#44

I can hear the sound of the water dripping. I can hear the drums, pounding and pulsing; pushing, driving to something absolutely necessary, absolutely now. Something like war. The flutes whistle as cries as I leave the cities and conventions of civilized life behind and adopt something simpler, something far more primal.

To kill is not a difficult task, but far too often it is taken much too lightly. Is it not righteous to take another’s life with just gravity for that person’s ultimate and final ending? To do honor one must be aware of his actions. Totatally, utterlly aware. The mindset must be perfect. The form must be superb; the stroke swift and final. A sharp pain, searing, suddenly. And then blackness. Nothingness. Ending. This is the only way.

The world cries out in mourning. The wind whispers to the earth, and she opens up to hold her child close as his last moments slowly slip away. The grass bows, the trees hold vigil and all is recognized. To fall fighting with truth in your heart, there is nothing sad about this. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world. What more can you give than your life, your honour, your devotion and your personal truth? Is there anything more? No, it is the ultimate sacrifice and the most beautiful. Do not mourn for those such as these, celebrate their death and their devotion: aspire to them. Only those who no longer fear death will be able to function most harmoniously with death looming all around you. Warriors who knowingly follow their beliefs and loves to the absolute end….that is what beauty is.