"At least his brave."
"The only bravery he has, is foolish bravery."

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Two lines I came out with while daydreaming... (It was two guys on a quest for some magic herb and I kept switching perspectives... ah heck. We don't need to know how we daydream.)

Foolish Bravery, has been branded across many when a reality that is spoken across to the other side is seemingly ridiculous to stomach. As in, 'they don't understand'. Which side? Well, it obviously works at both ends. The tale of bravery can be told by many... lets begin at the eyes of sincerity.

People who are sincere are the respected. Well, no. Not totally true. Its dependent on what you are sincere about, and that refers to beliefs and values. If you are really sincere that killing someone isn't wrong, every other person would label you as a madman, but that would be of no meaning to you (depending on how sincere you are) And therefore, sincerity doesn't mean truth. The divisions in the areas of life all prove such, all people are sincere in their beliefs at certain areas and they other side are the fools when you gaze across through the looking glass. When you see with sincerity, everything else on the other side would be foggy in circumspect. To quote an element from 'The Way', covered with the rolling mists...

We descend, to the jaws of opinion. This age seemingly demands verifications and factual evidences. To believe, means to see. In the several instances whereby sight invovles a little more than just concerete facts and figures, and insteand fizz towards a more brittle blend. We could fault items and literatures without having a call for our own considerment. Note that these are jaws. Not the tongue, so it can't taste. Not the teeth, so it can't chew. And well, it can't digest. Through opinion, its mostly a gun that demands to be ralied rather than displayed, no matter how aestistically appealing it may be. And when there is pause to listen, most of the time, the don't want it to seem right and therefore deny the existance of any part of the thing 'making sense'.

We now feel the hot-and-yet-cold touch of the amour of ignorance. It was polished with the cloths of biasness and self-assumptions, and so, its pretty much a solid piece of amour. It shields the warrior from the hailstones of awakening and tightens itself to shun the contradictions that may erupt. It protects when uneasiness seems to come. It rejects, when sense seems to protrude. The strength in it, endures to levels dependent on how tightly you want to wear the amour. And... pretty much, how much you want to rely on it.

The pride of the warrior can be seen now, in the invisible aura of yelling -- his book of knowledge. To judge by its cover, it is gold plated, attractive with the most expensive gems engraved carefully onto it. This demonstrates how valuable the book is, and how precious it really is to him. The pages might also be worn out, showing how much he absorbed its content and infused its elements. (Note: I refer not to references that are scared and religious, like the Bible, but rather an object that demostrates the knowledge of that warrior with other self-infused elements.) It is often shown off, and pages of the content are yelled onto his victims, implictly, with... arrogance. Perhapstance applys.

We can recall, the once spoken about (previous blog entry...) , blade of apology, in his right hand. It is gripped onto tightly and swung with force at every attempt of attack (or defense?). To yell a battle cry and raise the sword in full frontal offense - a common story of opinion and apology. As I said before, everybody loves to use, his/her sword.

We can observe the boots of affirmation. They root strongly onto the ground and raise, only to fall again with a loud clash. We affirm and agree we know, and to potray, we conduct and march on. To quote a teacher-student-class-joke as told by a friend of mine (she was probaly the victim) "I can always find my way back." , "Ya, a dog always does..." Un-huh? Well.

It gazed towards the vehicle in sour perception, allowing its mists of distortions to fog his retrospections. The blissful acknowledgements towered in a fuzzy recollection to the thoughts that dwelled within the cage it locked itself in. That it clung onto the bars, stupidly for.
Its faith in the leap was supported only by its knowledge of circumstance. And also his fear. Yes, perhaps his fear played a role as well. It was vital enough for him to act. For him to demonstrate an ablity that was considered worthy of it. The very existence of the presence allowed him the bravery to run the race. To live. To fight. To accept. To achieve.
By faith.

_____________Zoneseekers..::
by a perspective that relies on the author of Truth... 10:04 PM

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