Story Time

Once upon a time there was a boy who lived in a land of beautiful mountains, rivers, and wildlife. This land had long been purged by the pains of war. The natural glow of this creation had been smothered by the dark and overbearing sorrows of war. This boy lived with his parents, three brothers, and dogs on the side of the most beautiful mountain. He grew up a happy child, and like all living things his age, he found the best in everything. He collected shrapnel that had robbed families of their fathers and created pieces of art to one day be admired. This boy was a charm. Loved and held dear by everyone in the village. Known and respected by every artist in the region. Dreamed of by every young girl. Esteemed by his parents and shown off by his siblings.

In every good story there must be conflict, right?

This boy was missing something eminent to childhood. This child never knew what it meant to be carefree. This child never understood life without death. If you’ve ever known a child, you will know their initial perspective of life, as without death. Never in his life had this child been free of worry. Anxiety, fear, and confusion have always had a grip on him. Poor boy.

His parents had no clue. They both worried themselves insane and did not see this childs despair because they were so blinded by their worry and their fear.

Years went by and this child never knew what anchored him to this death that he didn’t even need to fear. It wasn’t until many years had gone by that he fell in love with a beautiful young girl; the daughter of a farmer. This love developed into so good that it shook the way he saw his life. A time would come when this boy would have to make a decision. This decision was not one he had ever made before. This decision was one he was horrified of making. He had options but no choice… You see, this boy knew what he had to do. He knew the appropriate course of action. He also knew the resistance he would stir up if he followed his heart. Weeks went by. This boy had to know, and believe, that it was best for him to follow his heart regardless of what flak may rise.

The time came to pronounce his decision, and the young boy, after writing out his proclamation, stood before his village, and told them what he had chosen. As was anticipated there were cold stared and blank expressions. He had told them that he was leaving them to find truth. Not only was he doing this, he was marrying the farmers daughter and bringing her with him.

The very next day, a small procession was held and the two were wed.
This story ends here. I haven’t seen or heard from either since they left three years back.
I’m growing old and as my age increases my hope for their return decreases. I don’t spend my time wishing them back like the others in the village though. I’ll tell you why, but be forewarned, it’s a secret so you can’t share it… When I was young, and in love, I left too. I left and I found the freedom, the joy, the peace, and the love of a life outside of these mountainous walls.
Why am I writing this you ask?
Well my dear children, because I am that boy and I have returned from those hills and that life to show you where the door is.

May your heart seek for truth and may your mind cease it’s sense-making.
There is a love unending and a peace perfected.
Turn the knob my son, push the door daughter.
Close your eyes and feel the fresh air wash over your face.

Step forward.

Step forward.