The Dream of Death's Court: Druid Bound

"Call your first witness, In-quis-i-tor." The Morrigan air quotes at me. I look over at a tall vulpine, young man lazily leaning against a spear that bleeds with the fire of the sun. Strapped on his back is an elven blade and across his sun-kissed skin dances a druid's tattoos as blue as the clearest skies. He winks my direction and laughs.

"Don't be glamoured by the Tuatha Dé Danann, son. These ones spend way too much time with the fairy folk so they think they have to put on a show and out-do one another." Tyr waves his hand as if he's grabbing after something unseen and pulls a horn of mead out of the air. " 'Cept I've never seen anyone out play The Morrigan. That one holds all the cards, she does."  He takes a drink. "Watch. It can't be done."

"Oh, you THINK, all-mighty judge, your honor, ma'am, that I chose the title off-hand? I'm not here to persecute, I'm here to help us all inquire as to why. Isn't this the same title and position that was used to find us all out and burn us at their pyres, to judge us against their god's decree? Didn't this man, "he points his spear at me and fire drips lazily from it's tip," once serve that same god, murdering just the same?" He slams the butt of the spear into the floor. "Changing one's spiritual practice does not absolve one of the responsibility of their actions." He slams the spear down again. "I Will NOT bring a tainted and diseased soul into our realms. He WILL pass through the fire, or Dissolution take him."He slams the spear point into the floor. "Let's get straight to the point and not play these games." In one motion he leaps, draws the sword from his back, bringing it straight for my neck in a perfectly executed swing.

"LUGH, STOP!" The Morrigan screams.

I close my eyes, and breathe a sigh of relief.

*CLANG*

One perfect tone rings in the air. I open my eyes to see Tyr having drawn his blade and with the flat of it stopped the killing blow of the Celtic god of the Storm's sword.

"Fragarach isn't going to win this contest for you, Clever One. I'm here to make sure that justice is served.  That means we play this out, and your Druid games come second." Tyr effortlessly pushes him aside then sheathes his blade. "

The Morrigan laughs wildly, "Oh, Clever Lugh, you can't deny me this prize! He may be a descendant of our people, but his ancestors turned away from our teachings. He must pay the price of that betrayal before he answers for any other. How else can he be judged by our standards?"

Lugh sighs. "I thought I could one up you." He puts the sword on his back then smiles. "I had you worried for a second."

The Morrigan crosses her arms and gives him petulant stare. "Only because this one deserves our attention." She looks directly at me, through me. I shiver. "I do not take self-murder lightly, however, I know despair."

"I don't dread my Fate, ma'am. I've read enough of the Lore of the soul to know the consequences of my actions. Even in life, those actions that were out of my control I still had a measure of responsibility.  I lost my faith. I gave in to the weight that crushed my will to live. I cannot feign ignorance, as my knowledge of what happens to those souls who bring no glory to god, they will not bring any to his foes. I will not blaspheme God nor my parents; the place, time, and seed that did engender me and give me birth. No penance could I serve and no boon would I ever ask to take this from me. Before this goes any further, I accept whatever judgement that you pass. I prayed for oblivion."

"Oh child, you have learned many painful lessons in this life, but the most painful one that you should acknowledge is that you can't escape through MY Door."  The light dims. "You are my food, I will last until this universe dissolves it's final atom, ad infinitum.  Brahman, the Ultimate Reality, even Him I will consume."  She points a finger at Lugh without looking in his direction. "Inquisitor, begin."

Lugh sighs. "Play the life-sequence, Ganesha." He taps his spear on the ground. "You'll be witnessing and reliving your life. Each moment will be known before you get to it, and you will feel every emotion fresh, every thought as if new. You will not be able to change or affect anything. Observe, see who you really are, and stand ready for judgement before all of Creation."

Ganesha materializes in front of me. "Don't worry, brother," he whispers, "I'm with you until the end." He smiles then places the tip of his broken tusk on my third eye, wrapped in his trunk. I'm pulled away to another place. When I come to, I'm back in SERE Training. When reality hits me, it is like I'm chained inside my head.

I scream.

The Dream of Death's Court: A Sorrowful Goodbye

When I was growing up I was told to pay attention to dreams. That they could guide you to right action through foreseen troubles. Then I learned that I could create dreams, that I could dream in waking day. I grew up with stories of Gods and Monsters, Angels and Demons, Heroes and Villains. They painted and shaped my world with their invisible appendages, thoughts and emotions.

Who is to say what will be when we end, is all up to whatever their imagination can aspire it to be. With the sorrows that the world carries, it can only hope that we find some sort of justice for each of our deeds when passing into the next life. What would you do? Who would be in your pantheon? How would you feel?

I don't know about anyone else but I really like super serious reflection and finding ways to bring grim scenarios the due they deserve. I find that my tether to the living world is strong enough to prevent me from losing my way, but there was a point where I had given up all hope, ready to face whatever justice lay before me.

In the Christian tradition that I grew up in, we were given a court room scenario, in which Christ would be our advocate before God. As I decided to venture along my own path, I've thought about who would be my Advocate, and who would be my Judge. I've given serious weight to who would be my enemies and who would be my heroes. I've confronted each of those things, on my cosmic scale.

Maybe that's why this was so easy to write, because it's played out in my head so many times, but I had been so immersed in sorrow I had not the light to reflect. And for whatever reason the universe has given me one reason to never give in. So all this remains is a dream, a fading pain. Every so often something triggers a vivid reality and I use that as a method to reflect. It keeps that tiny spark alive, undying in the void.

Let's explore a coward's death, dishonored, and disavowed.  The life spark within had burnt out, a hallowed husk of what could have been. This was a possible future, a broken path. A What If(?) had I been successful in my first attempt back in 2012 after my accident.

Enjoy

*************

My head shoots off the table as if it had been smacked, drool matting my beard. Last thing I remember was looking over at my dog as I placed the gun's barrel into my mouth. I was apologizing...

I look over to see a shadow coalescing into a vaguely human shape coming in from the judge's office. Somewhere in the back of my mind I register somebody saying, "please rise." Glancing around I realize I'm already standing. My hands are empty. The lights are too bright. I can't feel my breathing or my heartbeat.

**MWA-MWA-MWA**

I look over at the direction of the sound. The man shape to my left is slowing coming into form, like smoke becoming solid in front of me. His kind and knowing eyes are the first to appear. I freeze as they uncover my own shadows and weigh my very soul.

"Sit down, son. It's okay. Everyone experiences the disorientation. Your method of death the most difficult. Some spirits don't even make it through the transition and go straight to dissolution." His mouth appears as a wry smile and a bushy brown beard bursts into life around it. "I've reviewed your case. Thank you for your prayers."

"Whaaa...?" Lights and shadows dance around the room forming into the jury and the audience. "But Kali? The Morrigan? ...Odin? Kratos?"

"Sit down, everything will be explained as soon as everyone finishes arriving. Kali, she's the goddess of destruction. Morrigan, the goddess of Death whose aspect is set to judge you right now. Odin is more prone to hanging himself in sacrifice to himself than appearing in a court room... and Kratos is a video game character." He gestures wildly behind him, "All the other gods, spirits, ancestors, ghosts, demons, and all manner of creatures that you've ever imagined and have hidden from your imagination are here to witness today's sorrow.*" By this time he had finished manifesting and was brushing ash off of his pants with his left hand. His entire right arm is covered with a black wolf pelt and under it peaks the hilt of a fine sword with a silver pommel. His clothing well made, but simple, showing no adornments but the heavy weave and tight stitching.

I grab the back of my chair and slowly sit down while taking in the rest of the room.

The myths and legends I grew up with filled up every seat. Orcs & Humans, Elves & Dwarves, angels, demons, gods, monsters, sins, and virtues... I recognize them all. When I pass my gaze over to the Juror's area, I sink lower into my chair. Six of my Heroes and Six of my Enemies all stare quietly at me. I look over at the man who I suppose is my lawyer. "Am I on trial..?"

"It will be explained to you in a moment. Relax. You died. This is my favorite part. I love the introductions."

"Mr. Bryant, please stand," The Morrigan began. "Your life will be reviewed, weighed, and judged, in accordance to the the Laws of Spiritual Accountability." She waves her right hand in front of her to acknowledge the audience and her cloak of shadow mists parts to reveal her unclothed form beneath. She gives me a wicked grin. "All mankind find that their afterlife experience is exactly what they believe in the deepest and most secret parts of their hearts. I am the Chooser of the Slain and you have given me offerings and prayers in according to your ancestral traditions. I will judge and choose your fate. Do you have anything to say before we begin?"

"Staff Sergeant, Ma'am."

"Excuse me?"

"It's a title I earned in life. I would request that I be recognized by it. If you are to be my judge and the man next to me be my advocate," I gesture and look at him in the eye. He smiles," the god of war and justice from the Norse pantheon," I look back at The Morrigan, "then I believe that what I earned in life under your spheres of influence should be acknowledged."

"Well then, Staff Sergeant Bryant, I grant your request. Anything else?"

"No, Ma'am. I'm prepared."

"Then let us begin. Your ancestors will bear witness. Your Heroes and Enemies will weigh your life. Tyr will advocate for fairness. I will be the final arbiter."

Apologia for Love

a·pol·o·gy

əˈpäləjē

noun

noun: apology; plural noun: apologies

1. 1.

   a regretful acknowledgment of an offense or failure.
2. 2.

   a very poor or inadequate example of.
3. 3.

   a reasoned argument or writing in justification of something, typically a theory or religious doctrine.

***

To Whom It May Concern,

If ever I were to apologize for anything it would be that I don't believe that I have loved enough. Or maybe it was that I have loved the wrong things too much and the right ones not enough. Where I gave into fear instead of grace, I drowned in self-loathing for the creature that I became. Every decent-seeming man would deny orders over his heart, so I am not a decent man.

What are we, if not monsters, we who have stolen the humanity from our enemies then snuffed out their lives as if they were a candle's flame? Can such men be redeemed? By what measure shall we use? We see many today in our society cover themselves in glitter as if that can hide their scales and a fancy coat can cover up wickedness. But by what, again, are these things measured?

For who am I to say such wicked sins exist if I am one who has perpetrated much as well? Was I, or was I not instructed in right and proper behavior? Can my sins be absolved by the waving of wands and a toss of a Hail Mary? Can I turn a blinded eye towards the wrongs that I did towards others, when Justice herself is blind and I am only half so? Where can somebody who has been wronged and has done grievous things find absolution?

I once tried to run, but where do you go when you are trying to escape from yourself? When even Death is denied to you?

The recent celebrity suicides always brings to mind my own attempts and I always spend time considering of whether I have done the right thing with not following through with my own murder. I had three times where I deliberated it, pretty much each for the same reason.

I read a tweet thread about Anthony Bourdain, where his ex-girlfriend posts about what depression is like. For me it was as if my life was draining out of me, my spirit or essence, like a perpetual bleeding wound that couldn't heal. The light that I once had in my eyes, the optimism I had about the world, slowly suffocating in the darkness until I couldn't even see it within my self. My sun was black as pitch, and burned with the fires of a thousand dying stars. There were no evening lights in the night sky to guide my way.

In the way that makes up our mortal life, I had found myself in a gloomy wood, astray, for the right path had been lost. I was harassed by the beasts and monsters that lay hidden within mankind, showing me the ugliest parts of myself and others. I made my way through my hells, danced with deadly sins, and wrestled with the virtues that remain within every soul.

Anthony Bourdain imagined himself a fraud. I imagine myself a failure.

I had written the details of my suicide attempts but had found them drawing me back into those places and I find that I have trouble arguing with my own reasons for ending my life. I also always seem to find that one reason to not. And that is not a failure of love, but a reason to apologize that it is not simply shared more.

And I think that if anything maybe we can see that Mr. Bourdain was a person on a journey, like all of us are, he opened very many people's perspectives on themselves. Which, by the fruits that they bare shall ye know them. And it would be a failure of mine if I didn't share my reflections, of why we get to those places. Of how the deepest questions that we ask our selves, we can't escape them. No matter what.

And so to we, who face death, or have dived passed and came back, I want to say thank you. And to recognize you is not a failure. Because that one atom's breath that keeps the kindle burning, I think that is something that needs to set us all a blaze.

Because I can tell you that one question that we all ask, why? Why take another breath? And by what measure is that worth it?

By these things that I have seen, it always comes down to that one thing that should never be fraudulent, and one that is desperately exploited by our modern society.

And by that measure, if genuinely held in the light and comforted in the darkness, I would say that if they can discover that within themselves, they are neither a fraud nor a failure. That is the only thing that will guide them through their day. For they, in spite of all they see and have experienced, know what the world is needing the most.

Dudes with a bleeding heart, but more importantly a reflection as to why it needed to be bled in the first place. Because we can see that the blood is already on our hands. I, who has clearly spilt a drop, would do all that is within my power to prevent one more tragic loss.

I have seen my enemies through a digital screen. I hunted their pixels across data streams. For 16 seconds I was god, then I saw what a mess we made. Where once honor was planted, war tore asunder, and I understood the nature of what we've become. My entire belief system made obsolete at push of a button.

And by this nature I'm not sure if I am to be commended on my seeking or tormented and ridiculed, because from the moment that they made me a killer I knew that there would be no cleansing my soul. So I sought a way to create beauty where none existed around me. If my soul be painted with my sins let it be a story for you to know that in the end of all things, Love is all there needs to be known.

I am a warrior, for what do I fight? I am a priest, what do I worship? I am a magician, what do I create?

Cannot all of these things be one and the same?

I know that I feel my most powerful when love resides in my breast. I would worship that which gives me the same sense of complete satisfaction, and exercise my will upon natures strands just to see her dance.

There are times I wonder why we spend so much time wondering things. We can figure out the universe is numbers, and we can imagine infinitude, but are we actually paying attention to what we're being told? When it comes right down to it, we should.

Because, let me tell you, it kept me from giving up, taunting me with "you'll just be here again if you do." After my belief in god, country, and self had all been destroyed, the wicks to that effervescent fuel were dirty, indeed. I let what other's tell me who they thought I was matter. I lost myself.

I was degraded and I sought appeasement as the mongrel I was, I was bent but never broken, to what purpose am I to be, a tool from the master's forge, but what happens when the sword breaks?

I've read enough fantasy to follow that quest to it's end, but let me actually show you it's reward.

I have paid the price, and it was worth paying because it must be paid. Wisdom, will aid your weary bones, and knowledge pay your life's passage. Seek these things and you will see many wondrous and terrible things. You just have to make sure that your wonder doesn't turn you into a monster. And you have to make sure that Fear doesn't kill your Mind.

because even if you find yourself broken, that even a candle would be as the sun in the darkness of your life, it is that nature which drives us no more than any beast, by human tongues it is expressed, in all it's hallowed out and worn vernacular, the world bleeds for love.

I just wish we'd all stop with the bleeding.

And I tell you, before I close this letter, that even now my heart bleeds from the wounds that have been given me, and I would not wish a breath of the pain that I have felt to touch the moisture on their skin.  There are enough natural wildfires without us having to put out emotional ones too. My heart hurts for the suffering they must be going through to hurt me like they have. I wish them to be free.

Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.

Here is my Apology for Love,

Respectfully Yours,

B. Bryant