There is a warrior in us. We just haven’t met him yet.
He is in the quiet. He is in the storm. He is in the wind. He is in the still.
He is one who sees you. (Not the you, you paint and fix up for the prying eyes. But the you who hides inside, the child peeking on her tiptoes as curious as she is terrified of the world outside.)
Our worlds are criss-crossed into neat, little boxes conveniently labelled and packed with easy-to-understand instructions but to him this world is infinite. When not the body but the spirit speaks to you, you understand the throbbing colour in each of us. He sees no black or white but living, breathing souls begging to be heard and told. The world was shy and wary of the men who plundered her wealth and still called her unkind but when the warrior arrived at her steps he is welcomed with open arms.
He is plagued by demons. Demons determined to test him and steer him clear from his path but he is never affected. They would meet his Arctic blue eyes and fall to their knees as they felt the love and the recognition that met them. When a soul has been cowed and gagged-abandoned in stifling darkness for as long as it remembers, the first glimpse of the sun is shattering.
He is the Sun and the Moon. When not the body but the spirit speaks to you, you understand the truth beneath the world you knew. Crystal-clear she gleams, the most pristine lake you’ve ever seen. Every step sends ripples across her surface, as if the world were righting herself as he went. Broken pieces heal, dry deserts bloom.
The Spirit Warrior is in each of us. We just haven’t met him yet.
#251 