DragonSlayer - by Randall Terry

DragonSlayers

A Journey of The Soul (Copyright, 2007; Pre-Publication Draft)

Hello Friend…

You have received this book because of your help to Mr. Terry’s ministry and family. Your input and corrections are welcome.

DragonSlayers is…

DragonSlayers is an allegory, similar to the Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis.

Dragonslayers is the correspondence of an older DragonSlayer with a younger, the older answering the younger’s most troubling questions, and giving him advice on how to fulfill his destiny as a DragonSlayer.

About the Author and the Book Randall Terry is…

The Founder of: Operation Rescue, The Christian Defense Coalition, Randall Terry Live, and The Society for Truth and Justice.

Mr. Terry has appeared on Oprah, 60 Minutes, Nightline, Hannity and Colmes, Larry King Live, Meet the Press, 48 Hours, and virtually every major television and radio show in the U.S. The New York Times, The L.A. Times, The Washington Post, Time Magazine, People Magazine, The Rolling Stone, and many other major publications have done lengthy profiles on Mr. Terry. He was labeled the #1 man in America to “hate” by various proabortion and feminist groups.

The New York Times called him an “Icon” of the Pro-Life Movement.

Contact Mr. Terry…

Mr. Terry’s office phone is 904 819 9450.

Mr. Terry’s email is randallterry@helloworld.com

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DragonSlayers - Letter I Am I Normal?

Hello to You, My Dear Friend.

I just received your post, wishing me well in my recovery, inquiring how I fare in body and soul. Thank you for writing. It has been too long since we saw each other. News of some of your exploits has reached me in my place of refuge and healing.

I was also very moved by your searing questions about yourself, your life, your struggles, and what it means to be a DragonSlayer. It is clear you are searching your soul in earnest.

First, I happily report to you that those who tend my wounds and care for my soul are like angels of mercy.

They tell me that my healing is proceeding better than they hoped, and even better than many of them have seen. For this, I am thankful to heaven.

I normally say farewell to friends and well wishers at this point…but with you I cannot. Your letter…your heart’s cry…arrested my attention, and evoked something deep within me; memories and wrestlings of a lifetime ago.

First, let me tell you something that very few know: my wounds came from the house of my friends. Those who ate my bread, and fought side by side with me in the past, sought to destroy me. The pain and turmoil this has caused me is beyond words; a bitter cup from which I now drink. Perhaps I will tell you more about this after the passage of time.

But for now, I would like to respond to your letter. While I am healing, I want to redeem these pensive hours by responding to you with clarity equal to the frankness of your questions. Frankly, my near death experience has given me great pause…

We both know that even when I am fully recovered, and I put on my armor once more to enter the sacred fray, I cannot continue to pursue Dragons forever. Whether I fall in battle, covered with blood and mud, or I simply go to my grave in peace with my children gathered around me as I draw my last breath…I will go the way of all flesh. I will die.

But before I die, and while I have my wits about me, I want to give to a young DragonSlayer what another great DragonSlayer gave to me: Transparency.

As I pondered struggles, fears, hopes and doubts that you expressed, the stark honesty and nakedness of your thoughts threw me back in time to a critical moment on my own journey.

Indulge me, while I tell you a story about myself that virtually no one knows.

When I was a young warrior, my heart was plagued with questions similar to yours. By chance one evening, I happened to be in the company of a great and dreadful Dragonslayer. After a time of feasting mingled with wine, Providence granted me a window to speak to him privately. I poured out a torrent of my questions and struggles to him; things burned in my heart and burdened my soul.

I poured out questions of tactics and principles of war; questions about friends, family, and enemies; I plead with him to tell me if I was right in my view of the world; I listed the dragons I knew and sought to slay; and I told him of my doubts, my fears, my desires, and my dreams.

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He stunned me by the power and simplicity of his answers .He was so transparent and so without guile that it completely disarmed me. He understood who we are, and what we face. He told me the truth about himself; his fears, his joys, his family, his heartaches, his enemies, his failures and his triumphs. And while doing so, he peered deep into my soul, and told me the truth about myself.

He spoke the truth with such piercing clarity, that it numbed and freed me at the same time. The conversation went long into the night, and the answers he gave me were like anchors settling deep in my soul. When we parted company, I still had all my struggles and many of my fears, but I was ready to go forward with who I was: a DragonSlayer. I put my hand to the plow, and never looked back.

I thought of his words, his face, his courage and his clarity many times. But I never saw him again in this life. He died of exhaustion after slaying a dreadful dragon two years after we met.

And now, while I rest and recuperate, I’ve had the opportunity to study my life, my battles, my scars…and the lives and battles and scars of our contemporaries. I have thought long on the lives and manners of those who sought to slay me, and those who intervened to rescue me from their clutches; I reflected on the valiant Dragonslayers who have fought and fallen in battles of centuries past.

To my amazement, the truths told to me by that great DragonSlayer have been played out in my life, and in the life of every DragonSlayer I have ever met or studied, on innumerable fields of battles.

And I confess this to you: I would have died of despair, or perished needlessly in battle, or worse: I might have forged an unholy peace with Dragons many years ago, if it had not been for the anchors of Truth that great warrior lowered into the depths of my stormy soul.

My heart now demands of me that I speak to another DragonSlayer with the same clarity that he spoke to me; I must try to be as transparent with someone as he was with me, so that another may be readied and steadied for the tempests and joys that lie ahead.

If you are helped by what I now write, let me know. Perhaps we can have future correspondence, in which I will take the time to explore with you the depths of pathos and passions that govern us.

And perhaps more interestingly, (and dare I say more painfully?), I could discuss the fires that fuel us, the fears that plague us, and the demons that haunt us. Maybe we could plum the private hells we endure at the most awkward of hours. But beware young warrior: if you desire further communication with me, I intend to be as transparent with you about myself, and as honest with you about yourself as that great hero was with me. I owe it to him, and to our Master.

You wrote me many things about family and friends, foes and adversaries. You told me of your fitful nights, when you wrestled in your heart about duty and desire. At the end of your torrent of thoughts (and I admit, I had to smile, because you reminded me of myself when I was younger), when you appeared exasperated and fatigued by your own heart, you asked me a simple, desperate question…almost as an afterthought.

You said: “Am I normal?”

That little phrase caught my attention; it is here I will begin my correspondence with you, because it captures some of the internal struggle of who we are.

“Am I normal?”

This question torments us.

And it raises its nagging head at totally unpredictable times. We can suddenly be haunted by the question

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when we watch a farmer at work in the field; it can happen during a wedding, or when we see a man fishing; it happens when we see people calmly sitting and talking about the weather. We look at them and other neighbors in a hundred other scenarios, and we envy them. They are not vexed about the Dragons that curse the land. And they appear happy, content, at ease…normal.

And we wish – for a fleeting few moments – that we could be like them…normal. We wish we could be satisfied with things as they are. We wish we didn’t care so much about Justice and tyranny; about Freedom and Truth. For a split second- we wish we could turn our backs on who we are, and forget that we even know dragons exist.

I want to be normal sometimes. I want to be like other people. I weary of standing out, standing up, always standing for something. I grow fatigued of standing and fighting in the middle of the coliseum. I want to sit in the stands; to blend in.

But I cannot hide in the shadows; not for long. And neither can you. You may have (because I have) made some solemn resolution to be a part of the crowd, to blend in, to be “polite”, and to not stir up trouble; but it is impossible for very long. Here is why.

When you gather with the crowd, what do you have? People. And what do people bring? Stories. Hatreds.

Pains. And Dragons. Always Dragons.

And so for example, if you are at a festive occasion, and if the conversation turns to some great battle between good and evil, and people are waltzing politely around the edge of what is good, or what is evil, you will sit and slowly burn in your heart and soul (whether in bewilderment, anger, contempt, dismay, passion for the innocent – whatever it may be). Your eyes and your sight, your very body will betray the fact that you are ready to draw swords. And even if you hold your tongue for a while – a long while – inevitably someone who senses the quiet volcanic activity of your soul will look at you, and say loud enough for everyone to hear: “Well…what do you think?”

Now you’re cornered. And you are ready to lunge into battle. And you only have three options: one; lie.

Lie to yourself and to the crowd. Tell them you are not sure how you feel. Two; hold your tongue for the sake of the captives in the room. Or three; be authentic. Erupt with the truth. Be who you are – a DragonSlayer.

If you chose the second option, you’ll probably be fine. You can tell those gathered that you’ll get in trouble or cause trouble if you talk, and therefore you want to leave the topic alone. If you hold your ground (to not fight), the wise in the room will understand, and may even respect your temporary silence. (I say temporary, because we both know that on another day you will not keep silent.)

If you chose the first option…you lie…you’ll betray yourself. Later you will accuse yourself of selling out, caving in, being a coward, loving the praise of man more than the praise of the Master – in other words you will draw your sword on yourself. This (as you know) is hellish.

If the of self-pity side, “Poor wretch that I am! I only want to be normal and blend in” continues to silence your true DragonSlayer self, the strain is intolerable. It is too wearying and painful. You don’t want to look in the mirror and accuse the viewer of cowardice.

So usually, with the way you and I are wired, the only option of integrity and authenticity is option three; to tell the truth.

Now, when we tell the truth, it separates us instantly from others. When we speak, we speak with passion.

“He speaks as one having authority – not like” the others in the room. We believe, therefore we speak.

And if there is a right side, when we are done everyone in the room will know there is also a wrong side.

And the very manner in which we explain the two sides is a declaration of war, and a call to those on the wrong side to surrender. (Some of whom are in the room, and were merrily drinking grog…until you

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“spoiled the affair.”)

And so, once again, you prove that you are not normal. “Normal” people don’t do this. “Normal” people don’t leap from the stands into the arena to defend the innocent. “Normal” people watch the innocent die, feel bad about it, say a little prayer, and console themselves by telling themselves that there was nothing they could do.

And perhaps for some of them, they’re right. Perhaps there was little or nothing they could do. They aren’t in shape for battle, they aren’t ready for battle, they aren’t seasoned in war because they don’t love battle – they’re “normal.”

And you’re not. You are a DragonSlayer.

When you see a conflict unfold before you, when you see a dragon rise up in your presence, you don’t ask, “How do I feel?” You don’t say, “How dreadful! Someone should do something!” You ask yourself, “What should I do?” You know how you feel. You see the situation as black and white. The dragon must be slain, or at least driven away. Your only question is “What, if anything, can I do?”

So, let’s go back to the festive occasion as we explore if we are “normal.”

When someone asks your “opinion,” or in a situation where there are clear lines of good and evil, you raise a flag, a battle banner. You defend the right, and seek to win others to the cause. You seek to get others to jump out of the stands and into the arena with you. (This is what makes you a leader as well as a DragonSlayer.)

You try to embolden others to stand and be counted; to get them to act or react in such a way that will further the cause of right; perhaps a few of them will in turn fight dragons and encourage others to do so.

Another thing you can do is to discourage and demoralize those who are on the “wrong” side. Maybe they won’t join you, but at least they won’t work against you. Your very passion will put enough doubt in their hearts (which may be a little low on passion) to get them to be “neutral,” and reconsider their position.

And when the dinner party is over, and people are on their way home, they’ll be talking about you. They’ll talk about your passion. Some will speak of your confidence; others will condemn your confidence as arrogance; some will say you were entertaining, others will say you spoiled the party. But they’ll all agree on one thing; you’re not “normal.”

And when you get home, and finally lie in your bed, your mind will be racing. Sometimes you will think of a hundred different ways you could have answered; sometimes you will feel at peace. Other times you will be tormented until you sleep…and then the plaguing doubts will awaken you, and welcome you into the new day.

You will continue on this endless road of self-examination, always returning to the haunting question: Why can’t I be like other people. Why can’t I be normal?

I have used this illustration to tell you what you already know: You are not normal.

And you will never be normal. You will never “fit in” with the gray, faceless sea of humanity that neither risks much, nor accomplishes much. Even if today you vowed to take off your armor, melt down your sword, and retire from all confrontations with dragons, the Master’s call to war would be like fire shut up in your bones. You would be tormented. You would be a fugitive, running from your true self, futilely fleeing your purpose in life. And you would soon grow very weary of running and hiding from the Master

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and yourself.

For us, an attempt to be “normal” would be to surrender and marry mediocrity; it would mean trying to play the song of life on one octave; it would mean blinding our eyes to the beauty and horror of life; to deny the danger and deliverance of death.

Take your leave…look with envy on the peaceful farmer. You will never be as he. Even if you purchase a manor, even if you “take up farming,” you will never be a farmer: you are a DragonSlayer. You cannot escape who you are.

If you do grow crops, or buy and sell and become wealthy, it will simply be to fund the costs of your battles. Every warrior knows it takes fine steel to slay a Dragon…which takes resources. But never be confused, you are a warrior who farms; a DragonSlayer at heart.

I’m sorry to tell you this if it pains you. But I want you to come to grips with who and what you are, and then raise you soul, you mind, your spirit, your heart, your body to the Lord of all Dragonslayers and say: “I will love and serve you with all that I am. Please lift me when I fall; forgive me when I fail.”

And then…do your duty. Be the best DragonSlayer you can be. Love the unlovely. Learn to be led by the Master, not driven by the dragons.

Learn the wisdom of when and where and how to strike.

Forgive those who have wronged you or hurt you or betrayed you; sometimes the very ones you’re trying to help; or worse – those who broke bread with you.

Learn to be both DragonSlayer and surgeon. Pray to be hard enough to resist evil, soft enough to caress the hair of the needy. Laugh and giggle with children.

Emulate the great King David – perhaps the most glorious, beloved, poetic, musical, dreadful, fearless, and totally human DragonSlayer that man has ever seen.

Love the normal – don’t despise them, and don’t avoid them. Don’t always try to make them in your image. Love them, dance with them, and let them love you; sing with them, and thank heaven that everyone isn’t like you. (That would be truly frightening!)

Keep soft; keep supple. Do not let the cold scales of the dragons you have slain cleave to your skin.

Lose yourself in the beauty of sunsets. Keep studying flowers – one petal at a time. Keep listening to the birds sing – not just a line, but a whole song.

Stand beside the sea, and grasp your smallness. Let the sound of the crashing waves wash over your soul.

Let the seagulls talk to you.

Finally dear friend, always cleave to your Master. Remember that before you are a warrior – you are a poet. Before you are a fighter, you are a child. Before you are a DragonSlayer, you are a lover of Truth, Justice and Beauty.

And so I bring you glad tidings: This life of yours, filled with passions and battles and hills and dragons, is in fact “normal” for you. It is normal for me. It is normal for those who are DragonSlayers. So be at peace, my friend. You are a DragonSlayer, and as far as DragonSlayers go, you are normal.

I have enjoyed writing this to you, and I hope it is of some benefit to our soul. I hope to hear from you again. Long life to you.

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DragonSlayers - Letter II Courage and Cowardice Hello again, my dear friend!

I received your latest correspondence three days past. I was happily surprised at how quickly you responded to my letter.

More importantly, I was delighted to read that I had touched a chord deep within you, and that you were strengthened and calmed by my words. Yes, you are normal…for a Dragonslayer. The challenge we have is to learn to keep our interior balance. I assure you…it is a battle as difficult as any I have been in!

To be honest, I wept at points as I read your letter, because I know how vital it is to our sanity to have a few people in the world who understand how we think and what we feel; it is invaluable to have a few fellow warriors who can help us weed out our own hearts. I could sense your stress, as well as your relief.

Naturally, I was delighted that you accepted my offer to correspond with you while I am convalescing. I pray I am able to paint pictures for you that continue to free and temper your fiery soul.

Concerning your questions about my health in body and mind, I can tell you what those who tend my wounds tell me: They tell me I will make a full recovery; that I will again bear sword and shield; I will again be clad with armor; I will again ride my mount into battle. But they also tell me it will take time. It is to time that I willingly submit.

That being said, and having made a commitment to you and our Master to be transparent with you, my gravest concern – and the greatest concern of the resident friar who visits with me frequently – is the impact of my wounds on my soul.

The fact that fellow warriors sought to slay me (I can no longer call them Dragonslayers, because if they were true to our Creed, they would never have sought to destroy one of their own), the chilling reality that those who ate my bread conspired together to destroy me, has become a bitter source of grief in my soul; a pain even greater than that of my corporal wounds.

And so I find that in my hour of physical trial, my greatest challenges are internal…the warrings of my own heart and soul. A wise handmaiden told me long ago, “Bitterness is the poison we drink in hopes that it will slay our enemies, but it is we who perish.” I must not let bitterness eat away at me, for if I do, I will destroy myself. And the irony is that my enemies will have achieved their goal…by my own hand as it were.

That being said, I now must also discern who I can trust. Our scouts tell us that my enemies have learned that I miraculously survived their attempted assassination, and that their dismay is seconded only by their fury and fear. We can be sure that another attempt will be made on my life. So I begin the next season of my life as a Dragonslayer…as a man… overcoming the temptation to bitterness, yet needing to be vigilant in protecting myself from their plots. It is a difficult path to walk upon.

With the exception of that area of grief, my spirits are up, my hope is intact, and I view this time of recovery as a providential window in which I can review my life, and aid you. Perhaps I can help spare you from some of the mistakes I have made, protect you from some of our common enemies, and lengthen your days and successes in battle.

Let us turn now to your latest thoughts and questions.

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I must confess that I smile as I read your torrent of thoughts, mingled with questions, exclamations, and exasperations. I hope you find it helpful to clarify your thoughts with ink, pen, and parchment.

Your narrative of the battle you were in several months ago was gripping. To wound a Dragon, but then lose sight of him is a dreadful situation. A wounded Dragon is often more dangerous than a healthy one (if one can ever call a Dragon “healthy”), because it knows that its days are numbered. As its life ebbs away, it lashes out in chaotic fury, resulting in greater loss of life and property.

So I honor you for your lengthy pursuit. You never gave up…even when others despaired of victory, which is part of what makes you a Dragonslayer. After weeks of travel and near misses, I rejoiced that you finally hunted down and dispatched the monster. Is it not amazing the places that a Dragon can find refuge? I have found them in all the dark cold caves you would expect to find them, but I have also found them in schools and Universities, chapels and Cathedrals, and in the castles of great men. Sometimes the Dragon was unknown to the master of his hideout, but sometimes the Dragon was an honored guest. Heaven have mercy on us.

As you related the stories of those courageous souls who helped you in your search, as well as your report on the cowardly knaves who refused to aid you, you revealed a great love and respect and concern for those who risked their lives that they might aid you in finding and destroying the Dragon. You also displayed a deep contempt for those who had it in their power to help destroy, or at least uncover the wounded Dragon, but refused. (I found myself smirking as you repeated the excuses village folk gave you when they denied your requests for aid.)

Your protective concern for those who helped you is noble, and your anger with those who stood mute is understandable. I want to help you understand your own passions by boiling down the essence of your heartache and joy to two simple questions.

“What is the worst sin?” And, “What is the greatest virtue?” Let us discuss the first question.

Now, I understand that philosophers and mystics (who are probably more qualified to answer the questions I posed than I am!) would tell us that a failure to love our Maker was the worst “sin.” And perhaps they would say that murder was the worst sin a man can commit against his fellow man. And hence, before beginning my answers, let me tell you that I submit to those who are more learned than I in these areas My question is designed to provoke your heart and mind. When you – as a Dragonslayer, fully clad, with sword drawn - are on a field at battle, what is the worst sin? What causes you to feel unalterable contempt, such violent disgust?

Some might say, “Treachery!” or, “Betrayal!” While I agree these are close to unpardonable sins, I will show that they are mere shoots of the great root: Cowardice.

That’s right, cowardice.

In the heart of a Dragonslayer, cowardice ranks alone as the most vile and villainous of wrongs.

Cowardice forsakes women and children in the face of danger. Cowardice bids one to live as a slave rather than to fight and die as a free man. Cowardice reasons, cowardice calculates; cowardice not only counts the cost before doing battle, but deems the cost of freedom and justice too high. Cowardice submits to tyrants.

Cowardice urges a man to flee from battle before the battle has been joined. (We both know that at certain points, a tactical “retreat” is required…but it is with the goal of launching another attack on the Dragon, not surrendering to it.) Worse still is that cowardice gives a man the arguments why flight is not actually cowardice, but wisdom. Cowardice reasons with him. Cowardice quotes from the Sacred Book.

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Perhaps worse yet is that cowardice urges a man (in order to vindicate itself) to convince others that flight is not only prudent, but right. It is right to surrender. It is wrong to resist the Dragons. Cowardice leads others in an insurrection against valor and duty.

At other times cowardice doesn’t call for full retreat, but rather a treaty with the dragons. Cowardess takes to itself the trappings of dignity: “If we can just have a place at the table, to discuss the issues at hand.”

Cowardice takes on the noble air of “mutual disarmament’ and “peace talks,” being willfully forgetful of the nature of Dragons. Everyone knows that dragons cannot disarm; they not only breath fire, they contain fire. They cannot extinguish the fire and villainy that burns within them. They cannot change what they are. They devour young virgins. They terrify and destroy villages. A leopard cannot change his spots. A dragon cannot change his scales. When we attempt to negotiate with dragons, we foolishly deny the reality of what they are, and what they do. Dragons must be destroyed.

But cowardice is not limited to the sons of Adam; Dragons also become afraid. In fact, many have argued that most Dragons are in fact cowards; the strong preying on the weak. And so…when a Dragon senses danger – that a St. George and a force of warriors has arisen - he will ask for a meeting. If no meeting is possible, the Dragon will send emissaries.

Ironically, these emissaries of the Dragon will usually wear the garments and speak the language of our friends. They may wear the uniform of our allies; they may wear clerical collars; they may quote our sacred texts. They may bear an Icthus or some other ensign of the Master on their chariot. They may praise the way of the Dragonslayer with their lips. But they have been sent by the Dragon, not the Master of Dragonslayers.

Now, I hasten to say as a DragonSlayer and as one who has led other Dragonslayers and warriors into battle – war is deadly serious. Battles should be thoroughly planned, whenever possible. (Although sometimes the Dragon flies in, burns a village or captures a virgin, and thereby chooses the field of battle. At that point honor and duty compel us to respond, however rushed our plans might be.)

When engaged in battle, the well being of your troops should be ever on your mind. A tactical, short-term pause to regain your strength, to re-supply, to heal your wounded, and to recruit fresh warriors and prepare for the next assault; such a pause will inevitably come and will be in order.

But when so-called “allies” interrupt your campaign, when a so-called “friend” comes along and says, “I agree with you, but…,” and then wants to advise you on how to negotiate a peace with a Dragon, do this: ask for his credentials.

His credentials will appear in one of two forms: 1) His scars; and 2) His enemies.

Ask him to peal back his shirt, and show you the scars of war. Politely demand to see his scars from the battles he fought in; the scars of some hapless defeat he has wept over. Any man who has endured much conflict has scars. If he has no scars, he is suspect.

Second, ask him who his enemies are. Does the enemy camp dread him? Do they hate him? Do they even know him? A dreadful demon once told a pretender, “Jesus I know, Paul I know, but who are you?” A true warrior for justice has real enemies…the right enemies.

I realize that a young warrior may have neither scars nor enemies, but his youth would keep him from being a high level advisor or negotiator. But if a man of mature years comes to you, and he has no scars and no enemies, he is not a trustworthy advisory, negotiator, or ambassador to you or from you.

But the Dragons will send them. And cowardice will inspire them. And as I said, these emissaries will assure you that they are on your side. But the cowardice at work within them is seeking to justify their retreat, their lack of scars, and their lack of enemies. And cowardice is seeking to bring you under the Dragons’ rule.

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This is one of the most damning things about cowardice. It refuses to abide alone. It wants others to agree, and then follow its “prudent” lead. That is why the Master commands that on the verge of battle, the fearful must be sent home. If they are allowed to remain, their fear will spread to others, demoralize the troops, and the battle will be lost. Cowardice can infect and poison whole armies.

Remember the story of two dreadful Dragonslayers of long ago, Joshua and Caleb. They were about to bring an entire wandering nation into a land flowing with milk and honey, yet ten spies - spies who wore the Masters colors – spread the canker of fear amongst the people. They all became hopeless cowards, and refused to fight.

But it was far worse than that: they made plans to return to slavery. They chose an unjust servitude over a just conflict. They chose chains with peace over freedom with war.

And this, of course, is the essence of cowardice: slavery. Cowardice would rather submit to slavery than risk open war. Why? Because in war there are losses; the loss of time, the loss of treasure, the loss of property, and most importantly, the loss of life. The fear of loss fuels cowardice. And that is what gives cowardice its strength; that is what makes it such an evil force.

Cowardice is the bond-slave of villains; the handmaid of oppressors; the bodyguard of tyrants. In fact, tyrants cannot exist without cowardice. One only has to study the great Dragons of history to see that they could not have flourished without the silence and inaction of those who had the power or the duty to resist them. Even if resistance seems futile, duty demands action at some point – a raising of the standard of war – a token or symbol of resistance – so that other scattered Dragonslayers and potential warriors might see the ensign, gather for battle, and fight for victory.

The great tyrannies of our time are marked by a cursed cowardice that disembowels those who should fight, and lead others into battle. If we who resist are not the victors, then our courage and actions will provide the bridge on which the next army will cross on to victory.

I am convinced that we have the resources to prevail against the Dragons of our time, but because of cowardess, with all its pathetic excuses and lofty language, our troops have been castrated, disarmed, disemboweled, and otherwise made useless for war. Cowardice has become the chief advisor in the Generals’ tents.

Permit me to give you a word or two more. Treachery – as I told you earlier – is a branch on the trunk of cowardice. Treachery betrays for fear of being on the losing side. Preserving station, respectability, wealth, access to princes, personal well being – these all propel treachery. Treachery is cowardice applied.

Remember this: both Dragonslayers and the slaves of cowardice are “seers.” They both see the future.

And their vision of the future is what compels them to act. The Dragonslayer sees freedom, justice, and the death of the Dragon, so he is compelled to fight. The coward sees war, conflict, blood and carnage, so he is compelled to flee.

And usually, the Dragonslayer and the emissary of cowardice are compelled to stand or quit the field with others. Both are recruiters.

This leads me to another point: The fierce weight of anger you feel about cowardice must not be brought to bear very often on the potential foot soldier, who we jokingly call a “pew potato.” The pew potato is in his pew, and not in the battle, because a Friar took the sword of Truth and wrongly used it to gut him of his courage.

Our anger cannot be focused on those who believe the false/bad report as much as those who give the false/bad report. As the saying goes; as goes the shepherd, so goes the sheep.

This is a bitter irony. If cowardice spoke with a cursed hiss, in open defiance of the Master, few would listen. Instead, cowardice speaks the language of Truth, uses phrases from the Book of Truth, sells itself as truth, and convinces itself and its listeners that it is the messenger of Truth.

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But the proof of its deceit lies here: the Dragon agrees.

The Dragon gives a hearty “Amen!” to the directives of cowardice. The Dragon somberly agrees that all Dragonslayers should leave the field of battle. The Dragon points out that the rhetoric and actions of Dragonslayers are extreme, or intolerant, or militant, or counterproductive, or divisive.

And of course, the Dragon is right. Our loyalty to Truth and Justice is extreme; we are intolerant of the Dragon terrorizing the innocent; we are militant in our demand that the Dragon be dethroned; we do divide the Dragon from his prey.

All of this is to give you this solemn warning: If the Dragon agrees with a supposed emissary of Truth – the emissary is probably an imposter, or an unwitting servant of the Dragon.

Now, let us pause. I have belabored the horror of cowardice; I have exposed the treacheries that cowardice employs, but I must serve you better than this. The darkness of the imposter can never outshine the beauty of Truth. The Glory of the real will always overcome the false light of the imposter. So we must now revel in the beauty, the Glory, the vibrancy of Courage.

Courage is the chief virtue! Remember this, for it is an axiom you can live and die by. Courage is the chief virtue.

Ponder my words. If a man knows the Truth, but he does not have the courage to say the Truth in the midst of a hostile crowd, what good is his knowledge of Truth? Or if a man knows what is Just, but he does not have the courage to fight for Justice when the hour of trial comes, what good is his knowledge of Justice? If a man knows Mercy, but does not have the courage to show Mercy when an angry mob is ready to throw stones, what good is his knowledge of Mercy?

Courage propels the other virtues into action. Courage is the Guardian of Truth, the Handmaiden of Justice, the servant of Mercy. Courage gives wings and life to all other virtues. Without courage, all other virtues lie in the dust, with no man to bear them into conflict or acts of kindness.

I have trained many men for war. I have led many men into battle. Mark these words: It is easier to temper a bold, courageous man than it is to embolden a timid, fearful man. Surely you have seen this as well. If a man will lay down his life for the Truth, you can easily give him marching orders from which he will not shrink. But if a man fears battle, he will halt and retreat at the first sound of the enemies hooves, no matter how you try to inspire him.

Let me give you another critical truth about courage. Being afraid or feeling fear is not the same as cowardice. I will define Courage in two simple ways.

First, Courage is not the absence of fear; Courage is doing what is right in spite of our fears.

On many occasions I have been afraid, but I did my duty. Sometimes we stand and we fight to hold our ground, or better yet, to advance – trembling in part, but with our eyes filled with determination to prevail, or die. Surely you have felt this exhilarating and chaotic combination of fear and courage; doubt and determination.

Hence, we must be extremely gracious to people who are afraid, yet still willing to fight. We must encourage them to do what is right in spite of their fears. Also, we must not be bombastic. Heaven forbid we strut around like fearless wonders, projecting a false image of confidence concerning ourselves – or worse – a false example of an unattainable height of courage.

If we project being unswerving, undoubting, and undaunted as the standard for courage, those who are honest with themselves about their failure to attain such an unalloyed courage will be demoralized. Worse yet, they may falsely identify themselves as cowards, and abandon the fight. At the right points, be honest about your fears, and you will liberate others from the grip of their fears, as well as endear them to you.

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The second definition of courage I alluded to – I believe higher definition of courage is this: the determination to prevail or die. (I know that I only now warned you against bombastic declarations, so this definition of courage is perhaps better kept to yourself as a resolve of heart between you and the Master.

But it is the essence of courage, nonetheless.)

The highest, clearest definition of courage is simply this: I am prepared to die on this hill. Now when I say this, I mean (for clarity’s sake), that you are willing to literally, physically die in battle – whatever that battle may be. You are willing to fall by the sword; be burned at the stake; you are willing to lose your life in battle to a Dragon for the sake of Truth and Justice and Freedom..

Once you are truly prepared to leave this life; once you are ready to die in battle, you become free. Fully free. And you will be prepared to lunge into battle.

The fearful will say you are reckless. The captives you seek to rescue will say you are heroic. You are a far greater dread to Dragons if you are prepared to die, because as our peerless hero, the great Dragonslayer St. George proved, Dragons must be slain in close contact. Hence, you run the risk of being killed.

If you are afraid to die, you will keep a safe distance. At that distance, you can yell belligerent defiance, make threats, and posture yourself as the inevitable victor when the conflict begins in earnest, etc., but you cannot thrust your spear down the throat of the dragon.

To kill a dragon, you have to be prepared to die. As our Master said: They overcame the Dragon by the blood of the Lamb, The word of their testimony, And they loved not their life unto death.

I am convinced that the most dreadful people in the world – for the sake of righteousness, or the cause of evil, are those who are prepared to die in battle for what they believe. Have you reached that place of the heart yet?

Another thought: one act of fear does not a coward make. When you are a leader, people will let you know of their fears and failures, to see if this disqualifies them in your eyes. Remember the great Dragonslayer Petros.! He denied our Master – with cursing and swearing – because of fear. He was sifted like wheat by the Prince of Dragons – yet he was restored, and given the keys to the Master’s Kingdom, which he later used with great courage. I believe cowardice is defined by repetition, calculation, and justification.

Remember yourself. Remember when you denied our Master by silence, or held your tongue for cowardice, or stood by and did nothing for fear. Remember the bitter remorse: and then remember the mercy of the Master. Remember yourself, and do your best to restore and encourage your brethren who stumble.

I should end here. Allow me in my farewell to give you words to help you in your own battles, and help you lead others into the fight.

We may lose our good reputation with some. We may lose some friends. We may lose our home. We may lose our freedom. But even if we lose all these things, if we still have the breath of life, we have prevailed at some level, as long as we are true in battle.

Remember our Master, who endured such contradictions of evil men against Himself, lest you be weary, and faint in your mind.

Cloak yourself with courage. Keep your perspective. If you are prepared to lay down you life, but you only have to lay down your vocation or your friends or your reputation, rejoice! You’re still alive!

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And when the Dragons and their knaves malign you, curse you, mistreat you, separate you from their company, and say all manner of evil against you falsely‌rejoice! Leap for joy! Great is your reward at the Master’s table. That is the way Our Masters enemies have always treated Dragonslayers.

I hope these words are a benefit to you. Until I hear from you again, I remain your faithful servant.

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DragonSlayers - Letter III The Love of Battle Hello Again my Dear Friend!

I was overjoyed to know that you were strengthened by my musings on Courage. I have been studying men and women who are in the crucible of trial and danger for many years. In the direst of moments, one spark of genuine Courage can inflame whole armies to stand fast on a field of battle. This is why I place so much value on the virtue of Courage. We seek Justice, but it is Courage that propels us in our sacred quest.

You are correct in your observation that Justice does not always prevail in the short run (though we trust it will in the long run, for the Almighty has decreed it). This failure of justice is not due to any deficiency in Justice itself, nor is it because the wicked are stronger or more numerous than the just.

It is due to cowardess in the guardians of Justice. I wish this were not so, but I too have seen tyranny and oppression prevail for no other reason than the refusal of men to fight. Victory and justice were within their reach if they only would have had the Courage to draw their sword.

In this I have found a constant maxim: The preservation of Justice depends on the Courage of her guardians. Heaven have mercy on us, and give us more men and women of Courage.

Concerning my health, thank you for asking again; I am slowly progressing towards full recovery…but I grow more frustrated as the days pass. I find that the more whole I am, the more I dislike inactivity. I want to resume my place in battle, but I am not yet fit to be armed and ride my mount into the fray.

So I am left with my private war - the conflicts and wrestlings of my soul. Thank heaven; being in this monastery has given me the surroundings and atmosphere to do a greater depth of soul-searching than I ever would have if I were not here.

Ironically, the scars of treachery I bear in this frame of dust have in some ways become an elixir of health for the deepest parts my heart. Is it not mysterious that suffering could produce a sweet fragrance in ones’ soul?

I know that you are wrestling with your own questions and inner struggles. Of this you may be certain; these struggles will continue until you leave this life. But take cheer – the inner dragons you face today will not be present forever. Those things that plague your heart this morning may be a distant memory in two or three winters. However, new struggles, new questions, new dragons will emerge with which you must contend. This is our path until Eternity claims its’ right to our souls.

Now to your latest musings. It is clear from the battles you have fought that you love Justice. Moreover, you have demonstrated great courage; you have shown that you will risk your life in battle to rescue the innocent and divide the Dragon from his prey.

But even as you related the relish you felt in your most recent exploit (and I heartily applaud you for slaying the infernal beast), a growing cloud of uncertainty crept over your words; then you focused squarely on the essence of your nagging doubts; “The truth be known, I love the battle. I love the sounds and smells and sights of war. I love the epic drama of which I am a part. But I fear that I may love it too much…am I a danger to myself and others?”

The love of battle; is this not a perplexing sentiment? Why do we love it so? You have displayed both courage and wisdom by facing it. I will do my best to answer you without guile, and perhaps give you the means to divine your own heart as you approach different battles.

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Let us start with who we are. In many ways, all of the sons of Adam are alike. We love, we toil, we grieve, we live…and we die; our bodies sown into the dust to await the Master’s final call.

But even in those things we hold in common with all men, Dragonslayers are different. Yes, we love and toil and grieve…but the things we love, what we toil for, the losses we grieve, and those epic struggles for which we are prepared to live and die; the objects of our devotion and sacrifice - these are often like chasms separating us and our fellows.

It took me well nigh thirty years to understand that in the core of our being, we are simply not like other people. I wrongly thought that every decent living soul had the same love of justice, the same hatred of tyranny and oppression, the same desire for freedom, and the same willingness to sacrifice and take risks in the pursuit of dragons that all Dragonslayers possess.

I was wrong… very wrong.

I thought that if men simply saw the Truth, and heard the report of the havoc and horror that Dragons were inflicting on the innocent; they would spring to battle with us against the enemy.

Again, I was wrong.

I found that some dear souls only want justice when they need it. Others hate tyranny - but only when they feel its heel on the back of their neck. Many oppressed serfs want freedom for themselves, but care little about freedom for others. As long as the Dragon is not presently in their castle or on their lands; as long is he is devouring the daughters of other regions; they are content to leave him alone, and to live at a nervous peace with him.

You will know these self-consumed souls by this token: they will take no risks nor will they make any sacrifice to pursue a Dragon for the sake of others. They howl when they are the victim of injustice, but they are silent when someone else is ground beneath the iron wheels of oppression.

You and I view this as a quiet treaty with hell. In many ways, this treachery is the reason why our realm has been more afflicted by Dragons in our lifetime. The Dragons know that prey is more easily obtained where men do not value their neighbors cause.

And then there are others who simply do not want to fight, no matter what the cost of their submission.

They want peace more than they want freedom and justice. They are content to live under the shadow of the Dragon; they are willing to abide mild tyranny, oppression, and the loss of freedom, if only they don’t have to fight.

They value an unjust peace above a just conflict. They choose a life of servitude on a manor above flight or resistance. They view the animated contest for freedom as a greater threat than the Dragon himself.

They hate and fear conflict. Therefore they are content if need be to live as slaves, as long as they have their daily bread to sustain them…and circuses to distract them.

This attitude confuses us, bewilders us, and even enrages us; mainly because we love justice more than we love our own lives. But also (and this goes to the heart of your question) because we love the battle.

I believe that in some mysterious way we are designed by our Master to love the battle for Justice and Freedom. We relish the preparation: the sharpening of our swords; the practice in the use of arms; the finetuning of our reason and rhetoric.

We love the march onto the field. We love the specter of two armies facing each other, and of banners bearing our Sovereign’s insignia flapping noisily in the wind. We love the sound of horses snorting and their armor clattering malignantly.

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And when we face a Dragon alone, we are equally exalted in spirit. We say our prayers with more clarity; we face death deliberately; we charge our foe fearlessly.

We love the clash of arms. We are unconquerably convinced of the rightness of our cause, so we neither flinch nor fly. We will use the enemy’s arguments and heroes as our fodder and weaponry; we will use their lies and folly to batter down their fortress of deceit and oppression. One of us can put a thousand to flight; two of us can put ten thousand to flight.

We simply love battle. And as I said, in my younger years, I truly thought everyone did. But they don’t.

However, most people want to conceive of themselves as Dragonslayers, or at least one who would fight and die alongside a Dragonslayer. Nobody wants to view themselves as a knave or a coward. All men love romantic ideal of valor in righteous conflict.

I think this explains bravado, exaggerated boasting, and the repetition of old war stories.

You’ve met people like this. They will tell one story – a story where they displayed true courage - over and over again. They are justly proud that their personal heroics helped someone. The sad thing is that it might be the only story they have. This is why they keep repeating it.

Now, we should never hold them in contempt. Thank heaven for whatever act of valor they displayed. The world – or at least one person’s world – is better off because they stood true. Perhaps one dragon was wounded or felled by a lucky throw of the spear. Any time a dragon reels or falls, we should rejoice.

Furthermore, the underlying theme of their story – the value of courage – is a great inspiration to all hearers. The young who listen begin to yearn for their chance to be heroic.

Now, while we must never hold them in contempt, neither should we exalt them before would be Dragonslayers; we don’t want erratic or one time warriors to be heralded as models of dragon slaying virtue and courage.

Evils are conquered, nations are liberated, and Dragons (plural) are defeated by lengthy conflict and repeated efforts. There will victories, followed by courageous miss-steps and near misses, followed by moments of defeat and despair. The victories are like intoxicating wine; the failures are like a knife that carves out a man’s soul. If a man does not have the heart and stamina of a Dragonslayer, he will be drunken (and hence useless) with his own success, or he will collapse under the burden of his doubts and sorrows.

A champion is one who continues the fight in due time, no matter what his prospects of victory. A champion is one who continues to fight even after he has been injured, or has lost a limb or an eye, because he has not lost his heart.

We want champions to be our examples and heroes, not just one time lucky shots.

Hence, we need serial dragon-killers. And this is why part of being a Dragonslayer is the love of battle.

Dragonslayers are not reluctant warriors; we relish the contest. Therefore we want to find and cultivate those who love the battle for justice; those who will fight over years and decades, not minutes and hours.

So, the answer to the first part of your question – are you in danger because you love battle – the answer is no. It is a part of who and what we are. As we already discussed, you are not “normal.” But I cannot stop here. I must warn you how this part of your character could cause harm to you, or those you serve.

First, you must beware that you never love fighting simply for the sake of fighting. A Dragonslayer must never cause quarrels for the mere pleasure of it. We are warriors, not brawlers. For a Dragonslayer, the purpose of the battle is to attain justice; the end we seek is the death of a Dragon. Our battles have clear objectives. A man who simply loves to brawl has no objective. He just wants to fight.

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Secondly, your love of battle must never produce in you contempt or any other ill-will toward those who do not love battle. You are fighting in part for them. And it is difficult to fight enthusiastically for those you secretly despise.

Furthermore, I am certain that it is a part of the Master’s plan that those who are Dragonslayers be aided by those they seek to help. On many occasions as I have pursued Dragons to distant lands I have been greatly aided in arms, or food, or lodging, or information by those who themselves shy away from battle, but who earnestly desire that a Dragon be dispatched. They have been a vital part of many victories.

When people follow or aid us, they must know they can trust our judgment; they must be assured that we do not view them as fodder for our conflicts, but rather that our conflict is for their protection.

For you to be trusted and respected and followed into battle, your love of battle must not be seen as a love of trouble, but rather a love of people. We pursue justice and seek to slay Dragons, because we want the oppressed to find justice, and to be free from the terrors of the Dragon. We bring honor to our Master by honoring and serving the objects of His care: people.

A man who does not love people, no matter how skilled he is in war, is not a Dragonslayer – he is a traitor.

Mark him; for the day may come when he seeks to slay you on the field of battle.

So be at rest my dear friend; it truly is our Master that teaches our hands to war, and has put a stout heart in us to love the battle. And those who have the heart of a Dragonslayer; those who love the battle, must be nurtured and matured, cared for by us, and always taught to put the love of people ahead of the love of battle.

I commend you to heaven’s care until your next post. One other matter – you mentioned the possibility of journeying to visit me while I mend. My hosts tell me that you are quite welcome here. I know it is a great distance. If you can come before winter falls, I would be overjoyed to see you. And I venture that the quite solitude this sacred place affords would be a blessing to your war weary soul.

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DragonSlayers - Letter IV Rest, Inactivity, and DĂŠtente.

Hello again, My Dear Friend.

On the very day that we began our Advent celebrations, barely after we had lit the first candle in honor of the coming of our Master, I received your post that you would not be able to join me during this Holy Season.

I must confess, the rising joy in my spirit was dampened by the news, but I understand why you have forestalled your coming. The Lord who has invited you to spend a fortnight at his castle is a noble and just man who has feared our Maker and served the poor honorably since his youth. Spending time with him will certainly refresh your soul.

Please send my greetings to him, and let him know that my "illness" was in fact an attempt on my life by those I trusted. Tell him the names of the traitors, for they are known to him; in doing so you may protect him from future designs and deceits they may employ against him as well.

The fact that he resides in the same region as so many of your kindred and lifelong friends will make this time a treble joy. Laugh long, and enjoy drinking the health of your oldest and newest acquaintances.

Allow me to use this festive time to encourage you, challenge you, and warn you. This Holy Season, unlike any other time of year has its own joys and heartaches, opportunities and dangers.

Since you have asked me to speak freely to you, I will do so now concerning three things: Rest, Inactivity, and DĂŠtente. Mark these words well, for they may spare you great heartache when you see old kindred and friends.

My own inactivity and rest during this time of convalescing has enabled me to see that there is a distinct difference between inactivity and rest. Rest can be a tremendous gift from heaven, while inactivity can eat us like a cancer; we chafe under the yoke of inactivity.

We enjoy rest after a battle; we crave respite after prolonged conflict; we love the refreshing that comes from taking off our armor and reclining at table, laughing and feasting with friends; we crave times of solitude - walks alone in the woods, or by the sea. We yearn to rest beside still waters.

But all of this is an interlude. The grand closure of the first movement must have a quiet, haunting solo from a lute or an Irish bagpipe to lead us into the next movement. The dropping of the curtain after Act One is merely a pause to prepare for Act Two. This is often how a DragonSlayer views respite: our rendezvous with peace is on a bridge between our last conflict and the next. Whether we are granted a thirty-day leave, or a three day pass, they both point back to the front.

And so at the beginning of rest after pursuing dragons, we relish the quiet. We may rest extra hours, we might sit by a lake, or we might take long walks. But after a while – when our strength has returned, our inner compass points us back to battle.

Why? Because this is how we are made. We loathe an unjust, unholy peace. And as long as Dragons are devouring virgins or terrorizing villages, we can never be at total peace or rest. It is our duty and calling to rejoin the fight.

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But moreover – should we remain out of battle for too long, we would atrophy and shrivel; we would shrink and whither and die. It may be that if we do not have the justice of a cause before us, we cease to thrive. We need to pursue justice like a great tree needs the sun and rain.

And so – even during a window of rest (like the one you are about to enjoy), we look for dragons. Even while resting or recovering from the last battle, our eyes are scanning the horizon for dragons.

Hence, we are ready in season and out of season. If some poor soul is the victim of injustice in our presence, we will rise to their defense. When a dragon raises his head, while others are ringing their hands in confusion or making plans to treat with the dragon, we arm and poise for battle. We will have identified and engaged the enemy before some men have had their first "planning meeting."

Another positive part of our nature is that we generally do not count the cost – we’ve already counted it.

We determined – long ago – that we are willing to lay down our lives in battle. We will slay dragons, or we will die on the field – the cost has already been counted, the decision is made, the last will and testament sealed.

We live with the accoutrements and mechanisms of war. We are in league with other warriors. We can spring to battle, organize troops, and engage the enemy in speedy fashion.

All this means that when people are in crisis; when the Dragon breaths hot on them or a loved one, they will seek our help. And ninety-nine times out of a hundred, we will fight for them. It is in our nature to defend people from Dragons.

Note that they don’t rush to the idle or fearful for help, or to those who criticize DragonSlayers. More ironic is that some who once criticized and dismissed us will ask us for help in their hour of need. And they will sometimes also ask for our forgiveness.

It is a strange feeling to have a man simultaneously ask for favor and forgiveness; forgiveness for thoughts held or words spoken against you that you may never have known. Their request for forgiveness is more for them more than you; for their conscience more than your consolation. Let it bless you, not grieve you.

And do all you can to help them.

Now let me bring in the note of caution of which I spoke. I would do you a disservice if I let you think that the love of battle in the bosom of every righteous warrior was always born from a pure or whole heart.

While a righteous warrior’s quest for justice should always be guided by the demands of justice in a given situation, there may often be more at work.

Too much inactivity can agitate the heart of the restless. I mentioned that peace (the absence of war) and rest are merely a bridge between conflict past and conflict future.

Some DragonSlayers are so agitated with a prolonged peace that they will create a crisis in order to resolve it. Have you ever done this?

For example, we may leave a mission to the last minute, in order to feel the thrill of danger; the challenge of conquering an insurmountable mountain against all odds.

We may be bored enough that we pursue a Dragon outside of the realm we normally fight in. Others in that realm have a charge to stand and fight, and perhaps they will. But that is irrelevant to us. We will cross national borders, with or without a passport or a visa, and we will tread (and perhaps trespass) into unfamiliar territory in order to slay a Dragon.

In situations like this, it may be unclear whether or not we should be there, and uncertain whether we will prevail. I cannot advise you whether or not you can or should pursue Dragons in many new realms – I am only telling you to weigh such journeys very carefully.

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Be careful, and if possible, plum your own heart to discern its motivation. How much of this fight is a quest for justice and how much of your desire is a simple longing for battle? And then the painful question is this: How much of your craving for battle comes from the agitation of inactivity?

Let me ask you a confusing and a very difficult question: Are you prepared to hear the Master tell you to not fight? Some of my greatest inner trials, some of the most violent wrenching in my soul came when I was commanded to not fight.

This leads me to one of the most tortuous aspects of the life of a DragonSlayer: “Détente.”

Détente is non-war; non-fighting. It is not surrender, it is not comradeship, it is not an alliance, it is just non-war. It might mean that my enemy and I both have a sword at each others’ heart, but we both do not plunge. The Dragon may have us in his squinted eyes; our sword may be crying for his icy blood, but neither the Dragon nor we make a move. He wants his life, and we want someone else's life to be spared.

So we wait. Let me explain.

We despise Dragons, and have no desire to show them mercy. But sometimes, for the love of another, you must accept a temporary détente. For example, your love of the Master outweighs your hatred of the Dragon. Somehow – in a way known clearly to you and for whatever reasons known only to Him – the Master has made clear to you that you are to keep your sword sheathed. And because you love Him more than you hate Dragons, you obey.

But even in obedience, you chafe. Don’t be surprised at your agitation. And no matter what, do as He says. Do not pursue the Dragon. The Master alone has all knowledge and power; He alone can mete out perfect justice and mercy.

Another reason you may settle (with great distress) for détente is the love of the innocent. If you pursue a Dragon, you may overtake him and prevail, but those near the Dragon may perish as the he flails in his death throws. You may decimated a family, or provoke some other calamitous side effect because of an illtimed or ill-advised attack on a Dragon. Count the cost not only for yourself, but also for those you mean to rescue, or those near the Dragon.

Détente could happen because you love someone, or a cause, or a friendship more than you hate the Dragon – and you know that if you strike the Dragon – even if you prevail, which you surely might – your action could trigger reprisals from other Dragons. Reprisals, not against you, but against the one(s) you love.

This is a DragonSlayers private hell. Striking the Dragon would be just, but it could unleash a storm of injustice completely beyond your ability to control; reprisals that you couldn’t prevent, nor avenge.

The poetic strains of our hearts can be so knit to a situation, a friend, a loved one, that if repercussions engulfed the object(s) of our love, it would tear our hearts out. It would wound and kill us to see our loved ones wounded or killed. In a very real way, to strike a Dragon in this situation is almost to strike at oneself.

To lance his heart would pierce your own.

So we freeze. We neither advance nor retreat; we neither strike, nor do we disarm. We have the Dragon within our reach – he may not even recognize the danger from which he was spared in that moment. But we do not strike because we love others more than we hate him. This restraint is strength, not weakness.

If a warrior would strike knowing the pain and calamity it could produce to the innocent, then he does not love. The desire to be right, the desire to slay Dragons, has blinded him. Dragons are slain so that the oppressed might live in freedom and peace. Not for personal glory, nor to bring personal vengeance on Dragons.

Détente is a painful reality for DragonSlayers. But we must know that we have the discipline to not strike in some circumstances. If a man would unnecessarily destroy what he cherishes in order to slay Dragons,

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he needs to lay down his arms. If he would kill everything he loves to conquer everything he hates, he is a threat to himself and others, and not fit for battle.

I took the liberty to address these issues because during this Blessed Season you are going to be at table with many souls – some who you have not seen for years – some who may be slaves to Dragons, or who may even harbor Dragons. It is not your duty to right every wrong, nor root out every injustice. Beware that you do not start a fight that leads another to suffer after you have left that realm. Do not be dismayed: those Dragons will someday be felled. All détentes are temporary; the Master has decreed that all Dragons shall ultimately fall by the Sword.

Strive to be tender, do not be provoked, and let the sacred miracle of these Glorious Holy Days shine like the sun from your face. The True Light of Freedom and Justice came with the birth of our Master.

We can give hope and faith to those in bondage, and our very presence will cause Dragons to tremble with rage and fear, for they know that their doom is certain…and that right soon.

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DragonSlayers, Letter V Grief and Glory Hello again, my good friend!

I received your post -- delivered by our mutual friend, with great relish. He brought the kind gifts from your hand: the holy relics, the scroll, and the delightful musical instrument. You must have guessed how much the relics would mean to me, due to my love of that holy place; and the scroll is one I have coveted (with a holy covetousness, I hope) for years.

The craftsmanship and inlays in the instrument were astounding – its visual beauty is only outstripped by its sound. I have rarely heard such tone; in truth, for two days I have barely ceased to play it save to sleep or eat. Even now it lies beside me while I write -- a nearly enchanted instrument, I daresay. Perhaps I shall name her…

Of truth, she (this instrument) has called forth tears of joy and sorrow from my healing heart. Even the friar -- God bless his wise, crusty soul -- had pools of tears in his eyes as he sat and listened to me play, and sing a Psalm of David. It seems as if the musical strains weave their way into and around the tapestry of a man's soul.

The music brought forth happy memories -- long forgotten -- and revived hopes for the days ahead; and -- I pray it is for my further recovery -- I found myself surrounded by memories of grief and regret; scars long forgotten. Perhaps my musical musings will be of service to you – I pray it is so.

I was sad to read of the heartache you endured from old friends and family while you resided at the great castle during Advent. I knew you had high hopes of it being a time of on alloyed joy and refreshment. I'm truly sorry to hear of the harsh words that passed from the lips of those you counted friends in your youth.

And your sorrow and confusion was palpable as recounted your unexpected encounter with the "lost love" of your youth. I know her family -- and I have heard of her delightful beauty -- as well as her acid tongue.

Evidently the reality is equal to the rumor!

There will always be those who challenge your honor, question your motives, belittle your intentions, and nay say your goals; it is a part of our lot that when we enter the Coliseum as it were, the stands explode with hostile verbiage.

But those same words -- when tuned by the voices of the family and friends from the haunts of our youth -those words and voices are most painful. For in truth, they know the sins of our youths, our folly, and the mishaps and missteps of our early years. Their accusations -- whether true or false -- sting the most, because their very voice sounds the first note in the dirges we hear in our souls.

Her voice is not an echo -- it is a canon of first cause; the very source of the echoes that resound in our soul.

To see, to hear, to touch those with whom we share a painful or joyful or a mingled past is to swim in the very fountain of our youth. The ice and heat can be shocking.

I've pondered this much over the years; let me comfort and advise you. Take these words to heart, and let the bitter-cold words of old acquaintances melt away.

First, our master warned great DragonSlayers had honor everywhere -- except in his own town -- the village of his youth. It is there that they hold us in contempt, for all the reasons I mentioned.

But worse -- they often hold themselves in contempt. That is why they are unkind to you.

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After all, you have left; they have stayed. You have pursued dragons; they may have settled for an unjust peace. Your successes, your valor, you're daring, they all rise before them in their mind as accusers of their mediocrity.

They don't know that you hold them in fond memory (as you clearly indicated in your letter to me); or that you would take them in an instant with you into another realm; they have no idea the lengths to which you would go to help them in any way that you could -- simply from love of a common past. They falsely imagine that you hold them in contempt, so they respond in kind. They are trapped in a cruel prison of the mind.

But beyond that -- and now I speak with precision about the mysterious workings of our souls, so mark these words well -- the reason their unkind words vex us so is because our soul is constantly attended by the grief of our past, as well as the glories we have enjoyed. They fancy that we bask in perpetual glory; they have no idea about the troubling voices that rise with the moon in our soul.

Like some mystical Celtic wine, our hearts are an inseparable blend of grief and glory.

For example: for us to return to the land of our youth -- as you did -- and have a venerable, gray bearded instructor take us aside and praise us -- recounting his pride over our past and our present -- this gives us great joy. It is a glory.

In like manner, to have an older neighbor who we remembered fondly dismiss us, or childhood friend accuse us, or a lost love berate us -- this can ignite a furnace of grief. Shame, humiliation, disgrace -- based in real or perceived experiences -- this is the timber that fuels the flame.

And in truth, we are prey to this grief, because this furnace always lies warm and ready within us -- the embers still hot from the times we have berated or accused ourselves. Their meanness of their accusations dwarf when compared to our own.

And so, the courtyard of our soul is at once entertained and haunted by the minstrels of grief and glory.

They sing, they dance -- sometimes together as if husband and wife; sometimes at war as if implacable foes; in whatever costume they come -- the minstrels of grief and glory lead us on.

We move from Cathedral to catacombs effortlessly; here ascending heights of glory, now descending ravines of grief. We don’t live our lives on plain or plateau. We can’t; it is not in us to do so.

We climb and descend the howling peaks and the wild valleys of life, exploring them to the fullest. Even now I recall a man who once told me he got dizzy just from talking with me, because we plunged into depths and ascended heights so fast and furiously.

Our journey generally finds us on one of three mountain ranges; Past, Present, and Future. Your age will in part determine which mountain range you traverse more.

If you are young, you will tend to be more agitated and excited about the Present and the Future; the past holds little currency. Your mission, your duty, that fire of valor that burns within you cries out in a loud voice: “Where are the dragons!” Your prayers, your musings, and your sacred daydreams all point towards the battles that yet lie before you.

If, due to the nature, your days are few, you will journey to the mountains of the Past more frequently, communing internally with friends, reliving battles with foes. The times in the present are often spent preparing for the next life, and perhaps leaving behind some level of instruction for family, friends, and young dragon slayers who will be left behind.

If you are in your middle years, you tend to live on all three ranges -- Past, Present and Future, all at once.

Let me focus on this for just a moment -- for it is where most DragonSlayers spend the majority of their years.

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Our connection to grief and glory is not merely like armor that we clad or remove; the life of grief and glory is part of the essence of who we are; part of the air we breathe, the meat we eat, the nectar we drink.

We muse on past conquests and courageous stands, the moments of courage and wisdom - the victories – and we look back with earnest gladness. Thank Heaven for the honor of such valuable memories. We glory.

But for some reason, we can just as quickly turn to the heartaches, heartbreaks, and bad judgments -- the times we fell prey to our own dragons-- and we plunge from the rocky heights of glory into a chasm of sadness. “If only I would have…” and “I wish I wouldn’t have…” These thoughts and a hundred “could have, should have” scenarios rack our souls.

We tend to live our lives in the framework of great poetic romances, tragedies and comedies - all simultaneously. Our memories of the past, our assessments of the present, and our projections of the future, can come to us with such dizzying speed that we grow excited, then forlorn -- hopeful, then despairing -- faster than most people clothe themselves for a day's labor.

The future for us can be exhilarating and terrifying. Exhilarating because we can picture the pursuit and conquest of dragons; we can feel the thrill of battle; we can taste the danger; we can feel the fierce heat of the dragon as we get close enough to strike; we can imagine the felling blow – delivered in a thousand different ways; we can see the dragon stumble and lurch and fall, writhing in a mighty death throe.

We see ourselves standing with one foot on the slain dragon’s head – our chest heaving as we gasp for breath, our sword held high as a sign of our triumph and our defiance to all dragons.

We can see it, hear it, feel it, smell it, and taste it – all in our minds. This vision helps propel us to battle. It emboldens us.

But with equal force of imagination, we can see and hear and feel and smell and taste defeat. Not just defeats in one battle, but being held hostage for years, maybe for life, by the evil dragons we face -- or worse yet -- by one of our own dragons.

We are old enough to know that the dragons of yonder hill command respect as much as contempt -- simply by virtue of the fact that they can do so much damage to life and limb. But in some ways, we have a far more visceral reaction -- yay, even a fear -- to the dragons within. We know the threat that our own demons pose to us. We see the pain of the past, and we project that pain into the future.

Or, we simply fear the day when we cannot fight; a day when our strength abandons us, mental prowess forsakes us, and we are left the captive of our human frailties. To not be able to fight dragons in some wayeven as an ancient oracle - a venerable gray head sought for advice – to not be of use in the Great Conflict is worse than death.

And we fear dying alone. This is perhaps the blackest fear of all DragonSlayers - the fear of dying alone.

Not alone in some glorious battle, but alone because our dragons, our decisions, our missteps drove away our companions – or alienated us from our children and family – those who loved us; or because all our comrades simply died before we did.

I don’t want to die alone.

All of this is to say that we can live in the glory and grief of the future in vibrant living colors, with music – such as comes from this beautiful instrument you gave me - that shakes our very soul. We can taste the joy of victory and the bitterness of defeat before we even reach the battlefield. Our ability to “see” helps us discipline ourselves, hone ourselves, and focus ourselves to reach our objectives.

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Permit me just a few more thoughts about the years we possess. The younger DragonSlayer wonders how many battles he or she will enjoy. The older DragonSlayer wonders how many battles he has left.

The older the DragonSlayer, the more he looks not only for dragons – but if he is wise, he looks for younger DragonSlayers that he can train to fight. When he confronts a dragon, if he is wise, he doesn’t want to do it alone, but with younger DragonSlayers, so that they can see him in action, learn from his strengths and weaknesses, and be trained how to confront evil with valor and precision.

An old DragonSlayer who does not seek to train the younger is as foolish as he is selfish. It grieves me to say so, but it is true: I have met many a DragonSlayers in my lifetime who was valiant and skilled -- but unwilling to train and serve the next generation of DragonSlayers. Whatever his motivation – insecurity, pride, fear of being “upstaged” as they say in the theater - whatever his reasons – he is doing a great disservice to the Master’s Kingdom, and is even (in my opinion) unwittingly giving aid to the dragons. (If he dies, who has he trained to replace him? If his post is vacant -- the dragons will rejoice.)

By contrast, a young DragonSlayer is looking for conflict with dragons, trying to discern where and when to engage the dragon in battle. But if he is wise, he also seeks to avoid those hideous traps that have consumed other DragonSlayers. But perhaps most importantly -- if he is wise beyond his years -- he yearns for those who are seasoned in battle to help train him.

This is what you have done; and it is why I am being transparent with you. Enough about age -- it will overtake us all. Allow me to move to a couple more topics before I close this letter -- and return to this beautiful instrument you gave me!

As I alluded, there is a debilitating side to the ability to “see” the future.

Sometimes... we are wrong. Very wrong.

Let us be honest: most of our fears never come to pass. Many of the glorious battles we have fought or will yet fight do not unfold the way we thought they would or should.

We must be very careful that unreasonable hopes or fears of the future do not adversely affect our judgment and plans in the present.

This leads me to the most painful mountain range of grief and glory: the Present.

The present for us is always the most tempestuous. Why? Because our minds work at such a furious pace.

The grief and glory of the Past, and the uncertain grief and glory of the Future, collide in our soul in the Present.

Our griefs and regrets of the past can make us fearful for the future. Or, our fond memories of past joys and glories can make us unreasonable in hopes for the future. This can make the present turbulence and unstable -- or worse -- a private hell.

Because we are seers -- visionaries, some have called us -- we see ourselves playing a leading role on the stage of past, present, and future dramas; epic conflicts, gut wrenching tragedies, bitter-sweet romances, irony and comedy- we heave with laughter and convulse with tears all on the continuum of past, present and future dramas – each pulsing in turn with grief and glory.

It’s like riding three separate horses, in three separate competitions, with each horse going both directions (grief or glory) at the same time. As you can see, it has the capacity to tear us apart from the inside out -like being drawn and quartered by horses to which we have willingly tied our limbs.

The sad part of this is that if we are not careful, when we are in the midst of a great and glorious battle, we can't focus on (and dare I say, enjoy?) the moment fully. We instead think ahead to when the battle won’t be. Or we think back to other joyful moments that we wish would have lasted forever -- but are gone -- and it pains us that this blessed moment will also be gone soon.

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Of these two intoxicants of the soul -- for this is what they surely are, if allowed to rule us without control - grief is the most debilitating. Let me explain.

If a man is intoxicated with past successes and glories, he may swagger and he may boast; but one wellplaced slash on his face from an enemy's claw will bring all of his prowess and skill into sharp focus; his prudence will usually outweigh his pride, and he will remember that he is but dust. In that moment, most DragonSlayers will come to their senses, and quit themselves properly.

This proves an axiom I often tell young men in training: It is easier to temper a bold man, then to embolden a timid man.

The man intoxicated with glory is bold to a fault, but he can be tempered. The counsel of friends, the slash of an enemy, the sudden remembrance of his own frailty -- all of these can be an antidote to the folly of intoxication from glory.

But when a man is intoxicated in his soul by grief, his judgment and vision are clouded with tears of sorrow, and he may welcome death more than life.

And hence, he will view the slash on his face from the enemy's claw as a promise of deliverance rather than a pronouncement of danger. Rather than flee death, he may welcome it; his grief will carve out his heart, and run him incapable of making war on the dragons.

Surely you have worn this terrible garland of emotion; not unto self-destruction necessarily, but in such a way that clarity of grief seizes the moment and clouds the future. We see the beautiful flower in our hand already wilted; we shed tears for a past we lost while we are yet in the middle of enjoying it; we stand peering into a grave not yet dug; grieving the loss all of the love yet alive. It can be a hateful curse.

The antidote for the intoxicant of grief is one that must be repeatedly administered to our souls by us.

For the past griefs and regrets prompted by our own folly -- we must find solace and comfort in the Master’s mercy. Here alone lies hope. And then, of course, the DragonSlayer must forgive himself (which can be much harder) for his failings. For griefs outside our control, we must forgive those who have wronged us, we must let go of hopes that died, and we must learn from poor the judgments of ourselves and others that we loved. We must be instructed by opportunities lost or misspent.

In that way, our griefs for the past can act as our tutors -- rather than our tormentors -- in the present and the future; and when possible we can also help others to avoid the same valleys of weeping.

Concerning glory, let the victories and joys of the past be a blessing to you. Relish them, but don’t live in them. Don’t let them go, but neither let them mar the present by constantly comparing “then” and “now”.

Let them serve you by giving you confidence, but not arrogance. What battle do you have before you now?

What comrades now? What opportunities now? Focus on those. Love those. Enjoy those.

As to the future, the Master’s instructions are clear: don’t fear. The only grace for future terrors is the grace to leave them alone. Yes, we should plan; yes, we should assess where a current course of action will take us.

But when you are gripped with fear or dread, or when you are certain of victory and prosperity, open your hands and hold them up to heaven. Both your fears and your confidences may be misplaced. Only our Maker knows the future, and He can give you the grace to open your hands, surrender the future, and leave it in His hands.

The most difficult place to apply these antidotes is the present. As the past and the future bear in on us we can feel under siege. We forget – today is yesterday’s future, and tomorrows past. We once yearned for

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this day – or dreaded its coming. And generally the days are not as dreadful as we feared, nor as beautiful as we hoped.

If this is a time of grief, commune with the Master at the point of your grief. Don’t look forward or backward, look upward. Don’t waste your sorrows. Let them enlarge you, make you more tender and caring, let them make you supple, not bitter.

And when you are in times of joy, don’t spoil the moment by false or real comparisons. Savor the moment.

At times you must silence the voices of past and future, and listen to the birds that are singing now. Revel in it. Embrace it. Hold the flower of the moment in your bosom; consume the feast before you. Then in the future it will be a blessed memory, having force and strength, rather than being diluted because it was overly mingled with the wines of the past and future on the day it was poured forth.

Remember this: wine is never made from the grapes of three harvests; only one; only the present season’s grapes are crushed. Enjoy the fruit of this season; squeeze out every drop of the fruit of the vine that you can.

I close with this. All DragonSlayers know those raucous moments in a seemingly unassailable haven of hope. We know that all will be well. Defeat is inconceivable. We see clearly, and we think clearly, and we are certain we will think clearly the rest of our lives.

We also know those tumultuous moments when we are caught in a tortured torrent of despair, when we believe the rescue of our soul is impossible. We are convinced that we shall spend our days in darkness, in a dungeon of dread, beyond hope of redemption.

Both extremes are mere fantasy.

The haven and the torrent, as well as the overstated sense of victory and defeat they bring are a part of a life marked by Grief and Glory, as we traverse the Mountains and Valleys of Past, Present, and Future; it is simply the nature of our journey.

And because you are called to be a DragonSlayer, you keep marching. You keep moving. You are weary, yet in pursuit of the dragon. The havens and torrents will come and go, come and go – because you will come and go through them. They are part of your landscape – but only part.

The heart and soul of your life is to cling to the heart and soul of your Master. Reach out your wounded hand to take a hold of his wounded hand. In his wounds, you will find healing in life.

The minstrels -- the apparitions -- of Grief and Glory, I have learned to allow them to have their moment. I neither bid them enter, but nor do I bid them stay. They come and go with a sound, a smell, a name, a dream. Do not overexert yourself to keep them out, and surely do not seek to imprison them in your soul.

Perhaps one day we can render them as powerless as a mouse, by letting them come and go without effect.

So now, I bid you farewell. As to the very heartrending words you spoke to me about your father, I have deliberately not addressed them. It appears to me that the pain you have disclosed is so significant, that I needed to first discuss grief and glory with you as a foundation for a further letter concerning your father.

When the time is right, I will share with you some similar experiences, and the painful lessons I have learned, which you may find very helpful. Know that there is hope.

In the meantime, I bid you our Master's peace, and the promise to hold you in my heart and remember you in my intentions before the altar. I ask you for the same. I remain your affectionate servant, and await your next post.

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DragonSlayers - Letter VI Why do DragonSlayers Seem to Have So Few Friends?

Greetings to you again, my dear friend!

I have received your most recent letter, again with great joy.

As to your question -- yes, I meant every word about the musical instrument you sent to me. In fact, I now call the Blessed thing "her" and have in fact named her; I now call her Guinevere. (I trust you are not scandalized by the obvious poetry of this naming.)

I truly believe that my convalescing has proceeded quicker -- in both body and soul -- as a result of the music that has poured out of me, due in great part to the gift you sent me. My spirits are up; and my body is mending.

It has struck me with great force, that although the great DragonSlayer King David (of sacred writ -- who felled Goliath) was warrior and champion and king, it was his music that brought him to court; his music that drove out tormenting spirits; and it is his music -- at least his lyrical content -- that is sung in well-nigh every holy service we have for the living or the dead.

David sang of what has become my plight -- of those close to him trying to slay him. To sing (with grief at the treachery and with thanks for the deliverance) is both balm and elixir for my soul. Again, I thank you for Guinevere. Long life to you, my friend.

But now to your recent letter.

I am pained -- but not surprised -- that the grief and conflict you endured during your Advent visit to your home country is still with you. Or more precisely, the questions and soul-searching your experience provoked are still close enough to the surface of your soul to overflow through your quill, and onto your parchment.

It is a curious fact of our nature -- but totally true -- that even though we risked death by the sword of great foes, or being devoured by deadly dragons, the greatest sea of pain and grief to the DragonSlayer usually comes from those who are no threat to our physical well-being.

Those who pain us the most will never draw swords against us; they will never charge us with a lance; nor will they ever breathe fire at us or seek to devour our body. Nevertheless, kith and kin may be the greatest danger to us, for while they may not pierce our flesh -- they can surely pierce our soul. They may never slay us, but they might enslave us -- not in body -- but something far more incapacitating: a prison of the mind, heart, and soul.

So my first advice to you, my friend, is that you do not fret over much. And do not think some strange thing has happened to you. Be at ease, and beware of the inner dread that you are somehow to blame for their cruelty and unkindness.

Your temptation to blame yourself was evident in your most forlorn question: you asked, "Why do DragonSlayers seem to have so few friends?�

The question is complex, and so my answer to you will cover several regions of mind and soul; most of the answers are simple, but not easy to bear. Let me proceed apace, and lead your anxious mind beside what I trust will be calming waters.

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First of all, your question has within it a part of my answer. "Why do DragonSlayers seem to have so few friends?� Whether you meant to or not, you uncovered part of the answer: it is far more of a perception than a reality. Even as I answer the question, we will see that we also must define friendship in a way that perhaps you have forgotten. But before we focus on such nuances, let me lay bare the facts as I have grown to see them.

First, we have few friends because of the way we view life and the world around us. We see almost everything in terms of good and evil; we function comfortably and aggressively in the world of black and white; we perceive the overall scheme of right versus wrong in everything. Hence, for us, there is no neutrality.

This wearies those unaccustomed to war. They simply cannot keep pace with us in heart, soul, and mind.

And if they have run with footmen and grown weary, how can they run against horses?

In truth, those in discussion are anxious for their daily bread, and ponder ways to secure their provision.

We -- on the other hand -- are anxious for the welfare and justice of those who grind bread, and ponder ways to secure their freedom (if they are enslaved.)

The average soul -- clasped firmly in the shackles of self-love and mediocrity -- is forever consumed by what will benefit and sustain them. The DragonSlayer is consumed by quest for justice, and by what will benefit the truth, and sustain the oppressed.

The DragonSlayer only need hear once of a grave evil; he need only hear once of an oppressive tyrant; and his mind begins to work on what to do to right this wrong. On confirming the facts, we can weave this knowledge of oppression into the ongoing struggle of our cosmos, and the duty of honor.

And then -- again, almost without thinking -- we begin to imagine, then strategize, and then execute plans to engage -- or at least expose the enemies of truth and justice, life and freedom.

Many dear souls who watch us in this process also see the injustice, but they're shackled by fear. Others still are consumed with sorrow from a tragedy that has befallen them, and are therefore unable to rouse themselves to aid their fellow creature. While others -- and I fear that this group encompasses a great many souls -- care mainly for their own comforts and pleasures. They've talked themselves -- for many years of disciplined neglect -- to not allow the sufferings of the innocent to interrupt their pursuit of merriment and mirth.

And so we become disturbers of the peace. Many a good man or woman are content to bemoan the evils that befall others, while never imagining that they have a duty to intervene against such evil. Think with me on this: many are prepared to enjoy a warm mug of grog with neighbors, gathered at the hearth of a local inn, and there bewail the evils that corrupt and mar the horizons of this life.

But they are content to leave those disturbing subjects of conversation, while leaving the evils themselves completely intact -- unchallenged and unconquered. In conversation, as well as in life, they can flit about from the murderous to the mundane, for both have equal interest to them, and neither lays hold of their soul.

The proof is in this: if the happiness of the hearth at which they are gathered is threatened by a discussion growing to impassioned for the comfort of all present, they will happily cease; if a man leaning on the mantle is offended by declarations not to his liking concerning the suffering innocent, or the crimes of a tyrant, they are all prepared -- for the sake of harmonious fellowship -- to forsake that line of discussion, as well as forsake the innocent who suffer under the heel of that tyrant.

This distresses -- even enrages us. For us, truth and justice are paramount -- not the happiness and shallow harmony of the hearth. We are quite content to divide a room if need be for the sake of justice. Because we fear our Maker more than we fear man, we put duty and honor ahead of a harmonious hearth and we will

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verbally defend the innocent -- to the chagrin of those content to leave them forsaken on the cruel highways of injustice.

And beyond taking a stand for truth and justice, we want others to declare their solidarity with the innocent; we call to the better angels of our neighbors and families -- asking them to stand with us as sentinels for the truth and for the innocent. We insist (by our very lives) that people choose sides.

But of course -- and this is the very thing that quickly limits our circle of friends -- they know that our defense of the innocent will quickly involve more than words.

We are not content to simply draw sides; we draw battle plans; and ultimately, we must draw swords. We must fight for the truth; we must rush to the help of the innocent in some real, tangible way. And for those close to us -- whether in relationship, or within earshot -- they fear that we will call upon them to join us in this crusade.

And they probably can already see (or at least they fear) -- due to the force of logic and the justice of the cause before them -- that our mission is a universal mission. In other words, all people have a duty to act. If that is so, they therefore have an obligation to join the battle at some level.

Hence, the cautious and timid shy from us, because they fear we’ll try to recruit them into our cause. Some of them are terrified of any conflict. Others are afraid of what people from their hamlet or clan will think and say about them. A few are afraid they’ll like the life of a DragonSlayer -- but they know what horrible disruption it could bring to every area of their lives, so they shrink back from battle, and from us.

Now, you and I both know that neither we -- nor our Master -- expect all of these dear souls to actually clad themselves with armor, mount a steed, and ride with us into battle. They do not have the strength nor the mettle; and just between you and I -- they would be a pain in our saddle to tend to during the privations of a war.

Yes, some of them -- even as we proclaim the justice of a cause -- some of them will hear the trumpet blast in their soul -- a call to arms. They will beat their plowshares into swords, and ride forth with us -- no matter what the cost. It is our duty -- by passion, clarity, truth and example -- to beckon them forth into their calling, and to train and lead them, and thereby serve truth, justice and the cause of the innocent to the best of our ability.

But others will not forsake their plowshares, nor should they.

No, our desire and their duty are far simpler: we simply want their heart, their prayers, and declaration of support for the justice to the innocent. And more to the point -- we want their unflinching support and fealty to us (as long as we are faithful to justice) as we seek to slay dragons, and secure justice for the oppressed.

Please mark this carefully -- the issue is not simply if they will publicly align themselves with a cause; in their relationship with that cause -- will they align themselves publicly with you?

You see, my friend, the timid have gathered at a hearth when you were not present and listened to others deride you unfairly -- yet they did not defend you. Now for them to publicly befriend you is to call down on themselves the judgment of their "friends"; the judgment they heard poured out on you. They don’t want to be associated with you – even though they agree with you – because of the curse of cowardice. (I don’t mean to be unkind – but as I have written you, cowardice is a cursed taskmaster.) And it is the duty to stand with you that they must embrace.

Once you have taken a clear stand on an issue – once you have put on your armor and drawn your sword, raising your banner for such and such a battle -- you become the embodiment of that cause. You are the flesh and blood representation of the side of justice and truth. If someone will not identify with you for fear or jealousy or any other reason, then they will not long identify with your cause. They will not risk the

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contempt of their neighbors by standing for innocent strangers, because they will not risk contempt for someone they know, or at least know of by name.

I know what I am about to tell you is hard to bear, but once you show your colors as a DragonSlayer, and you rise to fight some dragon, you are marked; marked by your family, your village and your province; marked by meddling men and women who traffic in rumors; marked by bards and criers; and perhaps – for good or ill – marked by the knights and dukes and sheriffs of the whole kingdom.

Some mark you as a hero, fighting for what is right. Others mark you as a troublemaker, desiring the affection of young maidens, and the attention of rabble-rousers. Some will question your wits. No matter what, you are marked. And as such, you will be praised and ridiculed – openly and secretly.

And without question – you are marked by Dragons. You will be known on earth; and you will be known in Hades. And there, you will be marked for attack. (Fear not; the angels fighting at your left hand and right are mightier than the scions of the Netherworld.)

So, to bring this all back to the question about having friends - for some of those who might watch our fate from afar or close at hand, it is frightening.

So when a timid acquaintance of yours, or a new “friend” comes beside you -- who is wrestling in the core of his soul about his own duty -- when they pull you secretly aside so no one knows they’re speaking with you, and they advise you on how to tone things down, or change your battle plan, or why such and such a cause is not winnable, and will only hurt you in the long run if you fight…and then they ask you to keep this conversation between just you two, remember this: They are a splintered reed that will pierce your hand if you lean on it.

The great Musa, who received the sacred tablets on the flaming mount, written with the finger of the Almighty, gave distinct orders concerning the fearful in times of battle. The Almighty – through him – commanded that all who were afraid of battle be sent home. They were actually forbidden to fight, by reason of their fear, because their fear could spread through the camp, and weaken the hearts of their brothers. A man in the grip of fear has a hard time wielding spear and sword.

So, if you are to stay clear of those in bondage to fear, this will limit your friends. But trust me – it is for your own good.

Isn't this odd? I began by explaining why you would not have certain people as your friends. Now I’m telling you why you are better off without them as your friends. Nevertheless, when they are part of the tapestry of our youth, it is still difficult to bear seeing them fade away from us in the grey twilight.

Now, it should be clear to you that it is difficult for DragonSlayers to have many close friends because of their fear.

People fear our vision, they fear a call to action, they fear division and disapproval, they fear being marked, but perhaps most of all; they fear us.

Everything I have said up until now deals primarily with reasons people are afraid of you because of a lack of courage within them to stand for truth and justice. While painful to us, it does not bear in on the quality of our character. Their reasons cannot be altered by you, without peril to your life or soul.

However, what I'm about to tell you rests squarely on you.

This final reason why some dragon slayers have so few friends is the fault -- whether perceived or real -- of the DragonSlayer himself. I pray you ponder this -- at great length, and with earnest devotion.

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Some dear souls who are not DragonSlayers are often in quiet terror of us. Not all, but some. Here’s why.

They know who we are. They know what we are. We are DragonSlayers, through and through. And they know (by reputation, or by witnessing for themselves) what we do when we find a dragon. We draw our swords.

And some of them know what they hide inside themselves – dragons. Others -- who simply have genuine questions -- are afraid of approaching us for fear that we will mistake their honest inquiry as being in league with dragons.

Sometimes those who love and respect us are terrified of getting too close to us. They fear that if they whisper the wrong word about an issue, we will see it as a whisper of smoke from a hidden dragon’s nostril and we’ll spring to arms against them.

And some are genuinely held hostage to their own dragons; they grieve, they weep, and they pray -seeking deliverance. Their very interior is a scar-filled room, marred by the vestiges of hand-to-hand battle, agonizing conflict, torment and torture. But their interior battle rages on; they have neither surrendered, nor found total victory.

So -- part of them wants to be near us, because we give them hope that dragons may be conquered. But part of them is terrified of us: they’ve seen us in battle, and they fear us making war on them.

This brings me to the heart of the matter -- one that is critical to Maker and man. Can people trust us with their mistakes? With their doubts? Their fears? Their failures and sins? I'm not suggesting that you play the role of a friar and hear confessions, because it is not in your power to absolve.

Nevertheless, can people trust you with their failures and know that you will not draw your sword on them?

Can you see them without slaying their dragons?

Remember, as I told you in another letter, sometimes our personal dragons become so enmeshed with us, that to suddenly slay my dragon would be to slay me – to slay hope, to slay redemption. There are people who fear you because they fear that you’ll pounce on their dragon before they’re ready to separate from their dragon, and you’ll kill them in the process.

This is where we must remember the words of the great DragonSlayers who first wrote the phrase, “The Sword of the Truth.” He solemnly warned us that as we dealt with those wrestling with dark forces, we must remember ourselves -- and therefore do with them gently. Remember -- you, I, all our friends – most of those we know, except for the holiest of saints - we all have struggles or dragons at war within us, whether of the mind, the flesh, the heart or the soul.

For someone to be your friend, they must know that you love him or her – not just that you hate his or her dragon. This is where we must learn to be warrior and medic; DragonSlayer and surgeon, able to slowly, tenderly, carefully separate the warring from their struggles. And at times we must recognize that some little dragons may never be conquered in certain people, but we are loving and loyal enough to not draw our swords on their dragon. We remain that person’s friend.

I know that in some ways this is an untenable stress to maintain, a balance that cannot be kept. How can we be DragonSlayers, and not slay dragons?

The perfect illustration of this paradigm is of course our Master. The Prince of Glory, the King of all DragonSlayers is our example.

He is perfectly holy, and irreversibly committed to destroying all dragons. And yet he was so gracious and kind; so approachable and merciful, the prostitutes, tax collectors (God knows I hate them), and sinners of all kinds felt safe in his presence.

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They touched him, they held him, they kissed his feet and clung to him; they invited him to their homes, to their parties, and to the very center of their lives -- in spite of what they had done, and who he was. It brings tears to my eyes as I ponder this; I pray it does to you as well. Do "sinners" invite us to their parties?

The point is clear my friend. If everyone dreads us, something is wrong with us. We must learn to show love and mercy – not to dragons – but to those who have dragons deeply or inseparably attached to them.

Always remember that you too have been fighting certain dragons from your youth until now. Our Master has not left you nor forsaken you. No matter what, he has kept you – with and in the very wounds he received making war on The Prince of all dragons.

Allow me to close this letter by looking with surgical precision on what exactly is a friend. You may find that you have more friends than you know, or -- God forbid -- you may find that some who you are certain our friends are in fact not.

Let us go back to the hearth. Do you really believe that all of those gathered there to laugh and feast and drink together -- and know each other by name -- are in fact friends?

Acquaintances, yes. Co-laborers in the field, yes. They share common stories, common landscapes, and often times, common lords. But does that make them friends? Listen to the banter -- how shallow it is -and ask if this is the stuff that makes inseparable bonds.

Everyone is comfortable with the shallowness, because everybody knows the rules -- nobody is going to divide the room, make a call to action, or declare certain dragons and tyrants worthy of destruction. With these rules, they have the appearance of having a large circle of friends.

But now let us use a different definition friendship; let us define a friend as someone who will open home, purse, and storehouse to us without reservation in our hour of crisis.

Now, how many of those lads and lasses at the hearth actually have even one friend in their midst? As long as life is good, they are content to be alone -- without true friends -- in a group of people that they claim as friends. For some, they choose being alone in a group to being alone in solitude. This is their choice, but we should not mistake it for friendship.

And let us go a step further: our Master said, “Greater love has no one than this -- that a man would lay down his life for his friends.” Like a distant echo of the virtue of courage, for you and another person to be friends means that you would lay down your life for each other. This is a glory; and honorable, venerable fortress of the human soul.

And with that, I bid you to comfort yourself. For I'm certain that you have two or three such friends, and that you are such a friend to them. If indeed you have those who will open home, purse, and storehouse to you -- and if need be, lay down the very life for you -- then you are a wealthy man; a man who has friends.

I count you my friend; and I pray that even though many miles now separate us, and perhaps will for most of our lives, that our friendship service is an impenetrable castle -- a place of refuge -- for each of us.

Until we correspond again, I remain your faithful servant…and friend.

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DragonSlayers - Letter VII Being Wrong About Friends and Enemies Hello Young Warrior!

I have received (again with joy) your latest post.

During this season -- between Epiphany and Lent – I have found myself in steady reflection on our nature, as well as decisions I have made in wisdom, or in folly.

I’m trying to assess the costs of my battles and choices thus far, and count the cost for the battles that await me when I finish my healing. This season has made me more tempered, slower to speak, and quicker to listen.

Even though false friend and true foe have exacted a toll from my body and soul, I declare my readiness (with Heaven's help) to pay whatever price I must to see as many more dragons slain as possible – either at my hand, or perhaps by the hand of those I help to train for war.

Most of all, when I face our Master, I desperately want to hear his approval for how I used the talents with which he bequeathed me. I want – more than I want life itself – to hear his orchestral voice announce, "Well done, my friend; you have been a just and faithful DragonSlayer. Enter into the joy I have prepared for you."

Those words -- should I have the joy to hear them in the next life -- will make all the hardships and sufferings of this present darkness light and transitory. Our difficulties are but for a moment; our rewards for faithfulness are eternal. If only I could remember those truths when I am tempted to be troubled or protest over hardship and want! But alas, the years have taught me that it is easier to slay the dragons without then dispatch the dragons within.

And now to your letter.

I rejoice with you that you healed any breach (more perceived than real) that existed between you and the Great DragonSlayer from the Pict province. He is a magnificent man -- full of valor, hospitable to the just, gracious to the poor, and intolerant of oppression and tyrants.

I've had the joy of reclining at table with him on several occasions at his table and mine, and the honor of fighting alongside him in two great conflicts whose legends’ grow larger with each passing year. Of truth; in the first battle, he saved my life; in the second, I his. In memory of these triumphs, when we raise a glass together, he will declare: “We exact no debt!” To which I reply, “No account is owed!” Then, with thankful mirth, we announce in unison, “A toast then! All debts are paid in full!”

Thank you for stirring these happy memories. But now to your letter.

As you now know -- both from my testimony -- and surely from your own time with him -- this great DragonSlayer is every whit as wise and courageous as you now hold him.

And now it follows -- to your terrible remorse, how your past opinion of him was largely misinformed. I could hear your regret; the smitten state of your heart -- when you lamented, "How could I have been so mistaken about such an excellent man?"

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I wish (for my sake) that I could indeed answer from a place of ignorance or astonishment; "Yes, how could you have been so mistaken?!" But alas, I cannot. I too trespassed against the character and intentions of great men and women.

I pray this fresh found fellowship between you and he will permit you to step back and reassess other fine men and women you may currently view askance. And more importantly -- and this is where I shall aim my quill right now -- I pray you are able to find freedom from the foolish and arrogant judgments passed against honorable fellows by those who are not worthy to untie their sandals.

With Heaven as my witness -- I speak now with a razor sharp tongue -- in my youth, I too was marred for a season in my judgment of valiant men due to the prejudicial instruction of my mentors. In the fundamentals of grammar, logic, and rhetoric, they served me well. But in instructing and exemplifying discernment, they in fact did my soul harm -- as others have done to you. They gave me unworthy and hence inaccurate rendition of the beliefs and character of those who were not in full communion with us.

Tragically, this handicap of our training is doubled by the force of our character and the predisposition we have to hold all opinions fiercely. In my youth -- I fear (as my Jester has often taunted me) -- that my motto could have truly been: Often in error, Never in doubt.

And so -- to this day -- as you have just learned, when we are wrong... we are very wrong. And worse yet: when we are wrong, we are almost never wrong alone. We lead others into our folly.

Because of our nature, when we identify the enemy, we launch an attack. We can be merciless and exacting. Whether this enemy be man or dragon, creed or decree, we use all of our mental prowess, rhetorical skills, battle training, knowledge of history, love of Truth, logic, and every other weapon at our disposal to dispatch the enemy.

The problem is – as you have just found – sometimes the “enemy” is really an ally. At times our early training -- may God forgive our instructors -- did not properly train us to distinguish between servants of the dragon and DragonSlayers.

Or worse yet: at times (I say once more, May God forgive our instructors) the ill-advised or misguided in our Master's camp have wrongly trained us to label someone an enemy who is actually a potential ally; they simply serve the Master in another tongue, with traditions strange to our mind and taste.

I can even report – heaven forgive their reckless folly -- that a few of the more rash and misguided of the Master’s camp have wrongly trained us to slay the Master’s Servants who serve Him in another tongue.

Unfortunately, my own early experience was marred by this thoughtlessness. My deliverance from these shackles of thought came in a most unexpected manner. Let me relate it to you, in hopes of strengthening the newly found liberty of your mind and soul.

My expeditions into enemy territory have on occasion resulted in me being a prisoner, held in wretched dungeons. (Thank God, I was not given up to the gallows; my release was always negotiated.)

I know the baseness and humiliation of being stripped and searched; of surrendering my fathers’ honorable name for a moniker of contempt; of being harassed and belittled by jail keepers whose fathers I would not deign to keep my herds. (And thank heaven, I've known honorable jail-keeps who treated the prisoners in their charge with dignity, in spite of the abject circumstances.)

In those imprisonments, I found myself shackled with those who I had been taught to believe were my enemies. To my amazement – and to my shame and the shame of those who taught me – I found these fellow prisoners to be allies, friends, and fellow DragonSlayers.

As you might imagine, this was perplexing - and the cause of much anxiety. At first I held them at a distance in my heart -- due to my prejudice. But as the days wore on, chained together as we were, boredom and proximity – mingled with curiosity – slowly opened a great hall in our hearts for communion between

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us. My chains led to my freedom in this matter – and I am certain helped make me a more formidable DragonSlayer.

Yes, their customs and heritage are different than ours; yes, their garb and their Friars and their altars are different than ours. Some of our feast days are in common, others are different; likewise, we do not honor all of the same saints and heroes.

But their devotion to Truth and Justice was equal to mine, and that of all my tutors.

I found that they hold to all the central creeds; they love the Master and His words; they believe He conquered death; of a truth -- I found them in harmony with all major tenants of our Masters Holy Person that I learned from my youth until now.

So how did we get to such a place as this – where you would view askance such a great man – with whom you have just begun the bonds of affection? Due to the quarrels between our fathers -- quarrels that were fierce and even at times bloody -- some of the venerable gray heads who instruct our youth believe and teach that those quarrels are still paramount above all things in heaven and earth.

Therefore, many of our holy men -- and I say it now with horror and amazement -- they taught me these brave souls were my enemies; the most shrill of my instructors ventured that they were actually dragons -wolves in sheep's clothing – those with whom I was obligated to make war. Therefore it would be a very righteous and valient deed to draw my sword, and disarm or dispatch one of these separated brethren.

But oh how difficult it is to draw swords on someone who is a prisoner with you in an true enemies dungeon for fighting the same dragons you pursue! It is harder still to count them your enemy when they bandage your wounds, and give you a cup of cool water in the name of the Master.

It is harder still when you breath in their aroma – they do not reek of the dragon; they have the pleasing fragrance of our Master’s house. And as I said -- they speak the Master’s words – with a different accent, yes; in a different tongue, yes; but the Master’s words nonetheless.

As you can imagine -- as the days of my captivity ground on, I came to see that my knowledge of these great souls was in fact ignorance; ignorance that was only outstripped by arrogance when I railed with foolish rantings about who or what they were. My narrow bigotry fell from my eyes like scales -- and I saw them as they are; allies and brothers; DragonSlayers -- every one.

And I was ashamed.

Ashamed for off-handedly repeating the lies and half-truths I was taught about them; taught from the unlearned, the poorly learned, the bitter, and the prejudiced. I was ashamed for having maligned them, and crossed swords with them rhetorically; ashamed for having condemned them, belittled them, and horribly misrepresented them on many occasions in the past.

Ashamed – because those I had maligned were tending my wounds, and giving me (when they could) cool water in the Master’s name.

I confess -- at one point I was overcome -- I wept under the crushing weight of my past foolishness.

And then something truly liberating happened -- something wonderful for my mission as a DragonSlayer -yet painful to my old and cherished relationships; I found that I had more in common with these DragonSlayers than those who taught me to separate myself from them.

And then I saw something vexing -- even damning: I knew that many of those who taught me to treat these friends and great souls as wolves and dragons weren’t DragonSlayers at all. I searched my memory – and I could picture them perfectly; on high feast days or special occasions, my instructors would clad their armor and march in grand procession. As a young man, I must confess -- the grandeur of it all inspired me.

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But now -- with many years, and many battles, and many wounds to my account, I can see that something was amiss with some of them: their armor was as flawless as the first time it was worn.

Some of them war armor that had clearly seen battle; they wore it with upright pride. Others – who were often those who maligned the very men with whom I was imprisoned, fighting to stay alive – these war armor that had no stain, no evidence of a marring blow, no dent or ding -- not even the slightest scratch -because its possessor had never been in a real battle against a real enemy.

Due to some corruption of logic, or some pettiness of soul, or perhaps simply a fear of real battle, they chose to ignore the real dragons, and instead fight against those who weren’t dragons at all. It takes much less courage to do that – one only need wear the helmet of arrogance and the breastplate of ignorance, and be able to wield the sword of half-truths.

Hence – as honorable in their intentions as they may have been – some of my mentors totally misidentified the enemy.

But far worse: they taught me (both in word or deed) to strike at fellow DragonSlayers and to leave the real dragons alone.

I even now recall the nonsense they taught me - that the Master Himself wanted his servants to leave the great dragons of our time alone. So – wanting to please my superiors - I disregarded dragons, and encouraged others to do the same. Being zealous for my fathers -- I even berated a fine man who was attacking a real dragon as best he could.

For a short season in my youth – thank Heaven – I was the vocal adversary of real DragonSlayers, and a chaser of phantom dragons. Heaven forgive me. Fortunately, the Master shone through the veil of my ignorance concerning fighting dragons. My call to make war with them in His service was overwhelming and compelling.

Now, in case you are worried, you needn’t be. I hold steadfastly to certain beliefs about our Blessed Master, beliefs for which I would lay down my life. But there are certain disciplines and traditions of our faith over which I am not prepared to fight a brother DragonSlayer. They are hills I will neither die nor kill on.

Let me use this illustration to close on this point: if your daughter was carried off by a dragon, and you needed the help of three stout-hearted men to rescue her, would you question them on every aspect of their creed and discipline? Would you insist that their friars use the same rites as yours before you would accept or allow their assistance? Would you refuse their help if they held a slightly different view on some issue that was not essential to saving your daughters life? Surely you would not.

If then, the life of your daughter is worth your fighting side-by-side with those who differ from you in certain points to slay some hideous dragon, is not the life of every other maiden in the kingdom worth the same valiant and focused spirit?

While I have your attention -- let me warn you of another trap we lay for ourselves. I wrote to you before that by nature we view most things in black and white; left to ourselves – without proper training – our tendency would be to fight and die on almost any hill. Only to a youth or a fool would think this courageous or principled; usually someone who has seldom or never fought.

If a man feels every hill is worth dying on, he should go ahead and fight. He will die soon enough. And he may die alone – because early on those who admire this man’s courage will come to mistrust his judgment, and they will not follow him into battle. And sadly, once he has perished in a battle that was of little or no use, others who might have fought dragons will be discouraged (not inspired) at his ruin, while the fearful and cowardly will use his demise as the example of why fighting dragons is a foolish waste of ones life.

Be on your guard of these traps as well: beware of those times when you are tempted to chose sides before you know all the facts; when brothers are quarreling; or when an enemy being pursued is not worth the time

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and troops; when a trivial quest distracts you from the dreadful dragon for whom you'll need all your strength and resources once you engage in battle.

And remember: when we are wrong, we are often very wrong. And we can hurt those who trusted our judgment. This is our burden: we neither live nor die solely to ourselves. When we have victories, others share in the spoils. When we falter, others share in the pain.

This leads me to my next critical advice: we have a vital need of advisors. If we live by our own counsel, we will perish by our own counsel. Sometimes, through the fog of my mind, my emotions, my pain, I cannot clearly identify the size or activity of a dragon. I need wise counsel to make war.

Seek and take counsel from fellow warriors who you trust; develop a core of compatriots who will stand beside you through the victories and the defeats.

Here is a difficult thing: learn to actually follow their advice. Remember, I’m speaking of advisors who love you, love justice, love truth, and hate dragons. Once you have found wise counselors, weave them into the very fabric of your life as much as possible. But also remember this: you alone will give account for your decisions, no matter how they advised you, so never imagine that the counsel of others can free you from duty or obligation.

Concerning giving advice to others – take heed to the strength of opinion you have about what another soul should do. I have made enough errors in judgment about my own life to be very unsure about the will of our Master for someone else’s life.

But the temptation exists nonetheless – due to the force of our character, and the trust others put in us – that they might foolishly give – or we foolishly take – too much authority on decisions for their lives. This can cause great harm, because when we are wrong – as I told you repeatedly – we can be very wrong. We must be careful to not hurt an innocent person who trusted us more than they should have. Let each discern his own path.

When you are wrong, admit it. If you have attacked a friend, humbly ask forgiveness. If you launched an ill-advised or ill-timed attack, don’t rationalize and explain away your mistake: own it. If you have come to see that a certain hill isn’t worth dying on, declare so. If – like you and I have experienced – you come to see the ignorance and foolishness of labeling your friends and brothers as your enemies, or just as painful – if you learn that those you thought were allies are in fact your adversaries, recant quickly and clearly.

This will make those near you trust you more, not less. It will inspire those you train or lead to love you more, not less.

Finally, if you – by heaven’s good graces – can help to repair some of the unnecessary divisions that exist between Servants of the Master who speak with different tongues, or were born to other traditions, do so with grace and vigor. You will have done a great service to heaven.

Now, as you surely know, there are some well meaning souls who would condemn that counsel as treachery; they insist that the defense of every aspect of the truth (as they see it today!) is more important than slaying dragons, and fighting oppression. And to my shame, there was a season when I would have joined them in berating the very counsel I now give.

But all of my journeys and battles defy their counsel and their condemnation, and confirm my conclusions.

Frankly, their lack of victory and the fact that they are no threat against the dragons of hell renders their judgment in this matter meaningless. It rather serves to confirm my position.

Of a truth, and it grieves me to say this -- I believe those so inclined to war with their separated brethren over “the truth” -- even though the very victims of their attacks claim and display a true love our Master -- I believe these hot-heads actually (though unintentionally) aid the kingdom of dragons.

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I'm certain that all hell rejoices when they expend their years, their weaponry, their resources and their strength to fight with the Master’s servants from different traditions, while leaving dragons to plunder and slay the innocent.

I leave it to you to ponder my judgment.

Finally -- and I tell you this only so that I can maintain my commitment to be transparent in matters such as these -- it was false friends from my own tradition that sought to slay me; and this blessed Abbey – and all the Master servants who live here in quietness and reflection -- this blessed place took me in, though I did not adhere to their rituals and customs. Those of my own customs sought my lifeblood; these dear ministers of grace sought to restore my life. Who, I ask you, is in the Master’s service in this matter?

And so, as the years pass, I pray you enter into great battles riding shoulder to shoulder with DragonSlayers from various traditions within our Master's camp. If you do so, your unified presence in battle will bring dread in the very halls of hell.

While we will not be able to agree on every jot and title of our traditions, we can nonetheless hold up the Masters holy banner together in the face of evil, and storm the dragon’s lair. Heaven knows, and hell fears what such unity in battle can accomplish for Truth and Life and Justice.

May your efforts, example, and leadership in this unifying endeavor cause the very heavens to shine upon you, and bring rage to the sulfuric nesting places of dragons.

Until we correspond again, I remain your servant.

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DragonSlayers - Letter VIII The Unwanted - Why we are at Home in Conflict Hello my fellow warrior, blessed creature of dust.

I received your last post on Ash Wednesday -- barely an hour after the friar took ashes and made the sign of the cross on my head, whispering these thunderous words: From the dust you came, To the dust you will return.

Year by year, I grow closer to the grave; and year by year, these words serve as both warning and promise.

They warn me to keep a short account with my master; a distant relationship with injustice and iniquity, and I urge me to keep a vibrant union with truths and the beauty of holiness. They promise -- from the Master's own wounds -- a life in the next world free of the tears and pain and alienation that largely define life in this world.

In this is a paradox; I long to stay; slay dragons, to free the people pressed, and to see my children's children. And yet I long to leave; to shed this earthen vessel and be done with its limitations and heartaches and temptations; to enter that holy city -- only God grant me entrance -- where no enemy dwells, nor Dragon lurks, nor death again endured.

This is the first Lenten season in my entire life that I has been in the cloister; I'm certain that were it not for my injuries and need for recovery (which thank God are proceeding apace) I may have never spent this blessed season within hallowed halls such as these.

I happily confess that the tempo of the day -- the prayers, meditations, the hours in which to walk and ponder, or to make music with Guinevere (thank you again!) -- this pace is strange to me, yet strangely needed.

I began a fast on Ash Wednesday, which I intend to keep for 40 days -- consuming only liquids and broths with no fermentation. I was told by the dear friar that this shall sharpen my senses in spirit, mind, and body -- and of truth, even though it is only the seventh day of the fast, I can already bear witness to the veracity of his claim.

In the seven days since I have received your post, I have read it each morning -- pondering it and musing over it throughout each day.

Two or three letters ago, you mentioned some trying memories involving your father and mother. In this letter, you confided the fact that your youth was indeed marred in ways no child should be forced to endure.

I tell you the truth -- your latest letter brought more pain to me than all the others combined. The reason is twofold; picturing the hellish nightmares that you endured from the hands of those who should have only protected you is a burden for the strongest soul. But beyond that, your letter provoked in me a flood of bitter memories concerning my own youth and my shameful creation.

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In various seasons in my life, I have wondered if there was a connection between the circumstances of my birth and the trials of my youth -- all points of weakness and sorrow -- and the strength of steel that I now have in my soul for battle, which is a source of strength and joy to myself and others.

Reading your letter as I have for the past seven days -- a letter filled with heartrending renditions of childhood injustice and cruelty; fasting as I also have for these days as well -- which is giving me uncanny clarity in my mind; and pondering the majesties and maladies of this life, and how they blend mysteriously into this frame of dust to make us who we are (with our own will and choices being critical), all of this has brought my own childhood into sharp focus.

Like a man shifting a looking glass or paradigm, I'm seeing things about myself I never saw before. I have uncovered truths about myself; perhaps truth that may be helpful to you.

So I have a plan; forgive me if it does not mean with your approval, but I believe it will help you on several counts.

Here it is: rather than trying to address every hurtful point of your past, allow me to be true to my promise to you: transparency. I would like to tell you some of the details of my origin. Some of the pain and heartache you divulged echoed so closely with my own, that giving vent to my heart may help unburden your own. In telling my story, perhaps will help you weave through your own mysterious maze.

And I have said it before, and I will say it again: I'm convinced that our Master takes a furnace of pain and in it fashions the weapons of holy war.

Now to my tale; Its very beginning was one of heartache.

I was conceived out of wedlock.

My coming into this world was through the union of two young lovers; Miguel and Dora. After I was conceived, but before they knew of my life, they quarreled -- and refused to speak or lie with each other.

Perhaps they never would have spoken again.

However, in due time my mother learned she was with child, and secretly told my sire the news. Under great duress, they planned a hasty wedding.

As you can imagine, while not uncommon, their situation was nonetheless shameful. My mother's family is Navarrian and Sicilian: honor means more than life or death.

They may have pondered killing my father, but if so, they decided it would be better for the child to have a living father, as opposed to a dead father.

Hence, they speedily arranged a lovely wedding, with festive colors and holy rites.

Six months later I was born.

What now follows are some of my musings about my youth, and my vocation as a DragonSlayers. I tell you this after chance it will help you make sense of your own heartache and vocation.

First of all, my coming was heartrending to my father and mother. My presence meant bad news: their folly would be found out; they would have to be responsible for their deeds.

The words, "Miss, you are with child," were the worst words my mother could hear. She did not rejoice.

She did not hug the village midwife, nor look to heaven and thank God that a child had been conceived.

She wept, and braced herself, and commenced the search for her estranged lover to tell him the dreadful news. “Miguel, quickly -- we need to talk...�

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Likewise, my father did not rejoice. He did not exult like a drunken field hand, nor shout or dance for joy; he did not clasp the young maidens hands and looked toward heaven and say, "Thank God! May it be a manchild!" He looked down and said, “Shite. The gods have cursed us. What are we to do?"

But he knew what he had to do. The rules of our village, the rules of our people were clear.

He would follow his little unborn child to the wedding altar; he would be led – by me – from the happy haunts of reckless freedom (as a twenty year old and a fine university, training to be a teacher or professor) into the jaded commencement of marriage with his ex-lover turned mother turned wife.

I led him to the altar - timed against his will.

My presence forced him to grow up, to work bitter hours while continuing "barely" at the University; because of me, he was compelled to be a husband and father before he was ready.

In a way, I brought him the end of his dreams, and the beginning of a stark new world -- they now lived in a wretched flat in the University City; a structure that was infested with rats and it was destroyed by order of the village courts shortly after we moved out while I was yet a toddler.

Simply put: I was an unwanted son.

And I brought unwanted news, and an unwanted life. This was the world I plunged into.

And this was home -- my home. I'm happy to confess that nature took its course; my mother soon adored me, coddled me, and nursed me at her breast; she would tell stories to me for hours on end.

I think my father loved me too. He told me he did.

But in the midst of this new (and unhappy) family was a constant reminder of its origins; me. I was the harbinger of bad new, as well as the bad news itself; Surely an unhappy role for a child. (Even now, I think of the painful things you went through as well. Heaven have mercy on us all.)

In truth, I doubt anyone told me directly of the conflicting emotions and messages I brought with me. They didn't have to say it -- I felt it -- and it came out in other ways which I will describe.

I became accustomed to the stress and pain. This was home.

When I was four, my brother was born.

This I remember: I was very young – perhaps a boy of seven or eight, when I learned that I was conceived by unmarried lovers.

But far worse: I remember – vividly- these heart breaking words being hurled at each other like violent invectives: “I would leave you right now if it wasn’t for these boys! I would sail to another realm if not for these sons!” Father saying it to mother; my mother even saying such things to my father. They were dragged together because of me, and now they were trapped in this private hell because of me and my brother.

I am your beloved son. I am your worst nightmare.

I am the plight that led you here. I am the chain that binds you here.

I make you laugh. I am the cause of your sorrow.

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Perhaps -- God forgive me -- but perhaps the demons and angels joined in chorus: Dora and Miguel, we have really bad news. Congratulations! You’re going to have a baby!”

The conflict, the battles, the alternating joy and grief of the first month, year, not to mention the first ugly decade – can only be imagined.

And now I can see: I bore a portion of this weight in my soul – I am the burden and the joy; the new life and the life ender all in one.

And now -- as I fast -- and ponder my wars and my scars, my sins and my triumphs, my past and my future, I remember that in the dust -- and that many of these memories are painful.

But it is normal – for me.

And in many ways, it is normal for you.

Whatever else is true, it is clear from what you told me in your last letter that you were the brunt of much injustice as a child, and at this injustice came directly from the hand of those who should have protected you; or when they simply looked the other way while knowing of the wrongs being committed against you.

I could stop here, and you and I could lie down in sorrow; we've -- like others we have seen -- could wither and die in the present from the wounds of our past.

I have not only wept over these things -- I have actually laughed; literally laughed through the tears, as I have seen how these heart aches have been used by our Master to make me into a weapon in the cause of justice.

Here are some ways that the injustice of our past and the Justice of our present intersect.

The point is not merely that we were unwanted; the point it that we are unwanted. And in the core of our being, we accept this of the past and anticipate this in the future.

Hence, we are not surprised when the dragons and their knaves despise us; but moreover, we aren’t surprised when the hostages of the dragons reject our help; nor are we dismayed when we're criticized by those who profess a love of justice and hatred for the Dragon. We expect it.

But my fear is this: at times a bent part of us wants to be unwanted. We yearn for it. We crave it. It’s what we’re used to.

It’s our home.

I have been asking myself repeatedly: why do we walk into a great hall, and declare the truth – the devil be damned if people don’t like it?

Why do so many others enter the same hall, and hold their tongue?

Why do we speak the truth, even when we know the truth will alienate some and infuriate others?

Why do some keep silent – even though they too know the truth?

And more troubling is this: then why do they become angry with us that we dared to say what they themselves believe?

Is it because we love truth and justice? Yes.

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Is it because we yearn for righteousness and freedom? Surely.

Yes, of course.

But why do those who also profess a love of justice and freedom hold their tongue or turn in flight in the hour of trial?

I'm certain that there are a number of reasons; perhaps some of them unique. But after hearing the stories of a hundred different DragonSlayers, I'm convinced that one key reason we march into battle while others flee is this: when they approach a dragon they are headed into enemy territory. For us, it is heading home.

We are not alarmed. The dragon does not bewilder us, he beckons us.

The voice of rejection is not foreign to us: it is the language we learned in the cradle.

Here is my fear; in each of us must seek some level of balance in our sole. The question will reveal all: When in the midst of a cheering throng, do we wince or rejoice; do we feel at home with calm, or would we rather returned to the decimated land of conflict pain and rejection.

I have seen DragonSlayers who are more at home with war than leisure and comfort. For many DragonSlayers -- we are more comfortable with the contempt of enemies than the praise of well wishers.

We are at ease in armor; but we look awkward in linen and silk.

Like the home of my youth, when I take the field of battle –my very presence is at once good news and bad news. The good news is that mercy, redemption, and freedom – a full pardon - can be received from our Dread Sovereign Lord for all who bend the knee -- except of course for dragons. The bad news is, dragons and their consorts will be held accountable for their actions. We are the fragrance of life to those who believe. We are the scent of inevitable death to those who rebel.

You may wonder: can't anyone fill this role?

Can’t anyone be an ambassador? Or can't anyone be a bold herald of truce who denounces evil?

No, they cannot.

And even fewer still can be a DragonSlayer. Our strength and our weakness is that we relish our role. We revel in it. Before we throw down a gauntlet, we insist on silence among the watching throngs. We are not content to quietly warn a tyrant, and then wait for him to consider our demands. We will insist that the entire room and realm know that the tyrant has been challenged, by us. We were born into and grew up in the epicenter of conflict; we will live there, take center stage there, and in all likelihood -- die there.

These words would trouble some; but in truth, the Master has use of this nature. Like Jehu, son of Nimshi that rode furiously, such a valiant and fearless spirit is critical when the kingdom languishes under the tyranny of Ahab and Jezebel. Such fierce temperament is necessary to overthrow oppression.

Our Master knows we will hold up His banner – whether on an open field, or in the midst of His enemies -that as long as we have strength and breath, the Royal Lion’s ensign will flutter in the face of the dragon.

But as I referred to a moment ago, there is a sad and potentially dangerous side to our character. We not only expect to be villainized and hated, but some DragonSlayers want it. They want to be loved, but they also want to be hated.

And so -- I have sighed and grieved as I pondered the stories from your youth, and the memories of my own. But as sure as the sun rises in the East, I'm certain that we would not have the temperament for war without the smoking black furnace of heartache in which we were forged.

I have told you before, and I will tell you again:

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It is easier to temper a bold man, than to embolden a timid man.

Your bold spirit -- forged in fire -- is of great value.

As long as the seed of the woman is at war with the seed of the serpent, we shall be the first to rush with relish to the call to arms. The clatter of the tack shall be as music to us.

I am certain that we shall ever love righteous conflict. But we need an even greater love of mercy. We are commanded to do justly and to love mercy. If we love conflict and justice, but grieve like Jonah when the Master showed mercy to Nineveh -- we are bent. If we want our dark predictions to come true more than we want the hearers to turn and be redeemed -- we are bent.

I have said enough for now; and even though my wits and discernment seem sharper to me due to my fasting and meditations, I grow slightly weary in body. I shall close.

Our sorrows have not been wasted; our years have not been for naught; and have been willing, the days ahead of us shall be filled with the tokens of kindness and mercy from our Master's hand.

Take time to read this narrative two or three times; do everything in your power to spend time alone, allowing the Master to enlighten your darkness.

Be on notice; we shall return to these themes in future correspondence, if it meets with your approval.

Until then, remember these two things: It was in the furnace of pain that we were forged into men of boldness.

And this again: It is easier to temper a bold man than it is to embolden a timid man.

I look forward to our next correspondence. Until then, I remain your servant.

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DragonSlayers - Letter IX My Father was Two People Hello my friend.

I am in receipt of your latest post.

I was truly happy to hear that my words concerning my youth and yours were of some benefit to your fevered mind.

When I poured out my soul and opened my heart to the Blessed DragonSlayers years ago, I was strengthened and braced by simply hearing some of his stories of woe and weal. Simply knowing that another DragonSlayer had passed through turbulent waters like my own was food for my soul.

Hence, if my recollections of heartache and healing bring peace and hope to your soul, I will happily tell of my personal wrestlings much sooner than my public exploits. (For of truth, I believe it is our hardships far more than our victories that define us.)

Hence, I will be happy to continue in this line of thought. I pray my musings are half as helpful as you hope it will be. We must proceed down painful paths slowly; if we are not careful, we can gather speed and momentum and it causes us to careen and crash.

The further details you gave me concerning you and your father grieved me, but did not surprise me. Your anger is fully warranted, your grief expected; and the love you yet retain for him (which seems to startle you) is no surprise to me.

You are blessed in this: your father yet lives. The possibility to heal certain breaches yet remains. You may or may not desire it -- that decision is yours. But nevertheless, it is a great blessing for you that this door of opportunity yet remains. It is a door I would give half my life for; if only I could have one more day with my father. But alas, I cannot.

So -- let us go forward -- loosely examining the past, and leaving the future for another day. I will resume where I left off -- with a discussion about my father.

My father, God rest his soul, resides with the departed. He left his life suddenly nearly 10 years ago (and I pray he entered eternal rest) I still grieve his death; and at times a wave of distress washes over my soul.

How could he have left us so soon?

In my last letter, I gave you a small glimpse of my childhood. Knowing what you do, you may be astonished at how much I missed my father. Of truth, I am surprised at how much I miss him. I loved him dearly.

My hope for you and what I'm about to write is that you find some peace between your past and your present; your father as he was then, and is now. And as we discussed in our last correspondence -- how the life of a DragonSlayer is so radically attached to and provoked by the relationship between a father and his offspring.

Here is a peculiar fact: in my observation of DragonSlayers; most of them had troubled waters with their father, sometimes their mother, and occasionally both. This ones’ father was enslaved to wine; that ones’ father abandoned the family; this ones’ father was cruel; that ones’ father was unjust, and never showed

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affection. This DragonSlayer endured a procession of “step-fathers.” That DragonSlayer's father simply died young.

Some of the stories I’ve heard are heartbreaking; others horrific. The point of this letter is to help you see the connection between your father and your valor in war.

I will begin with the dark and painful, and proceed to the light and medicinal. First of all, I trust my father is in heaven; I know he died proud of me, and we had mended many breaches. But I will not shy from stark honesty -- for your sake.

And now to the dark waters.

My father was a like a god and a monster – a paternal Zeus and Hades bound in one man. On one hand, he was jovial, outgoing, and lovable. And yet he had a violent temper, which could explode at any moment.

An accident, childhood carelessness, any number of scenarios could become the channel for the demon of anger that always lurked below the surface.

As a child, I'm certain I was like all children -- precocious and mischievous -- needing discipline from time to time. (Don't forgive the father who does not discipline his son -- he surely hates him.) But my father's punishments were chaotic, and often unjust to the extreme.

When a child is young, they accept the verdict of their progenitors with little or no question. They speak as deities; above reproach or challenge. But over time, as reason and logic take root independent of paternal decree, a child recognizes injustice especially when dealing with a father. The child begins to lament; “This is not right. This is wrong. This is unjust. My father is a villain!”

Once when I was a youth -- I provoked to the wrath of my father; he flogged me so severely that the whites of my eyes were wholly red with blood, and my black eyes went down to my chin. The village sheriff was summoned, but did nothing. At that point, I took flight, and left for a foreign land -- despising my father.

(My experiences there are for another story.)

Throughout my childhood my mother knew the injustice, and at times served as a barrier between this angry father and scapegoat son. She would placate him, calm him, yell at him or curse him, anything to cause him to shrink from his volcanic anger.

But more often than not, she would simply withhold information from him. She became my confessor, and shielded me from the wrath of the father. What he did not know, he would not punish.

My mother was busy shielding my brother and me; but no one shielded her.

Suffice to say, they battled. They fought bitterly. They howled at each other. And eventually, when my dad could not prevail verbally, he pursued brute strength.

I will leave it to your experience and imagination to picture the violent abuse she suffered from time to time at the hand of my father.

This I will say: for a child to see his mother bruised and bloody; or worse yet, seeing the bruises inflicted and the blood drawn, and hearing her cry for help, and then even being involved in the cover-up, this is something no child should have to endure. So at points I hated my father. Later in life, I begged our Master: “Just don’t let me become like that man.”

Now, if I ended my account here, I would do you and my father a grave injustice.

You, because I’ve stoked your anger and your sympathetic cry for justice, and probably triggered your own memories that will bring your ghosts and phantoms beside your bed.

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I owe it to you and him to show the path of reconciliation and healing that my father and I traveled together. My poisonous memories, and the ones you bear in your mind and soul, cannot be left alone to fester. They cannot be erased, nor denied, so they must be faced and brought to heel.

But I am sorry to say: I offer no magic potion to deliver you from your pain no formula to fix and drink thrice daily. I can only point you down certain paths.

But do not despair; and do not rail against your maker (however sorely tempted you are to do so) for your heartache. For as surely as you are a dread to all dragons -- and therefore of Hell itself -- the dragons you bear about in your soul, and those you seek to slay on the outside are mysteriously linked to the pain of your childhood.

Here is a maxim for many: the greater the injustice endured when young, the greater the quest for justice when grown. (I say for many, and therefore not all. In another correspondence, perhaps we can discuss why some people emerge from the furnace of heartache dreadful and free, while others perish in the flames, or come out bitter.)

And as I stated, I would also do my father a grave injustice to leave you with this impression of him. If you had been at his funeral, you would have heard testimony about a beloved, spirited, companionable man.

And these testimonies were not the deceitful words of a preacher who did not know the deceased, but was hired to say a eulogy. These were the memories of friends, relatives, co-workers, and sons; memories filled with life and laughter. My dad was half monster, and half saint. My mother wept and wept at his death.

Before his death and after, I learned things about him and his family that help me understand his anger, the isolation of his soul, and his broken heart.

He never met his maternal grandmother -- but she played a profound role in his life.

By all accounts, this woman -- my father's mother's mother -- was strikingly beautiful, possessing high cheekbones and magic eyes that discreetly draw you in to her orbit.

She married my father's grandfather, and they had two children; my father's mother Angela, and her older brother, Laverne.

When the children were small -- physicians gave her husband the news that he'd contracted a malady of the lungs; the physicians advised them to move to warmer climate in the south for his health. They began packing for the journey, hopeful for health and long life. But before they left for their journey, the Angel of Death appeared at the door of their hovel -- for her.

While packing for their journey, she complained of pain in her stomach, so they took her to the physicians.

Within five days she was dead. The physicians said it was a cancer in her stomach.

She was 29 years old.

The family was wracked with grief. Her daughter, my father's mother, was barely five years of age. Her widowed father decided to pursue his health in warmer climates, but left the children with family. There they began a pathetic shuffling between villages that lasted through their childhood. The impact in heart, mind and soul on this five year old little girl – to lose her mother, and be left by her father, and then to be traded about like sheep, can only be imagined.

She grew wild and unruly, wild to the point in her teen years of sustaining, or supplementing, her worldly needs by worldly prowess – the oldest trade in the world. How this marred her, I cannot bear to think. She was lucky to escape with her life.

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She met and married my father's father. He was a brawler; a man who served spirits, and fought (with his bare hands) various champions for the gambling pleasure of the wealthy. After marrying, they had three children -- my father being the second.

As you can guess, their marriage was chaotic, distant, and bitter. Coupled with that, a great war broke out and both of them moved to Guarapolis to fashion weapons and accoutrements for the Knights of the realm.

Like her father before her, my father’s mother began shuffling the children around -- separating the sister from her two brothers, my father and his older brother. The children were thus offered on the altar of a second-generation curse, bouncing from house to house. My father's mother did to him what her mother and father had done to her: she abandoned him.

By the time my father was in his eighth year, he was so unsupervised that he traveled from village to dale, wherever he pleased. Can you imagine a child of eight wandering around the countryside, simply for want of a mother or father being present?

He stayed for several years with his paternal grandmother, who he described (at that time) as a stern, rigid, recently converted zealot to some ancient dead religion, with a zeal to convert the world to her creed. Her husband took his own life before my father was born. Add that to the pain and anger of heartache flowing from one generation to the next.

When the war ceased (as they all do) my father's parents purchased an Inn, which they operated for 15 years or so, before it was seized by creditors. But honestly, I ventured that the inn's bankruptcy was due to the bankruptcy in the home. Both of them found pleasure in the bed of strangers, and both knew it of the other. And my father knew it as well, as did the entire village -- including my father's friends. It was dreadful.

My father emerged from this hellish home, and began striking out in the world. Due to the kind graces of a beneficent Lord who saw the promise of his wit, my father entered the University with the hope of becoming a tutor or a professor.

While living at the University Township, he met my mother. They exchanged glances, then names, then notes, and before long, as I related to you in my last letter, I was conceived outside of the bond of marriage.

After a hasty wedding, my parents settled in my mother's hamlet (very close to the University.) I was born six months after the wedding – at nearly 10 pounds -- so there was little question of me being “early”.

Due to some miracle I do not understand – my father remained in the University while both he and my mother took whatever menial labor they could to keep body and soul together. Due to great perseverance of my father and mother, and the enormous sacrifice of my mother, my father graduated from university, and became a tutor. My mother received education as well, and was able to tutor young women.

When I was in my eighth year, my father had a breakdown of his senses; he was received into an Abbey for care. The physicians quietly told my mother that he might never recover, and that she should consider seeking her liberty. She refused and against much counsel, she remained at my father side.

When he left his hospice, he was a broken man -- needing herbs he would use for the rest of his life. My father soon became a seller of wine, as well as its slave. And as I stated, he was violent. The cruelty waxed and waned over the years. Their marriage and our family remained constantly strained, explosive and tragic.

Screaming, invectives, curses and bitterness -- these were the standard fare of each week. But as long as we boys were not of age, some sense of honor in both of them compelled them to survive under one roof.

When my brother and I were grown, the mortar was gone, and the home finally gave way to the storms of rage. After 30 years of trouble and sorrow, they parted forever.

By then, I was a grown man, a DragonSlayers by most accounts. Nevertheless, their divorce was a bitter blow. But thankfully, my parents remained cordial, even friendly, until my dad left this life.

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I have sketched here the darker side of my dad’s childhood and character, as well as his pitiful performance as a husband to my dear mother. If I stopped here, you would have a very different picture of him than did most people, including his family, friends, and members of the University Guild.

He was a complex man; a centaur in ways; a valiant, handsome man; a vulgar beast.

Please know this -- my father was not a hypocrite. No one can keep the façade up that long. It’s as if my father was two people, with two natures. And I got to see them both.

He could sing like an angel. (Although so could Lucifer.) In fact, he was offered a scholarship for voice at the University in the Eternal City. When my brother and I were young, he would sing us to sleep, night after night. I remember him lying on the floor of our hovel, or sitting on the edge of our hay bed, singing, simply singing.

He also loved the art (as he called it) of angling. He knew every brook, stream, pond, and lake within a day’s journey of our village, and as he told it, “The fish of every fin dread the sound of my name!” He was an incredible angler, and maintained a reputation as a premier fishing guide; the Dukes and Lords loved him, for they usually caught a great catch, and they always were amused.

Due to the generosity of a Lord (who was particularly happy with my fathers guide work), my family was granted perpetual use of a charming cottage on a beautiful lake. Even though when he fished he was in earnest, he also made sure that when we had guests at our lakeside “camp” (as he called it) thoroughly enjoyed themselves. Whether children, women, or great city men who couldn’t bait a hook – all were taught to fish, helped to fish, and were taken to the best fishing spots on our lake.

He would bait the hook, take the fish off the hook, clean the fish, and finally cook the most spectacular feast with the culinary skill of a royal chef. All who came left sated, praising his skills – both angling and culinary.

He loved games; Games of chance, or games of wit - board games, card games, word games - he loved to play, he loved to compete. And you never doubted for one second that he played to win. A game could produce hilarious laughter. It could produce a war.

Due to the hard work of my parents, and the favor their gifting brought them, they were able to purchase a lovely cottage in the country. They would throw parties often; my father would make sure their guests were amused. We had tournaments of arrows and spears; we played lawn bowling until it was so dark you couldn’t see the balina. Then the men settled in for cards or other games of chance.

Though often unjust, My father was not afraid to fight for Justice. In the hamlet of our Lake cottage, my father spoke out against the bribery of the sheriff and the petty judge. This was a great risk, but he did so bravely – insisting that all townsfolk were victims of corrupt proceedings. The Governor of the province ultimately removed the corrupt officials, and praised my fathers bravery.

As I told you, My father was a tutor. He taught his entire adult life, teaching children in the fourth, fifth and sixth level. He was respected and loved by students and teachers.

And when my parents would battle each other, my father would often come in our room crying, kneel at our bed, telling us he loved us, or that he was sorry, or that we were not the cause of their problems. My mom and dad had fierce conflict, but they did try to resolve the conflict for many years.

We are tempted to only speak of the good side of someone if we loved them, or to speak only ill of someone who hurt us. The reality is this: my dad hurt me a lot, but he loved me a lot. For example - he didn’t abandon his sons the way his parents had abandoned him.

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I have given you a very personal overview, I can see now that this was an important exercise for me; but much more importantly, I do this in hopes that you can see yourself in some of these connections, and find resolution in your heart with your father.

Please let me make some final points.

First, I have had to deal with the furious anger I felt toward my father. I won’t go into more depth or the details, but as you can guess, my dad let me down and hurt me in many vivid, painful ways. Fortunately – and I thank God for this from the bottom of my heart – my dad and I loved each other, and had a great relationship the last year of his life.

Second, the mixture of tortured pain and singing love I experienced all helped make me who I am. The same holds true for you. Let’s face it, you are a DragonSlayer in part because you have a father who has been unjust. You know the anguish, the sense of betrayal, the raw pain. But you also have a chance at some reconciliation. I advise you, to the best of your ability – over time – reconcile with the estranged one.

But don’t wait too long. Death could radically alter your options. You do not want to be pouring out words of regret or confrontation before a cold body lying in a casket.

Finally, remember this: From some men we learn what to do; from some men we learn what not to do; from some men, we learn both.

I wish my father had not been evil to us on occasions; but he was. I wish your father had not so grievously injured your soul, but he did. These things we cannot change. But we can change how we relate to those pains and evils.

Heaven willing, I shall discuss this with you in another post.

Until then, I commit you to heaven’s care; if possible, as I have said, I now say again: you may want to find an Abbey to abide at for a few days during Lent. Let your mind be cleared.

No matter what, may long life be your portion.

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DragonSlayers - Letter X My Lifelong Friend Hello my fellow warrior.

We're in the 12th day of Lent. Your last letter, and my response to you concerning my father still weigh heavily on my mind. I know that you have not written me since I sent this letter, but something has fallen into my hands that I thought might be of interest to you.

Three days past -- barely a day or two after I sent you my last dispatch -- a lifelong friend brought me a chest full of my personal effects; it contained letters and accounts and memorabilia that covered over a 30 year span.

I or my adjutants have steadily added a relic here, a parchment there, as a matter of course -- almost without notice. Since the attempt on my life, and the time that I entered here for my recovery, I have not given it a single thought.

Hence you can imagine my surprise when it was delivered to the abbey three days ago. Gremlins of curiosity danced around the edges of my mind, bidding me open the chest, plunder its treasures, and perhaps grieve over tear stained memories. The steady introspection I have been engaged in fueled the desire in me to see the man I was 10 -- 20 -- 30 years ago -- I wanted to see what I could piece together as means of a map that brought me to be the man that I am. More than I can tell you -- I thank God that these possessions were accumulated, and that they made their way intact into my hands.

I found lockets of lost loves and fathers at rest; peculiar potteries that meant something in my youth (the meaning of which is lost to me now); I found copies of sacramental events; title deeds of honor; awards for cleverness from my instructors; and the veritable library from long-lost acquaintances. (Even now it grieves me -- how is it that we lose friends with whom we had no quarrel?)

But enough of my distracted pen and prose; I'm taking the liberty of sending you something that is dreadfully close to the mark of our last correspondence.

What follows is the fruit of my quill from over two decades past. During the final year of my training, it was required of me to write an allegory or a metaphor. Of the truth, I could never keep an allegory and a metaphor separated in my mind. (Was it the allegory that served as a parable? Or the metaphor that had shadows of meaning representing something else? Ahh -- to have the life of the scholar!)

The genres of literature aside, I was dumb struck by the content of this piece.

My words reflect my youth; but neither I nor any stage can deny that most great victories were won at the hands of the young. Alexander the Great, Constantine, David, Gideon, even the Master himself provide a procession of testimony that great accomplishments are proved by warriors in their youth.

To be honest, I forgot that I had ever written it. As you will see, that makes its content seem all the more eerie to me. I trembled when I read the well-nigh prophetic picture of the recent attempt to snuff out my life.

When I wrote this allegory, I was in the pride and fury of my young manhood. No assassin had ventured to slay me; for surely few if any would have thought me worth the time and trouble. I wrote these words thinking of the demise of Alexander the Great; the treacheries of Brutus and Marcus; and the betrayal of Judas himself.

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In any event -- this recently recovered literary symbolism is a poor attempt at allegory, but I ask you to enjoy for what it is, and gleaned from its Spartan husks that which may feed and strengthen your soul.

For though it be the work of a novice, yet reading it a fresh (this is after nearly 20 years" I found that it even now cut me -- at points with the healing edge of Apollo -- if only because of the foolishness I displayed by not taking my own counsel.

For of truth -- those who seek my life are no friend of Music and Poetry -- but I should cease reviewing, lest I spoil the story.

Read it as it was written; from a young man -- an angry young man -- with a DragonSlayer's heart churning within him, anxious for truth, justice, and liberty. ________________________________ I would like to put pen to the praise of my best friend.

We’ve been intimate associates since I was a little boy. He has goaded and guided me, inspired and invigorated me more than any squadron of officers I know.

But there is also a calamitous side to this friend, in addition to his genius.

Unfortunately, he has also given me much bad counsel. He has misguided and maligned me, disabled and practically disemboweled me; At times he has adversely affected my judgment, and made me more miserable than I care to remember.

I have reached passionate warrior heights, and been pushed into seemingly bottomless pits of despair, all because of the help of my best friend, who unfortunately at times is also my worst enemy.

I present to you my kindred spirit: Anger.

I would not be a DragonSlayer without Anger. And I venture that neither would any DragonSlayer be a DragonSlayer without a friendship with Anger.

Frankly, I don’t know where I would be without Anger. I almost don’t know who I would be without Anger. He’s with me when I rise up, and when I lie down. From time to time, he goes on short trips, and I get to enjoy aspects of life without his company, but he’s never gone for long. Perhaps that is what best friends are all about.

Outsiders can never really know the depths and bonds of a friendship, but if anyone has their own relationship with Anger, they are both “outsider” and “insider” - someone outside of my friendship with Anger, but possessed of his own inseparable bond with this villain/saint.

I am in one of those rare moments when Anger is not present -- so I shall write some random thoughts about him. Some of my words may be quite painful, and the order of my thoughts may be a little chaotic.

And I suggest that if the reader is a kindred spirit of Anger, that he read this when the Apollian is not peering over his shoulder, telling you how this or that isn’t true. He’s quite self-defensive.

I met Anger when I was very young. I was introduced to him by my father. And if my memory serves me, the occasion of our meeting was some gross injustice where my father was the villain. My father and Anger were also very close. I later learned my dear mother had developed a secret affinity with him too – but she usually hid their relationship.

Anyway, I learned that Anger had his own room in our house – and oftime had the run of the entire house.

Due to proximity, we started frequenting each other's company. (Children are like that – they make friends with whoever is around.) Over time, we became very close friends.

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Even though Anger and I became friends, I did not like the way he and my father colluded and conspired, so I determined early on that I would have the upper hand in our friendship. I would not let him “control” me. I’ve grown to see what an incredibly wearying battle this is for supremacy in our relationship. He is persistent and has incredible stamina. When he appears at swordplay or a jousting event, he is always the last to leave, always taunting, calling for more.

For me, Anger has always made strong his claims after a gross injustice. I was wronged. My mother was wronged. My friends were wronged. The injustice might be physical torture or merely violence of the tongue; it may be isolation and haunting loneliness, abuse of a carnal nature, the abuse of a superior -- and so forth.

As a child, I witnessed injustice within my reach; I felt it. I tasted it with my soul. And because of injustice, Anger slowly became a part of me – a soul mate. The causes and progression for the strength of my relationship with Anger are quite painful. I’ve shed a many tears pondering our origins. Only those who understand will understand. And when Anger became a part of me, a kindred spirit if you will, he needed to be vented - hopefully in pursuit of justice.

So my soul mate and I plunged into life, looking for a cause. Fortunately, the Master found me, and retrieved my life from destruction when I was in my teens. I had already caused and seen much trouble, but it could have been much worse. I informed Anger that if he and I were still going to be close, he would have to convert to the Masters cause as well, which he did. Or at least he says he did. And so I began my journey in the faith of our fathers – accompanied by Anger.

I was angry at iniquity; I was angry at Friars for their cowardice in the face of dragons; I was angry with professors for their treachery in the face of dragons; I was angry at a thousand points of injustice, at a thousand wrongs. I was wronged, as a child, and now I resonated in furious sympathy with other wrongs, and other victims.

And then I collided with the Great Wrong, the Great Injustice of our time: The killing of innocent children: human sacrifice.

Those miserable monsters; those demonic bastards. I learned of the pagan deity Molech, whose bronze image -- half goal, half men -- stretched out praise and arms, holding a basin. Innocent infants were thrown into the basin -- after it had been fired white-hot -- there they perished in ways beyond the description of any human tongue.

The priests of this murderous abomination became the special object of my wrath. Here I found a field of battle equal to and worthy of my anger.

After making a few minor alterations to my philosophy and theology, I launched with furious ardor into the battle. Having to face the deficiency of my training also made me angry…why wasn't I told to gird my sword for battle and end this hateful shedding of innocent blood? Anger at my mentors would surface later.

With the leading of the Master, Anger and I, bound in soul like Jonathan and David, pursued the Great Dragon Molech on hill after hill. We cut and slashed. We snatched thousands of innocent victims from his demonic jaws. And Anger helped keep me focused; helped me to keep marching against all odds. When I would grow weary, I would focus on the innocent victims being devoured by the Dragon, and Anger would once again stoke the fire of my resolve, and I would rise to the battle I should now tell you that my relationship with Anger was not exclusive. No blood oaths were taken; I demanded that he allowed me to maintain other relationships and friendships..

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For example, I have had a great love affair of the soul with Music, and her sister Poetry. We would walk or dance together under the sun or the moon and stars, or simply sit under big spreading trees. We would laugh and cry together often. My friendship with these delightful sisters has been a saving grace to me.

I also developed a tentative relationship with Mercy. She was always close at hand – always. But I rarely took her into my soul, or into my confidence. I would, however, regularly and quickly introduce her to the wounded – those “wronged.” I even introduced her to my enemies, some of whom reached out and loved her, and they ended up becoming my friends.

Now, in retrospect, those darling sisters – Music and Poetry – probably kept my soul from death more times than I will ever know. Oh heaven, I love them. And as it turns out, Mercy had been following me closely, protecting me even when I was unaware; including protecting me from Anger.

Here is a truth: If I remained with anger much -- it pains me to say, I became fierce and unapproachable.

And – this is also painful – I would often hate myself. That is perhaps the biggest problem of having Anger as a close friend.

The glorious side of Anger is his valor; hating injustices and wrongs; he speaks eloquently, and forcefully, devouring all dragons, inspiring all hearers. But later on, when I'm alone with him, he sometimes turns on me. He tells me what’s wrong with me, why he despises me. It can be painful and confusing.

The next worst thing is when anger gets bored. After he tires of devouring me, he might turn on one of my friends. He’ll pick a fight just to have a fight. He grieves me to confess that this is happened with me, and I have witnessed it as well with other DragonSlayers.

We must beware -- when we get angry – especially at the little things – not the epic struggles of good and evil, right and wrong – but the little things; situations close to us that cause us an internal reaction beyond what is reasonable, we should cry out for Mercy. Anger is trying to rule us with his uncontrolled flame.

Life is too precious and short to be scarred unnecessarily by the foolish or chaotic whims of Anger.

Anger demands to be fed, demands justice, demands a response – it always demands something. That is why it must be our servant – otherwise we will be Anger’s slaves.

So the frightening truth is this: Anger is the ultimate DragonSlayer. But Anger can be the Ultimate Dragon.

Anger is an inferno; a river of fire. He can sweep away his enemies. He is fearless. He is dreadful. He is a magnificent warrior in the cause of right.

But beware -- he is an oppressive tyrant if not checked and ruled by God’s good counsel.

Unbridled, Anger is a pitiless taskmaster. He is hard to control. He has murdered his friends, injured his loved ones, and trampled the innocent.

Anger can be an upright counselor in the halls of justice, or a brutal general in the tent of the Hun. And so I swing wildly in a pendulum of emotions about anger.

I hate Anger; I adore Anger; I need Anger; I abhor Anger; I fear Anger; I crave Anger.

Anger is an intoxicant, and then a great sobering agent. Anger is one moment a virus, the next moment a cure.

I confess -- I look in disbelief at people who do not get angry at gross injustice I stand in dismay of those who can see a great wrong and do nothing. It baffles me. And yes, it angers me.

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And then I wonder: Is their silence or inaction because they have rarely suffered unjustly? Is the reason they don’t resonate with victims, and rise to defend them from dragons because they have seldom or never suffered from the cruel wrath of a dragon’s breath?

We must carefully mark the difference between suffering and unjust suffering. Suffering - such as illness, or the illness or death of a loved one - can produce a depth of soul and a certain corresponding sympathy and kindness for others in those in anguish or have endured loss. This is a precious gift.

But unjust suffering – a suffering at the hands of an evil “someone” or “something” or “system” -where human will is employed for the ill-treatment of the victim – suffering produces a depth of pathos in the soul, and a corresponding thirst for justice.

This is when we rejoice at the appearance of Anger. He enters majestically, yet without pomp -- in simple sturdy strides, and takes the judgment seat in our soul. The scales of right and wrong are prone -- for yourself, for your friends, and for strangers. And then, when we see an innocent victim endure unjust suffering, Anger demands a visceral response in our souls. We obey. We respond. We rise to the occasion, and prepare for battle.

Let me pause for a moment. I must not only display a holy devotion to the judgments of Anger against oppressors, but also a hearty contempt toward those who are content to watch evil rather than resist it.

Moreover, there is genuine pity as well as disdain toward those who would rather be repeatedly trampled by injustice than learn to stand and fight.

DragonSlayers will defend this hapless lot, but we are highly agitated that they won’t defend themselves. I imagine this agitation is partially rooted in the fact that when we were trampled or threatened, we finally learned to resist. To us, surrender borders on treachery -- to ourselves and our neighbor..

Here is yet another troubling thought: Why are some victims trampled, and they emerge as DragonSlayers, while others are trampled and remain as doormats their whole lives; or worse yet, they emerge as demons and dragons?

Here is an interesting story; St. Patrick emerged as a DragonSlayer in the early 400’s; he was the first Bishop to fiercely denounce slavery; the first to actively fight to end the slave trade. And he was the first Bishop who was formerly a slave.

This great DragonSlayer had swallowed and convulsed on the bitter fruit of slavery as a young man. Later in life, when he saw others thus treated, he rose like a warrior sage, Anger filling his sails. He denounced the abhorrent evil, and he plunged his sword deep into the Dragon of slavery. His warring spirit was responsible for ending the slave trade in Ireland, a huge accomplishment; Ireland had been entrenched in the “slave trade” for centuries.

My point grows ever obvious; in all likelihood, the injustice, the pain, the domestic terror we endured as children, has fitted us with a warrior spirit, able to employ the Anger in the cause of Right.

But what others may or may not know; in fact, what we may or may not know is this: Anger alone would consume and destroy us.

Music and Poetry, and breezes by the sea, and winds whistling through tree houses in dense forests have probably done more to keep us from becoming tyrants than we will ever know. The song in our hearts, the songs in the night, have been the oil of gladness that keeps us human.

Always be on guard: Anger is often involved in it’s own intrigues, secretly engineering a coup dé etat of our hearts. As in the days of David, Anger is like Joab and Absalom at once – too valuable as a military asset to banish, too dear as a member of the family to kill. And yet again, just as Joab and Absalom did -he may seek to kill me or manipulate me or ignore me or rule me whenever he is able, due to me not keeping a watchful eye on him.

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If Anger dominates our life too much, he will make us terribly lonely; lonely, because others don’t enjoy his company – especially those who love peace. To be without them would be a great loss.

Please do not misunderstand me -- there are some who love peace who do so from fear; others love peace from an upright heart.

The one who loves peace more than justice has arguably lost his way, for he will submit to slavery if it is but peaceful. We have a certain pity/contempt for him, as we should. But there are those who are upright - those who love justice and peace; who yearn for peace that is defined by Justice. These have a balanced mind concerning the relationship of peace and justice, but they simply may not have the furnace of anger forging the weapons of war to obtain that justice and peace. Not everyone is a DragonSlayer, nor should they be. But they can be great allies in the pursuit of justice and peace.

It is those that we do not want to alienate because our lives are ruled and defined by Anger. We want and need them as friends and consorts.

But thank heaven, we also find true kindred spirits. These tend to be those who know Anger or pain, and like us, they want to slay dragons and dethrone tyrants. Herein lies a dreadful strength, and a terrifying danger.

The strength is this: What could be more frightening than coming face to face with an Anger empowered, fully clad DragonSlayer? Answer: Coming face to face with two of them, or six of them, or ten of them.

(Rarely will more gather – because there aren’t that many of them. Also, pride exists as to who is the best or chief DragonSlayer, who called for this meeting of the DragonSlayers, whose field of battle will the meeting be in, etc.)

Now, the terror: Who alone can slay a DragonSlayer? Well, obviously a dragon might; many great DragonSlayer's have fallen before their fire-breathing foes. But an additional danger to the life of a DragonSlayer is another DragonSlayer. Fellowship around the common bond of a just cause with Anger produces a certain euphoria, a certain delightful intoxication. But it is precisely in that euphoric, intoxicated – and dare I say bored state (i.e. free of the rush and clatter of battle) that some friend of Anger gets hungry for a fight, and two DragonSlayers end up jousting “just for fun.”

And then -- to the horror of all present -- once swords are drawn, one or both are injured seriously, or even critically. Many epic poems have been written bearing this tragic theme.

This is why all friends of Anger who unite in common cause should keep Music and Poetry in their constant communion – even going to battle singing songs. These illustrious sisters will keep our hearts in balance, and keep friends of anger from turning on each other. And the lady Mercy can never be from those who seek the friendship of Music and Poetry.

This leads me to one more point: if you meet a servant of Anger who has proven his valor in battle, but is not a friend of Music and Poetry and Mercy, beware.

A DragonSlayer who does not love Music and Poetry is a danger; a danger to you, to me, to all.

Send them in battle, applaud their successes, give them a mission, but do not take them into your counsel, your tent, or your heart.

For in time, if they believe it useful to “the war” or to their future, they will betray or kill you.

And so, I shall here end my professions of devotion to my Friend, Anger, and my confessions of fear of him as well with this note: Anger will seek to rule the world.

The issue is whether the world will be ruled in righteousness or malice. If unholy Anger seduces the powerful, and becomes the first minister of the kingdom -- let all beware. Neither hearth nor heart is safe or sacred.

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But Anger -- broken and harnessed by love -- can serve justice and the innocent. Like a mighty stallion going forth to battle, I can draw the weapons of just war. And after victory, the mighty stallion can bear the heralds of victory, and a just peace.

Let all admire, Let all beware, Let the wicked and the just be forewarned, Kiss Justice, lest Anger flare up in a moment, and you be consumed. __________________________________________ Well my friend, I shall not belabor or attempt to correct or modify anything I wrote above. I send it to you in hope that it might be a helpful picture of the fires and struggles that burn within our souls.

I shall wait to hear from you when you respond to this and my last post.

Until then, I remain your affectionate servant.

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DragonSlayers - Letter XI The Cristos Shrine and the Temple Of Anger Hello again my dear friend.

I received your latest post yesterday -- responding to my last two letters to you; the twenty year old allegory on Anger, and the thoughts about my father -- and yours.

First, let me commend you for planning to take a few days during Lent to abide in the abbey of the southern province. The set prayers, the Times of reflection, the study of the movements of your heart and soul will all be enhanced by the quietude, the images, and the sacred mysteries that surround you.

If my counsel were law -- for the good of all DragonSlayers -- I would require that they go to some place of solitude and quiet before and after all great battles, because of the safety of perspective. The clash of arms must never drown the voice of angels; and the sounds and smells of prayers and incense must ever be sweeter than the sounds and smells of war.

I now often ponder the wounds to our hearts and souls, as well as our bodies. In my younger years, a corporal wound was tantamount. But now I find myself fixed in mind -- concerning myself, you, and others of our ilk that I have known and loved (for that matter, even the villains that seek my life) I find myself asking questions about dashes to the heart, and slashes to the soul. I focus on those events that can define or marr or cripple a man on his interior.

I confess I have more questions than answers, but I believe and I pray that the questions will produce thoughts that are helpful and hopeful to us all.

First, let me thank you for the kind review you gave my creativity on the "person" of Anger. If I received a blow that left me alive, but unable to ride forth to war, and I were forced to choose between the vocation of scholar or poet, I should choose poet. For the poet -- though perhaps untrained in the trivium or quadrivium -- reaches and strums the harp of a man's core. The scholar may be drawn in detached -unaware or unconcerned with the songs and movements and weepings of a man's soul.

But the poet is driven by his desire to connect -- to connect tragedy, beauty, and truth; to connect with those who imbibe his prose. And he knows he must touch their heart or mind if he's to find entrance to their inner chamber, and there delivers some healing elixir or soothing bone or tear stained eulogy, or the bread of hope to a soul half starved by despair.

Of truth, I fear the interior of a man could die of want in the presence of some scholars; while that same man would have the wine of mirth and the bread of sorrows aplenty -- and all the wisdom that attends them -- if he could have but one poet who speaks truth, and wisdom, and perhaps above all – hope.

Now to your letter; and I hope that my musings have the force and healing power of the poet for your soul.

I was grieved again -- but not surprised – by the shaking effect that our discussions about anger and pain, our fathers and their failings had on your soul. Remember, the seasons of contemplation and reflection are just that – seasons. It is not a permanent state, neither could it be. If we dug about forever in the recesses of our souls, we should never be about the Masters call to slay dragons -- and we should become forlorn and pitiful men by virtue of the subject we studied.

But nevertheless, in the pursuit of our vocation, it is sometimes necessary to take these journeys of the soul.

And so due to the pressing questions you asked about anger and pain in their place in our lives and story, I shall paint one more word picture for you along these lines.

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As I was meditating in the chapel this morning, pondering your question, I marveled again at the connection between our past pain and our current actions; the line between anger and our quest for justice.

Be assured: this mysterious link is in no way unique to you and me.

Whether King or priest, commander or prophet, from the halls of Homer to those of the Hebrews, magnificent men and women endured bitter trials, pains, and rejections -- and were then moved to greatness in part by those very heartaches.

The poet laureate of my soul -- the great King David -- has said: "You have enlarged me when I was in distress."

The enlargement -- the growth and building of David as a man came not in the pleasant environs of the kingly court, but in want and need, flight and caves; in distress.

The library at this place is magnificent; I've used some of my time to read ancient parchments, scrolls penned on lambskin. I confess -- my Greek and Latin have been pushed to the limit -- but it has been worth the digging and mining.

As I have perused great warriors and battles; mythic heroes and the dreadful lessons of their lives, this pattern emerged consistently: they all endured stress and hardship; and they all carried within them an internal furnace of righteous, fearless Anger, able to strike dread in the heart of enemies.

As I have said before -- as DragonSlayers, our prowess can never be separated from our pain. Like those before us, those with us, and those who will come after us, we are who we are in part because of our pain and anger.

Now -- not just for your sake -- but for the sake of those who you train; for the sake of those with whom you are transparent -- let me give you a key point of difference between DragonSlayers and those who collapse and perish under the weight of injustice.

Having pain is simply not enough to make one a great warrior. Nor for that matter is anger. Many people endure bitter pains, but never emerge as DragonSlayers. Their pain breaks them. Or their pain makes them bitter.

The key is not merely in the presence of pain... but the response to pain and suffering. Two children in the same family may grow up with an unjust and abusive, or absent father. Both have horrifying memories, deep pains, and hurtful scars.

One emerges over time as a crusader, a DragonSlayer. The other cowers or hides or slinks away into the internal shadows of the soul.

Why? My observation is this: the Almighty. Not the Lord God in the big sense, but God in the little sense; God in the interior.

I believe what separates them is this: A DragonSlayer has met their Creator at the very point of their pain.

This is what I mean by God in the little sense. Now, it is clear that I am neither mystic, Friar, or Saint -- so my words may come in awkward paces. But nonetheless -- this distinction is critical -- and a matter of the spirit and the soul.

Somehow - in prayer, in meditation, in soul-searching agony – the Master has walked with the DragonSlayer through the wreckage of his pain, through the twisted nettles of his interior, always holding his hand – grieving and weeping with him.

The thought of the Master weeping with us – the sense that He truly understands – has an incredible effect on us. We may be betrayed, abandoned, abused, broken, and alone. And then -- perhaps through tears -we look beside us, and see our Lord – betrayed, abandoned, abused, broken and alone; betrayed by a close

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friend, abandoned by his closest friends, abused verbally and broken in body -- finally crying out as he hung alone on the tree: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Somehow -- and I confess it is as undeniable and authentic, as it is mysterious and personal -- we meet God at the point of our pain. His scarred hand touches the wound;. He heals the infection. The pain no longer terrorizes us internally. He may leave a thorn in our flesh there, so that we lean on his grace all the more, but the wound is no longer a source of general infection – producing a spiritual septic shock that cripples us. Rather it is now a part of what the Master uses to make us into warriors.

I feel I must say more.

Some people run forever from their pain. They never meet the Master at the point of the pain, and hence, they never become DragonSlayers. They are angry, yes; but their anger is never resolved, and Anger’s energy is never channeled to good use. They are drunk with Anger. It intoxicates them. Intoxicated, they lose the abilities of sound reason and judgment, depth perception, co-ordination, and so forth. They strike out randomly, chaotically, unsuspectingly – and at seemingly trivial things. They can never be a DragonSlayer in such a state.

This is because if they meet with angels or God at all, they want to meet with Him outside of their pain, and apart from their anger.

Permit me to paint a word picture to describe what I see. The wounded soul sets up an ornate shrine; let me call it the Cristos Shrine. The shrine has sacred songs and icons, and words from the Psalms of David etched in stone. But this Cristos shrine is detached, in a distant chapel -- perhaps nestled in a lovely wood.

But the Temple in which a wounded soul worships daily – the place they keep vigils; the Temple attached to the monastery of their soul, is the Temple of Anger. And the Master is not allowed to enter.

Now, the one possessed of anger will go to the lovely chapel to commune with the Master, and to say he is sorry for his anger; he may weep, and confess the chaotic brawls and sins that Anger has instigated – and he will ask forgiveness – but he will not invite the Master to journey into the Temple of Anger.

He wants to keep the Master far from the Temple of Anger.

Why? Because the Temple is where he lives. It is his life. And to invite the Master could be disastrous.

As the Ultimate DragonSlayer, He is totally unpredictable, and equally uncontrollable. It’s far too fearful, too risky, to invite the Master to the Temple of Anger. Such a one continues the sad game of hide and seek – hiding from the Master, seeking to meet Him away from the point of pain. And that one can never be a DragonSlayer. They may even become a dragon. And tragically, it is based on reasoning that is partly true, and largely false.

Let me illustrate the point by creating an inner monologue of the one who does not let the Master come into the Temple of Anger. You will see the anguished and crooked reasoning.

I must meet with the Master; but I fear giving him entrance.

If I let him walk with me through the painful relics of my past, as I even approach the gates of my temple, at any moment I could turn on Him. In fact, it is inevitable.

I will turn on Him. I will accuse Him. I will pass judgment on Him. I may hate Him. Before He enters, I will hurl accusations at him: “This is your fault!”

“Why did you let that horrible thing happen to me?!”

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“Why was I born into this family?!”

“Why didn’t you warn me?!”

“Why did you let them do what they did to me?!”

“You had the power and the foreknowledge to protect me, but you didn’t. They lied about me, they nearly destroyed me, and you didn’t stop them.”

“You could have spared me this agony, You could have made things different, You could have protected me, or rescued me sooner. But You didn’t. You let me suffer. You watched me suffer. You had the power to intervene in my suffering, but You didn’t. At least not as soon as I wish You would have.”

“You put me through this!”

“You took my mother in death!”

“You took my father in death!”

“You betrayed me!”

“I hate my life, and I hate You for making me this way.”

And so it proceeds; the bitter, wounded soul accuses the Master of being the friend of dragons, the forsaker of the innocent. Have you felt this way?

Of course, this reasoning is not total reality. It impugns God’s character, and ignores one of the most cherished and most volatile gifts he has given to the sons and daughters of Eve: our free will.

I will not here discuss the sovereignty, justice, foreknowledge, decrees, and mercy of our Master. It is not my purpose to open a twisted path of questions that have taunted and plagued philosophers and mystics since time immemorial.

I stake my ground here: the hidden things belong to God; things revealed belong to us and our children.

How his divine sovereignty and decrees mingle with our choices and the choices of others that bare in on us is a mystery beyond my giftings to plumb. I know that I shall account to him for my choices; begging mercy for my failures and sins, and praising His grace for any good that emerges from this frail frame of dust.

Some of the pictures that I now paint will apply to you; others will not. Retain them all, for they shall enable you to understand certain friends and enemies, and you may well be able to help snatch a writhing soul from the snare of despair.

The sad reality is that some of us -- good people, who are trapped in prisons of pain -- would turn in fury on the Master if he got too close to the source of our pain and anger.

Therefore, it is much safer and pleasant to visit him with flowery words at the Cristos shrine, than to hurl accusations at him from the dark shadows of our Temple of Anger. Tragically, this is a false choice, and it wrongly portrays who and what the Master is -- Wounded Savior, Scarred Redeemer.

In truth: Jesus weeps with us. He is touched by the feelings of our infirmities.

But it is also true that he is our Master, and we are not his. Therefore we fear the choices He might make.

Allow me to continue the illustration…

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If He were given entrance into our Temple of Anger, perhaps he would make a scourge and overturn the tables, as He did in Solomon’s Temple. He knew the moneychangers were lying and cheating and stealing.

(We know the Master is very displeased with unjust weights and measures.)

Whether I can admit it or no – in my Temple, where Anger dwells as god, almost all the weights and measures are corrupt. When the Master enters the outer courts, He will see those tables and measures; I’m afraid He’ll start overturning the tables and smashing my scales of justice. I’m afraid He'll declare: You've turned this Temple into a den of rage!

Why do so many people anger me?

Why do I react so strongly, so often?

Why is every hill a hill to die on?

Why am I always ready to draw swords?

Why am I so angry with God and man?

I know the answer: It’s because my scales are corrupt. I have unjust weights and measures. And the Master might destroy them.

So I keep Him out.

Another reason to keep Him out is that once He has passed from the outer to the inner court, He will certainly disrupt my offerings and sacrifices.

To keep the Temple filled with the pungent yet soothing aroma of Anger; the altars must frequently have incense, as well as fresh burnt offerings.

The incense is that slow, steady burning of the wrongs endured long ago, with their fragrance ever present.

The sacrifices are the recent wrongs endured. I must quietly, but often, focus on another wrong done to me, flay another animal, open its entrails, spill its blood. Between the incense and the sacrifices I must re-visit those who have wronged me, add new names to the list of those who have hurt me.

Then in the unholy solitude of the inner court of my Temple, I have to go over every heart-rending detail, remember the hurtful words and deeds, and relive the pain, so I can refuel the hate. The seething fire of Anger must have victims to consume; old and new scapegoats of justice. This alone will appease the god, and confirm to him that he is just and right for being angry.

But perhaps the most dreadful reason that some people keep the Master out of the Temple is what lies in the “holy of holies.”

When He passes through that veil of bitter tears, He will find a throne. On that throne He will see the unholy deity: He will see Anger.

But we fear – I dread – that when his eyes look upon the face of Anger.

They will see me.

It will be my face He sees His eyes will meet my eyes.

It’s not simply that in my Temple I have Anger as a friend; or that Anger is a god. It’s worse.

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I fear that I and Anger are so connected, that to look on Anger is simply to look on me.

Anger is my very fiber. And if He dethrones the deity, I fear that I will be undone.

Who am I without Anger?

What meaning does my life have without Anger?

What stars do I plot my course by without the compass of Anger? Anger is my ship, the wind in my sails, my map, the ocean I sail in, and my final destination.

And if the Master comes into this wicked, sacred place - like Dagon, Anger must fall; like the Temple of old, the Master will pronounce the words “Your house is left to you desolate. Not one stone will be left upon another.”

He will not allow Anger to stay seated on the throne of this wretched place; there shall be no other gods besides Him. And so I fear that he will bring the whole Temple down.

He’ll destroy my relics.

He’ll overthrow the tables.

He’ll stop the morning and evening burnt offerings.

He’ll tear down the whole structure. And the thought of such an event feels in the core of my being like the end of my world. I cannot envision my life not lived as Anger’s worshiping servant.

And so I keep my strolls with the Master far away in the chapel in the woods, and keep my Temple in full operation -- without granting him entrance. When I need to visit him, I will. I’ll bring Him fresh flowers and happy words. I’ll ask Him for His help and blessings. But I won’t bring him to my Temple of Anger.

It’s too dangerous.

I end my illustration here.

And now for the words of my friar, who has discussed these pictures with me for many hours. He said it simply: we don’t know what the Master will do, nor what we will do if we meet him at the point of our pain. He may walk into the “holy of holies”, look up at me, and reach to me with his hand. When I see His scars, and when I look into His eyes, my icy heart might melt. I might cling to Him. I might beg his forgiveness, and plead with him Him to take me out.

Or He might walk with me through the relics, the shattered dreams, the smoking sacrifices, holding my hand, and I might turn to Him and thank Him for taking me through all these heartaches, because they are part of what will help me become a DragonSlayer.

I don’t know for sure what will happen. But this I know: a bruised reed He will not break. A smoldering wick He will not extinguish.

But we do have to take the risk. We must meet with the Master at the point of our pain. If we don’t, we will be crippled. We will not become DragonSlayers.

This is why some people pass through pain, but never become DragonSlayers. Their pain has never been touched and redeemed by the Master. Their anger has never been calmed and broken and sanctified and harnessed by his scars.

And so they never get to the true battlefields where dragons terrorize communities and nations.

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They’re forever trapped, fighting against themselves, fighting their personal dragons, until death does that union part. Oh! But what a tragic waste of days and months and years -- and giftings and talents and energy. Heaven spare us from being a lifelong hostage within the Temple of anger.

I would prefer -- as I know you would also -- to die fighting real dragons, not fighting myself. Wouldn’t you?

I shall now leave this necessary but tear stained topic -- and not return to it again in our correspondents.

You presently have enough truths and musings of the soul for yourself and others to last many years.

So -- to a happier farewell.

First, I thank you for the joy and privilege (for that is what I count it) to have been able to correspond with you. The conviction with which you have told me how these missives have helped you is a true joy to my soul.

And in truth, our correspondents during my recovery -- and the beautiful instrument you sent me (which I'm happy to tell you is a part of the rhythm of my daily routine) -- and the fact that I have been prompted to put my experiences and lessons onto parchment; all of this has been a great blessing to me. I feel rewarded; I am strengthened; I believe I have served you and the Master as that great DragonSlayer served me and the Master many years ago simply by being transparent.

And so -- no matter how much I have helped you -- for this entire journey of the soul, I am in your debt.

If my current words seem like a farewell, well, they are in part. The physicians for my body, and those who care for my soul, have told that I will be free to leave soon, and resume my station and vocation.

That being the case -- since I am fasting for Lent -- and since Easter will soon be upon us, my intention is to depart these environs after we celebrate our Master’s passion. (The good friar who has become my spiritual guide and friend jokes with me that after the Master’s resurrection, I too will come back from the grave my enemies put me in -- or so they thought.)

You are free to use all the truths I have shared with you; all of the pathways on this journey of the soul, with any who you deem may be helped -- and you need not give credit to me by name in any way.

If this is my last letter to you from this blessed refuge, let us here commit that we shall write again and endeavor to see each other in the flesh. You have earned a place in my story, and in my heart.

May you have success in every battle in which you are just; And may you stumble without harm to yourself or others When you are honestly but mistakenly in the wrong.

And with that, I bid long life to you my friend.

Until we see each other in the flesh, or at the Master’s table, I remain your servant.

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DragonSlayers - Letter XII Freedom Hello my friend!

I have received your latest post, and was moved to tears by the pathos with which you wrote.

I know -- as one who has marched many days and miles alone -- the dread of isolation; the fear that "no one knows who or what I am...” or worse yet -- the anguish that fills the heart when worrying, "I should not have allowed the relationship with this DragonSlayer to slip through my fingers. This was one person I am certain understood me..."

So, before I proceed any further, let me answer the more anxious parts of your letter.

Yes, thanks be to heaven, I will soon be leaving. It is the beginning of Passion Week, and my plan is to leave sometime after the octave of Easter. All of those who care for my body and soul have declared me fit for journey, and by the strength exerted in and gained by that journey, I will soon be fit again for battle. Of truth, these last three or four days, I have begun swordplay and the riding of my mount -- at a very leisurely pace, I assure you.

Next, I would be honored to leave this place and travel straightway to your castle. Your invitation was so gracious, and so filled with the bonds of fellowship that are a delight to our station, that my heart was instantly filled with joy at the prospect.

And so sometime within a fortnight of Easter, you can expect to see me and my small retinue. I shall return to my thoughts on this joyous meeting in a moment.

But first, allow me to respond to the matters of the soul with which you pressed me.

To be sure, none of your letters since the first you sent me contained such a sense of urgency and fretfulness. I fear that my overly descript musings about anger; the pain we have endured from the hands of our fathers; and our need to walk with the Master through the Valley of the shadow of our rage may have wrought in you an overanxious spirit.

In that light, I pray this final letter is the most freeing, the most liberating for your soul from the beginning of our correspondence until this point.

For above all -- as a DragonSlayer, as a servant of the Almighty, and as one redeemed by the stripes of our Master, I want you to be free.

For in freedom you will be of the greatest service to the oppressed and downtrodden; in liberty of the soul you will be the greatest champion in the cause of truth and justice; you will be the greatest dread in the halls of hell and counsels of dragons with an unconstrained interior.

And so I write to you -- on freedom.

Mark my words, as one who has slain many dragons, and spent many years on the front lines of battle -- or in preparations for those battles – nothing – I repeat – nothing can shackle a DragonSlayer like unforgiveness. Unforgiveness -- and its paternal twin, bitterness -- these will make a DragonSlayer a hostage of his own rage.

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The enemies with which we preoccupy ourselves; the dragons we pursue; they normally reside in the outside world. We make defenses against them to keep them out, or to alert us of their presence. But unforgiveness -- when lurking in the shadow of our heart -- this enemy cannot be walled out. It beds with us, rises with us, dines with us, trains with us -- in short, it never leaves us -- and thereby slowly walls in our entire existence.

In short, when you do not forgive, you become the slave, you are a prisoner. This is one of the many bitter ironies and horrors of unforgiveness. The one who has betrayed or violated us in some specific act, at a specific time, in a specific place – or in a series of ways, times and places – that person has left a mark on us. We cannot erase history, and we cannot deny the reality of the pain or anguish of these acts.

But when we don’t forgive, we keep the wound fresh, always tender and infected; when we don't forgive, we tote bitterness around like a satchel full of rocks, always weighing us down. And when we stumble and fall under the weight of that bitterness, the bitter contents of our satchel spill out -- and those nearby can be injured or defiled.

We are simply not free. We have become a prisoner to that injustice, and the ongoing slave to the one who hurt us.

And again -- bitter irony -- the one who betrayed us may never think twice about our grief and wrestlings.

They might even be happy -- while we are miserable! And worse yet – they are ruling us. The one we despise, we bow to every day. The one who injured us is the one we report to every day. By not forgiving their deeds in the past, we make them the master of our present.

This is a vexing paradox. Anger – righteous anger -- can propel someone to great deeds. But unforgiveness will destroy you from the inside out.

Unforgiveness will color your judgment.

Unforgiveness will eat at you like a cancer.

Unforgiveness will sap your strength.

It is a debilitating force.

The Master made clear, if someone sins against you, and turns and says, “I repent,” you must forgive them.

(Would to heaven that all forgiveness was so neat and tidy!) Life would be so much easier if the guilty would say, “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” When indeed this does happen, restore such a one in a spirit of meekness, as you are able.

But what if the guilty hasn’t repented or asked for forgiveness? What if they have died or disappeared and we have no way to have a direct confrontation or even conversation with them?

Again -- The Master also made it clear that we must forgive those who trespass against us, even if they don’t ask for forgiveness.

This -- I do not like. I chafe under this admonition.

I want them to acknowledge the evil of their ways. When I was a youth, and my father was cruel or unjust to me or my brother or my mother, I wanted -- I needed him to show signs of grief. I want those who've injured me to look in my eyes and see the pain they have caused, and be struck with remorse. Do you know the sentiment?

But often times they are just looking after the details of their own frail existence; or worse, they’re looking at someone else they’re going to hurt.

This infuriates me.

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Why am I to forgive the one who not only hurt me, but now hurts others? I want to draw my sword and dispatch the guilty – not forgive them.

Why am I to forgive them?

For my sake.

Because I want to be free. I want to be free of the bitterness and the hate, the pain and the grief. I’m tired of being chained to that person. I’m tired of being their keeper: I want to be free.

When you won’t forgive someone, as well as being their prisoner, you become their warden. They may be your prisoner, but so what? You are in the prison with them. Do you really want to live in prison? Do you really want to give them that kind of power over you, that kind of connection to you?

Wouldn’t you rather be free – free to live and laugh? Free to roam the countryside in search of dragons?

It is my observation that a man enslaved by unforgiveness cannot be of much use in fighting dragons. He’s chained to a prisoner. He’s committed to be a prison warden. The shackles keep the DragonSlayer from moving about freely and focusing on the dragon without; he is forever distracted -- answering to the bellows of the dragon within.

Furthermore – depending on how much unforgiveness is rooted in his soul- he mistakes the enemy too easily. He sees the face of his captor – his abuser – he sees that face in the face of others. A voice, a word, a phrase, a smell, will trigger his memory, and provoke the enslaved to draw a sword on the innocent.

I’ve seen this. To unleash the revenge that lurks in his heart -- ready to launch and avenge; the tormented warrior will punish the innocent to make a point to the guilty. And usually, the guilty aren’t even aware of his schemes.

I said the “tormented” because that is what we are when we are in the grips of bitterness; tormented. That is the word the Master used. He said that if we did not forgive, He would hand us over to the tormentors.

Again, this seems harsh to me, but He knows all Truth; His scales of justice and mercy are flawless. Our duty is to obey – for His glory and our good -- and remember that His scars prove the depths of His love for us and His commitment to our good.

I told you that I wanted to talk with you about "Freedom,” as opposed to simply “Forgiveness” because I wanted you to think of forgiveness as not only releasing the guilty, but also freeing yourself. You free yourself from their company, their prison, and their darkness.

Yes, we still bear the scars of injury, and as we have discussed -- those scars are part of the equation that make us who we are. However, it is when we forgive them that we free ourselves. We are free to come out into the clear air – free to enjoy the waving of trees and wheat in the wind.

You are free to see children and adults as simply people – not potential oppressors and their potential victims. They no longer take on the hue of your unresolved anguish; the sounds you hear are no longer mingled with the demands of the prisoners you hold. You are free.

And so I urge you to release those who have wronged you, and so free yourself.

For clarity’s sake: by forgiving them, it does not mean they have to become your comrade, or your counselor in war. I speak from the shadow of fresh wounds. As you may have gathered from my earlier writings, the internal pain I felt at the horror of my comrades seeking to slay me was equal to the pain of my corporal wounds.

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Wrestling -- through many tears -- with my need to forgive these treacherous men, and to free myself from the captivity of bitterness -- this was a grievous internal struggle. But it was one -- for my own sake -- in which I had to prevail.

But -- to finish my point -- I can assure you that I will never again let them into my tent. In short -- I cannot conceive of a scenario in which I would trust those who betrayed me and those who sought to destroy me. Nor am I required to. (The Friar with whom I have spent many hours helped me discern the difference between forgiving and trusting. One is required of me; the other is not.)

In like manner, you may not even see or speak with those you have forgiven. Or you may just be polite, and keep at a safe distance. You are not required to subject yourself to more injury. You are simply required to forgive them from your heart.

And then you will be free. And the wondrous thing is that your pain, and experience can be touched and redeemed by the Master, and then be a great blessing to others. For unforgiveness holds millions hostage right now; bitterness is clawing at the heart and soul of some of those near you. And it is an insidious, vicious, tormentor.

And as you know by now, unforgiveness is a dragon; one of the most deadly of all dragons. And if you would be and remain a DragonSlayer, able to slay dragons and to rescue others, then you must conquer this dragon in your heart.

Slay him, or be devoured by him. In this hand to hand combat with the dragon of unforgiveness and bitterness,, there can be no truce, no love ordained détente. There can only be one victor, one Master; one vanquished, and one conqueror. Take heart my friend; I'm confident you will prevail in the struggle.

But I should do you a disservice if I did not bring two or three other items to bear on this most critical of subjects.

Perhaps the most troubling and outrageous part of this equation is that unforgiveness will inhibit our relationship with the Master. If we don’t forgive others, we will not be forgiven by our Maker. I can recall many hours wrestling with this seemingly unjust decree of our Master.

But the more I pondered it, and the more I looked at the blackness of my own sin, the more it made perfect sense to me. One of the ancient confessions says, Through my own fault, I have sinned, In thought, word, and deed In what I have done, In what I have failed to do.

And I often add my own thoughts when I confess under my breath; I have sinned, In what I have said, And what I have failed to say, In those I have wounded In those I have failed.

Agnus Dei, Miserere Nobis.

At times -- as the great King David lamented -- I feel weighed down and crushed beneath the burden of my own sin. In truth, I have too many sins of my own to worry about; the thought of not being forgiven for my sins -- which are more than the hairs of my head – simply because I would not forgive those who sinned against me; well, this is an unbearable burden.

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And as our Master so cleverly said; it is as if He has forgiven me a debt of ten thousand talents; how can I not forgive my fellow human being for a debt of five talents?

Finally -- and for some valiant DragonSlayers this is perhaps the most insurmountable difficulty, yet it has vital to our internal health and peace -- we must free ourselves.

My whole life, from the time I was a small child, I wanted to be a good man as well as a great man. Great men are often defined by great deeds of valor or charity, and this is as it should be. Good men are defined by things external and internal; by things said and not said; by deeds done and or left undone; by kindness, goodness, and uprightness.

As I grow old, I'm ever faced with the reality of my human frailty. Why -- as the great DragonSlayer Paul lamented -- why do I do the things that I hate, and fail to do the things that I love? This anguished mystery is one that both vexes and perplexes; one that weighs down a man's heart and soul. If he allows it to, it would be a constant siren of sorrow, overwhelming his senses.

And so the simple -- yet difficult -- duty is this: we must forgive those who have committed wrongs, even when it is we who have committed those wrongs. If the Master has buried our failings in the deepest ocean, then we must not live under the weight of their cruel memory. If the Master has separated us from our sins as far as the East is from the West, when we are riding forth from East to West in search of dragons, listening for their haunting howls, we should not be distracted by the haunting howls and echoes of our sins and follies.

Like all unforgiveness, this too is debilitating; the shackles of it must be broken; the shame erased. Lessons learned, yes; but we must not become prisoners of our own guilt. In many ways, we all offend; and in many ways, we can all do good.

And for whatever reasons that belong to the Master, He has chosen to call us servants and friends, though He knows the darkest part of us.

When I consider the crimes and villainies of the Great DragonSlayer King David; when I consider the treachery and betrayal of the Great Rock Petros -- when he was sifted like wheat ere the cock crowed twice; when I consider these men and the fact that even after their deeds come they yet remained a part of the Masters grand design -- I marvel. It mystifies me. And I confess -- it gives me hope.

So...be free my friend; free from the shackles of unforgiveness and the prison of bitterness; be free to love and laugh and serve -- and free to make war on dragons.

Now, as I said in my opening, I heartily accept your gracious invitation to abide with you for season at your castle.

I shall have four men with me for my horses, armor, weapons, and unfortunately -- the ongoing concern of a plot to destroy me. Any modest quarters for all of us will suffice.

I have these few simple requests; That I be permitted some leisurely hours in the great library of which you spoke. (The feeding and strengthening of my soul is an important part of the keenness of mind required for me to slay dragons;) That we have a time or two when we break forth our instruments (Guinevere shall be in my hands, and at my side -- I assure you!) and play the songs of our youth, of loves lost and found, and of battles lost and won; That you take the liberty to invite to table with us any who you feel would be strengthened and emboldened by our fellowship and memories of battles; I have found that one of the greatest things we can do for the next generation of warriors is to simply give them time with us without pretensions or agenda;

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And finally -- that you do me the honor to look at some maps and plans I have drawn up for the pursuit of a certain dragon in the province that adjoins yours to the south. I am convinced -- with the help of the Master and His angels -- that you and I and the force that we would raise could dispatch this foul creature of hell, make his cave the haunt of jackals, and his memory the taunt of drinking songs.

Until we see each other in the flesh -May the Angels protect you, The just honor you, The innocent extol you, The evil revere you, And hell fear you.

Let us commend ourselves in trust to Him who made us. I look forward to toasting your health, and planning our next foray into battle. I am anxious to turn my sword outward again.

In the end – we are DragonSlayers; this is what were meant to do.

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