A Lion In Winter
Aspen Mountain
October 4th, 2009
OK, at the coffee, bath, email portion of this day. Mom is off. I am home, and rested last night with limited up and downs of annoying pain. Ponder her comment last night, "the girl that hit you did not kill you, but left you dying slowly." Egads is that what this looks like! Admittedly sometimes, this mortal shell feels tried, and oddly heavy but at the same time like a whisper whose fights in the flesh have gone. Never anticipated the battles of opinion, or passion would feel so distant, so remote, so too much effort to be worth the tempting seduction to raise up and care.
The story opens a lion hearted man in winter, on a bed, the passion of battles remembered, but the spirit for the swirling fights of his fellow beings far, far away. What will become of these people and especially now as it appears to be petty envies, struggles for power or possession, strivings for love and fulfillment in what matters of the day and destiny that were at one time so compelling.
It was easy once upon a time to put himself full hearted into the heat of opinion, into the seduction of passion, into the call of his destiny, and was not longer so. He cared, but had neither the time, strength or inclination to organize his mind to calls which tapped his should about worlds and work undone.
He listened to an inner voice, which was far louder than those of the people and events demanding response. They were just so much noise now. And with each passing day his hearing was made deaf to it all.
Yet, there was life, and he had been both a magician creating and allowing miracles as well as a warrior for so many causes. He remembered standing up bloodied but not bowed, again and again and wondered would it happen again, one more time, one more opportunity to finish what he had been called to do or at least he thought now, lying there sorting out -- no longer one injury but all of them. Injuries to his body, to his heart, to his soul had always been the price paid for the risk of nobility's robes.
But what now of that power? Upon whose shoulders did his blood reside. Unlike Bismarck, he know the practically of RealPolitik, but fortunately choose a life of service as being more practical. He drew his power from those he served as opposed to using station to make packs with the devil for a greater good. He had friends and unlike Bismarck would not die friendless.
He knew he was not done, but could feel strongly end to the summer for he was now a lion in winter.
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Not bad for morning missives. (09/26/09
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