My Book of Love, My Book of War

I wrote my book of Love at the end of a decade. I write my book of war at the beginning of another.

My book of love is full of hopes, illusions and truths. Fata Morgana. My blinded spirit thought it was Truth, but this truth did not exist. My book of love is not for me. It was destined to reach the hands of one I will never see. Destined to reveal my thoughts, my feelings and my hours, minutes and seconds as I waited for the moment that I can finally rest the book in his safe-keeping. It was a request - fill blank white paper with black ink. Black ink which flowed with time. Which evolved into tears, and then into bile. My book of hopes, illusions and sacrifices, now conferred to rest in the depths of the ocean. An offering, a thanksgiving for the strength I have always received from the Deep. Black ink will be erased by saltwater. Paper will disintegrate and dissolve into nothingness. Words will disappear into the deep. 

I wonder, will the tides carry my words across islands and mountains? Will the one who boldly requested for words from deep within me ever hear these words carried by the tides? Will these words touch his soul? Will he suffer when he hears me in the wind and sees my shadow dacing on the waves? How long more will he continue in his madness to seek me, having no possible means to get close to me? For now it is I who have become Fata Morgana. How long more will he let the madness rule him, when will Time and Tide erase the memory of me?

I believe...I do not believe. I wonder, but I do not wish for answers, because I do not really care to know. Because my book of Love is now destined for destruction.

Destined. Destiny.

When I started the book of War, I was of the mind to perfect my skills in the art. Physically, mentally. I have searched, and will continue to search, long and far for all the knowledge which has been given to me. This book is destined for me, and there is no ending, as the pursuit of knowledge does not end. The book of War will always grow. I planted the seeds within me, now it has taken root and grown. It is yet a very young tree, a sapling, which others nurture and I treasure. But as I write the book of War, my consciousness asks me, "WHY, who are you fighting?"

Destiny.

My eternal opponent. My friend and enemy who has seen fit to throw in my path those who use guile, deceit and force. Fickle Destiny, friend at one moment, foe another. I never know which it will be. Destiny's violent generals have not gotten the better of me yet. But each opponent she sent has only gotten stronger, as though to test my limits, to see if my strength has grown or slackened over the years. How long can I last? How much can I endure? Her last general was a worthy opponent. He used the best strategy: DECEIT and AHIMSA. Begging for words from the deep to be transcribed on white paper. Deceit hurts, therefore is not the way of Ahimsa. Ahimsa from one who uses force on my friends, subjects them to his will, do his bidding, in order to take a step closer, since he was far removed from me. But I can smell violence beneath the skin, I can read chaos in the mind. Yes, I can be an animal when I choose. He did not win. And my victory holds a certain defeat.

Laugh at every defeat, it keeps me sane. Cry at this victory, it drove me insane.

A deflection, Destiny's general now wishes to enter my camp. But I have no camp, and no place for traitors. Once a traitor, always a traitor, the lowest form of life. My ruling command - no quarter, no mercy.

My book of War sharpens my mind, teaches me to focus, opens up doors to many other aspects of life. The words of wisdom given to me, or those which I beg for, glean, cajole or steal, yes steal, have taken life on white paper. And they will grow and flow. They flow within me as I write. They flow from me as I fight. They wait, ready to spring to life when I summon them from their slumber on white paper. Ready to take on the next crazed general Destiny launches my way.

As of 01h00 19 June, the battle is renewed. My book of War will be my companion, my weapon. It is full of words of teachers from years ago, and those who I will meet in the future. Words in strange languages. So many languages that sometimes I forget my own. Words which act as a light on my path as I fight through darkness and chaos. Yes, that is my ultimate opponent - Destiny. I object, refuse, reject what I KNOW is not good for me. Send me your best, most violent, most worthy champions...

Only the Almighty rules over life and death. In my turbulent spirit, there is no such thing as "It is written by Destiny."

It is written by me.

My book to be destroyed, and my book which will grow, IS WRITTEN BY ME.