have given to an earthen monkey. It was something for which you were particularly well suited; a quality tester, someone to bring resistance, temptation and continual opportunity for deviation, someone good at making a grand mess. You were at the top of My list.” “The only problem is that now I have come in with a mop; and worse

still, I really don’t have any more need for a mess maker.”

      “Then You admit, You have needed me!” Lucifer defended. “As You know, for Your children to have choice, You needed my help!” “I am sorry… “ God turned with the hint of anger. “Did you just say that I needed your help? Did you just say that you have been doing My will? Did you say that you, and the angels that followed you, only wanted to be worthy enough to be called sons? Satan,” He tilted His Light upon him, “even as servants, I gave you the most powerful gift I had to give. I gave you choice.”

      “Choice!” The devil scowled and gestured to mankind. “What choice? Just like the sons of flesh, I never understood any choice. And, just like the sons of flesh who have sought You after their fall, I deserve forgiveness. I deserve redemption.” “Forgiveness and redemption?” The Father’s Light left him. “Lucifer, you came to My throne and proclaimed Your “right” to eternity. You told Me to bow before You. You told My Son to bow before you. Then,” God’s presence became a deep shade of red, “you actually thought you could kill Me. What part of any of that did you not think was a bad idea?”

       “That was a mistake my King.” He shamefully lowered his head. “I was drawn in to thoughts that were not of my nature. It was in the fellowship of those You appointed to be my council that the unthinkable occurred. You must hear my plea of innocence to this.” “Satan,” God’s voice settled in tone, “that was much more than a mistake.

And, the unthinkable that occurred is exactly your nature. Your actions are self evident of your heart. You defer blame when it is you who are the father of both pain and strife. You say “love” when you mean “hate”. You say “peace” when you mean “war”. I gave you Choice and you gave me lies. Satan, you are My cancer. I need to hear no plea from your lips. Nor, do I wish to hear your version of events. What I am telling you is this,” God came in close, “I have heard the last lie I care to hear from you..There is one thing you have missed...Indeed no one becomes less like Me than the one who tries to be Me"

     “So, what about the x-angels? The seraphim?” He cried out and gestured to his bound hoards. "On the day we became what we are now, which of them held a sword to Your face? So tell me my loving King, these who only longed to serve You; what was their crime?” The light of creation moved slowly across all those held captive. “Their sin is the same as that which condemns the flesh; the greatest sin, the sin which summarizes all sins.”

       God turned His back towards the devil. “They listened to you.”