Blue Gates.

Darkness falls over the sky's canopy and wise seek cover while folly awakens. He has been awaiting this clash. For years he has lain in wait, ever since words spoken to the effect of such an event. Whether he is ready time will tell. The time since the words were uttered a tug of war has ensued, being pulled this way and that, as a wave tossed to and fro. Times when he would seek the strength with curious faith, wondering in his heart if it were there, that reserve for the dark times. Those fiery darts, poisonous arrows directed at his sanity. Their insistence as if the delusions being delivered by solicitous vengeance were for welfare. Those dark clouds wafting in bearing only demise, illusions, falsehood. They had a frequent goal the death of the victim. It could be the physical, dreams, hopes whatever propels the intended towards hope and faith, the sought after prize.

Sprouting up within the battlefield of thoughts, the age old civil war. Hopelessness vs hope, unbelief vs belief, faithless vs faith forging to win the garden. As the heart erects its wall. A barrier that the owner can not seem to climb or demolish. Dark days indeed. Uncertainty is the one constant, unknown the length of battle, tactics to utilize, where reinforcements are to be found a complete deficiency of wisdom.

Various moments of clarity. Hope comes forth gleaming like light of the blade of a sword instilling the motions of his attacks. The way to fight, which way to come from,these revealed igniting steps to conquer. Reaching deep, seeking out the mysterious courage, stepping out as his blade shakes as he outstretches for foes, with each thrust confidence accompanies the attack. The balance of the scales appear in his favor.

But that is the problem the thoughts that this could be finished, untrue. The onset of doubt will arise from the dark apparitions, for they recognize the light in the eyes of their prey. They gleam with wickedness, rubbing hands together, licking their lips. The time for attack is now. Spewing forth foul green, yellow slime and vapors they assault the garden. Falling, hitting and spreading the virus moves quickly. For this victim suicide is the regular goal. Repeatedly they have brought it forth closer they come each time, but no victory yet. The prey keeps turning to the light one. Snuffing out their assault with images of hope. Dawning a belief one step closer to the zone he needs to be.

That recognition zone. The blinds rolled up, the veil torn and that which has been hidden laid bare. As when the sun first breaks the horizon light sheds upon his desolate garden. All is not lost floats within, a reassuring thought hopefully enough to enforce resolve. Anything to stay afloat and that is in itself a travesty. To only stay afloat when there is so much more to be grasped. To climb the mountain anchoring himself as not to fall, even soar with the eagles those ones with the insight. Attaining the big picture perspective. Putting everything in place finding wisdom. The treasure found when a soul is at rest, believing in the provision from above is all that is needed. Resolutely fending off the vicious weapons from within and without.

The promises that him who is above does not lie nor falter to aid those who trust in the words given. Oh so much more than enlightening, it is recognition of that which is behind the veil. The light comes on showing all that was lurking. Those devious notions seeking a victim, to harm one so that they may delight in darkness. Such foolish pursuits considering that all is know to them and yet they fight on knowing full well that the battle is lost. Their destination set. A lake of fire. Torment their garments for eternity. Which seems just since so much of their existence while mankind lived and breathed on this planet was spent tormenting all. Those not of the kingdom and those of the kingdom. Non discriminating foes to mankind. All because they believed a lie resulting in lies being distributed. Gifts from the angel of light who now is the prince of darkness.

This battlefield within, my heart a ground for war. Participants, the spirit, the world, the devil, God and me. All trying to influence me whether good or bad does is not relevant. What is my soul is the prize. I have received the gift from above. The gift bestowed to those who believe in the one true salvation. That which was accomplished in innocence. Blood shed and presented in the temple made without hands, to him who is holy, just, true and benevolent. A gift that can not be earned only given and it is free. The cost high for one must renounce the right to the knowledge. What is that knowledge, the good and evil received by rebellion. The tree set in paradise, holding fruit that was not meant to be eaten. Yet man and woman eat of it, deceived by the serpent of old. And throughout the centuries since the same rebellion filters through mankind. Some aware of it most not.

A narrow path awaits those who seek truth and the spirit to dine with him. The daily dying to oneself so that he may keep what is rightfully his. The throne of the heart. A deep abode containing much treasures, but easily lost for the counterpart seeks to seat itself. The mind. Powerful yet deceptive. Hostile to its creator, seeking its own. Wanting the throne without the qualities to rule. It has been said the heart can not be know, this may be true but at the same time is a lie. The mind can not be know especially when deprived of truth. Knowing is one thing being influenced is a whole other realm that few find. So lost on earthly wisdom and renown people becomes lost and hardened. A gruesome loss. Thinking that what they know is enough as if opinion was wise. They become gods within themselves and thus reap the rewards. Skewed, misaligned and deformed such things become the treasures sought. Projecting what darkness lies within on others to do what the prince of this world ministries mission.

Deceive the masses. Setting a course for the blue gates. The doorway to the abyss. To fall lost and confused. Lost for they did not seek their maker. Confused because the were led by the illusion set in place centuries old setting themselves up as the almighty. The most horrifying aspect of all is that when the light is extinguished, in a twinkling of an eye, the fullness of truth smacks them. The full force hits, leaving no room for lies. Lies falter against truth. The power of such a notion is unavoidable for eternity is not misled. The misled, those full of themselves. Falling to their new destination, eternal home. Surrounded by fire, filled with fire, tormented day and night separated from the one who made them, gave them the breath to live and yet rejected.

How to recognize the lost, simply by the fullness of spirit. Yielding the throne he comes and dines with his children. Teaching, leading, speaking, imparting all the elements to be found in paradise. These are available to sons and daughters of light during our visits here. For we wear suits of flesh, our fallen natures for our true identity is a spirit. Allowing that knowledge of what seems as fairy tales to become real, true, influencing each day. Propelling the steps we take.

Today A Light Has Dawned.

Today a light dawns. This day like most days in the Pacific Northwest cloudy, gray and wet, but it is different. Something has changed in a subtle and substantive manner. Undefinable yet ever present, awaiting its richness to be discovered. Everything remains the same without but within a new season is knocking. Lightness moves in dissipating the weight, his burden chased away by this new beginning. Appearing, shinning, signifying a new paradigm. Things will be different. Unsure how this will take place, but that is not the spark to ignite this fire. Belief is the spark and faith is the wind fanning the flames. For him this is the treasure he has sought to uncover.

His tomorrow will not be the same. A new life, it that is what it could be called. It seems rather to be a righting of the ship, leaving the wilderness and finding the path again. The wilderness, although a terrible destination, but useful. A dusty, desolate place, a wanders domain. One of searching or ignoring. For him it has been the place of searching. Although he has blocked his passage and yet perseverance has opened the door. That attribute enlisted to remove the barricade blocking the door. Fear, selfishness, pride, an unyielding attitude all stones laid before the door sealing of the entrance. A door of priceless value. Behind it treasures. Gems, valuable metals, stones all hidden. His need to uncover and discover the understanding, knowledge and wisdom contained in those treasures.

His constant seeking of the ancient ways. Those tools that have endured times passage, its trials, testings and proven righteous. He has been found. The lighting of the spark that will ignite the embers lain dormant for many days, years even. It is not a matter of when they are found, but one of finding. Sooner or latter would have been better, what does that matter, these things are irrelevant, discovery is the significant reward. Those other throw one of the track. Time is neutral so do not fall into the trap of using it as an instrument for judgment in this instance. Focus on discovery and all that it offers. For it is full of delights and rewards. He hears these things coming from within, rising, whispering to his hearing.

He awaits expectantly for the what the day holds and all the days hereafter. That spark burning within its heat increasing and light shinning, illuminating his house. Heat replacing the cold in his abode. Warmth and comfort his new residents. He opens all the doors he can find. There are still more he is certain of, not relenting his quest to uncover all that is hidden. One thing is certain nothing will be as it was. Those things he has been shown will be brought forth. He anticipates there arrival.

That is the beauty of this journey, it is dependent on not seeing but believing. He has not seen these promises but he has been shown them. In those moments confidence and assurance have been established. With those a path revealed, following its route, leading to this day. This is the day. Promises will be fulfilled.

Dark Storms

An indescribable force is moving, whistling by the house, shaking its foundations. All inhabitants lying within caused to scurry, seeking cover from the debris that is likely to follow. A terrible storm is brewing. This is a night for horrors.
On the horizon dark, menacing clouds roll into view. Giant pillows billowing, changing their size and shape. Feathers will not fall this night instead destruction. A force of unimaginable proportions. Ominous wraiths floating in unhindered by the flat, barren terrain. As fast as the eye can depict the monsters they draw even nearer, traveling at unfathomable speed, aided by unseen engines realization dawns. Not enough time to prepare for the frightened residents. Wide eyes behold one another, then... response, into action they leap,  fumbling about for windows, stumbling to reach doors,  panicked hands shutting and locking both. Gathering everyone together for comfort and protection. Then the assailant strikes.

The dark, depressing, uninvited phantoms arrive. Invisible to all without, but within stealthy and deadly attacker. They have come to uproot this abode. To rip it apart. From the peak of the roof to the root of  its foundations, in hopes of destroying all. Their weapon of choice words and thoughts. Dark and menacing arrows. Their weapons honed by ages of use, they aim to tickle the fancy of those within hearing. Knocking at the door spewing tones of peace to gain invitation. Knowing that without permission there is no entry. Upon hearing faint thumping on the floor within, they continue the assault assured that it is not falling on deaf ears. Releasing the arrows of delight with subtle precision. Unhurried, they press the attack against the dwellers. As the thumping draws near they understand the frail status of this invasion. Any untimely, misfired, inaccurate missile at this juncture would be disastrous. Steady and surety their course of action. Silently anticipating their victory. Then the chain slides from it holster; the click signaling the lock turning with its release and the knob turns, the dwellers have been listening. A smile arises as glee fills them, the mark has been hit.

The door to the heart has been opened. Access gained. They will flood this domain with all the vile and poison at their disposal. For this is their nature. The have come to thieve, annihilate and sabotage. Torture, lies, illusion tools of the trade. They have been doing this since the exile from paradise. They have perfected their crooked and devious methods. Taking great delight in misery. Ultimately causing their victims deviation from a path of destiny to elusive illusions. These ghosts vanish, slipping through the fingers of their pawns. The goal, to birth unbelief, hopelessness, misfortune. The residents relocated to dwell in the valley of mud and clay.
Unbeknownst to these trespassers a watchman awaits. Down deep, below the surface hidden in the bellows reserved for such instances. Consuming fire. Threaded, imbued by heat purifying the integrity in this abode. A blacksmith resides complete with a forge. Invited long ago to prevent invasions. Signing a life time contract to utilize his unique techniques. For the implementation of the agreement the residents unquestionable yielding to promptings from the blacksmith.

Lights flashing, sirens alerting, thudding penetrating sending their echos to the ears of violators. Stooping dead in their tracks, recognition flooding their memory banks fear rises within. Turning their heads seeking out the direction of the sounds. Hands frantically rising and dropping as their eyes bulge from their sockets. They know who is coming. The familiar security measures signify the blacksmiths approach. Making haste in retracing their steps, they want nothing to do with him yet. This is not the appointed time for sentencing.

Illuminating

I have been learning a few things as I write. One that writing is healing. Two, spending time reading other authors has become a teacher in itself. Three, wow, my skills and vocabulary are lacking to say the least. Was kinda ready for that. And another revelation uncovered has been a parallel drawn on from golf. Some where anticipated, others not so.

This power writing is displaying in revealing myself, is illuminating. I did not know that it held such insightful capability. It's tearing away layers that I have not discovered and ones that I have placed myself as if my heart were an onion. This welcomed discover I was unaware would take place. I am not complaining, don't get me wrong. It is a dimension unwrapped by just writing. Just strange and healing. Revolutionary to my soul.

I really started reading habitually in my mid-twenty's. A friend of mine gave me a book Sword of Shannara by Terry Brooks. It is the igniting factor birthing my increased reading. Since then I have read a ton of books. I must say my favorite to date The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. The manner in which she brought to life the relationships formed in the weaving of the story. Captured me.If it has not dawned I pretty much read fiction. The biggest adjustment while reading has been limiting my immersion in the story. It is hard to discern the skills used by authors when I am unable to resist page turning. Slowing down and paying attention to the details has shown me much. Theme, dialogue, character intro and development are a few of the techniques I have discovered. Nice to have a silent teacher. First for that.

I spent little time when I was in school on writing, even reading for that matter. I was interested in sports and that was it. Nothing else really mattered. Since a light has dawned in my heart for writing I have found how valuable all that previous stuff really was. My loss. Anyhow, undaunted I press on. I will learn, write down the words I am unsure of and look them up latter. I have constructed a document/file for words and enlist them into action. While finances are tight I just write, no conferences or classes. Just write. A daily journal and WIP.

As I mentioned earlier about sports. I love golf. It is difficult and embarrassing sport. But it has significance for me in self discovery as well. One of the things I have been shown by trial and error in hours of practice, utilized is to relax. Just as in a golf swing tension is the enemy so to in writing. Although manifested differently but its outcome revealed the same. Doubt plays a role in both too. Visualization is a key. See the shot, see the story. So when those fragments of thought come calling I write them down and take a ride with them. Little short clips or movies of imagination play forth on my minds screen. Pretty cool. Better late than never. Its rewards are addicting.

May your light dawn, following its glow and taking its ride.

God Bless Those Who Serve

It is Memorial Day God bless you for your service and to those whom have served. To those who have given their lives for the battle for freedom this is your day. Honor is yours. The price you paid is priceless. Your life for freedom.
All those who have served know what a person gives up. It is a hard price. Voluntarily give up your rights so that others have theirs. The family knows this as well. You must go when called. No Questions.  You are the military's. What ever branch is does not matter. We all fight for the same team. The USA.
I served in the Navy 1987-1991. Honorably discharged. Involved in Operation Praying Mantis April !988 Persian Gulf on USS Jack Williams FFG-24. I was TAD to that ship. My permanent ship USS Luce DDG-38. Spent time in the Caribbean, Atlantic, Mediterranean and even the Pacific. Been through both canals, Panama and Suez.
The price paid cannot be overstated. A human life for other lives even when you don't know the people you serve for. Doing the things one is trained to do. Combat is not easy. Tough on the mind, the soul and the body. The memories that come passing through. Unannounced or even invited they are tough to handle, both good and bad. The friends made and the ones lost these are nuggets in one's life.
From the Revolutionary War to the present, either in the Persian Gulf or Afghanistan you are remembered. You are thanked and honored all around this great nation of ours.
For those who lost their life may you be in paradise. I hope that you are enjoying your mansion. Wearing either a robe or garment may you be there. God Bless you.

Thank you Active and Veterans for your service,

From a Veteran.

Hidden

Looking around, he stood frozen in place, fear gripping him, in response to the rustling noise. Back behind him amidst the scrub the noise continued. It seemed to him that it was staying in place for its volume was unchanged. Standing in a forest, just off the main path. Brought here by an impulse, no that's not it. I was standing... How did I... I was brought here. By whom? Now standing still like a statue he scanned the forest floor looking and listening for any indication to what it might be.

Another sound, this time he notices the scrub of to his right moves slightly like a gentle breeze blowing just over its top. Our hero takes a step in the direction of the movement, stops, listens. Nothing. Taking a few more steps, still nothing. Continuing on he notices what appears to be a clearing. As he reaches the bushes standing waist high he sees a circular clearing and what seems to be a cauldron. Looking around for signs of life he sees two paths heading away. This cauldron is forest green in color, covering the clearing without encroaching on the nearby scrubs. This is out of place. No leprechauns around. No gold inside the pot. This forest is immaculate and why would this be here. For a note, having difficulty understanding this.

Walking around the object of desire, nothing under or connected to it. Turning his attention to above, the forests ceiling searching for clues. It contains no hints, only revealing the sun peaking through openings like the holes in a torn up umbrella. One interesting aspect there is no moss growing in this forest. The coolness and dampness blanket this place, yet no moss. Strange. Upon further inspection the immaculate nature contained within punctuates this forest. Appears that someone takes great pride in their domain. The pathways appear groomed as if swept, maybe on a daily basis. The scrubs seem trimmed, uniformly manicured. All this strikes him as being odd. Is magic at play here; or is a groundskeeper involved. And what is the cauldron doing here. A possible trap. Or is fortune smiling down on him.

Still mulling over these questions he walks up pausing after a few steps, still nothing. Continues on slow and steady. Reaching the black pot looking left, than right, clear. Leaning over, he looks over the cauldron's rim. Quickly moves back and glances nothing. Taking a breath, not traps were triggered. Chancing a closer examination, he notices folded paper. Bending over further into the pot he grabs his fortune. Standing up holding up before him unfolding the paper, its a note. Suddenly lowering his discovery, looking around the forest, scanning for any sudden intruders, appears empty. Raising up the note to read. Written in bold black ink are two words. Unfortunately it is in a language unknown to him. Could it be an ancient language. Stymied he thinks what gives. One step forward two steps back. When will a break come my way. Folding up the note, tucking it away in the back pocket of his jeans.

Nest to the cauldron his attention turned to the paths laid out before him. One path going right and the other left. The paths were narrower than the main path he arrived on. Still they were neat and well defined. He studies them puzzling through this dilemma. Which way and why? Stating the obvious they wound through the forest in opposite directions. Nothing appears different about either path. Both are narrow. And both lead deeper into the woods.

This is an excerpt from a WIP

Any suggestions? Any opinions? Anything...

Writer's Doubt

I am participating in a Writing Contest: Overcoming Writer's Doubt held by Positive Writer
http://positivewriter.com/writing-contest-doubt/

You see I am new to this arena. This playground know as writing. So writers doubt hits and hits me hard. Doubt affects me each time I sit down to write. As if it were my best friend. Knock, Knock...who's there...Doubt. I mean really. I knew this was going to be hard, but c'mon give me a break.

It causes me to just sit there and stare. Anxious. Frozen. An alliances found but not wanted. As if my mind has left the building. I hear the echo between my ears as the wind blows. Minutes go by. Nothing. Its like walking into the grocery store to get a few items only when stepping through the sliding doors, my mind wiped clean. I handled combat in the Persian Gulf better than this. Missiles flying everywhere as if it were the 4^th July, guys moving about as if their head was cutoff and I maintaining the ships position. But this is on a whole other level. Like addressing a golf ball for the first time, not a positive thought to be found. Nothing to lean on. No reinforcement or visual cues. Just Me and doubt. Crap.

Oh the impending doom that sets in when staring at the white characters imprinted on black squared buttons. Cryptonite. Everything goes blank. Dexterity in my fingers out the window. I feel the short circuiting of my mind. Almost feel the heat and smoke rising. It is as if all abilities to function gone. Alien abduction. Then the rhetoric kicks in. You think you can write. This is not the gift you were given. You can't tell stories. Who are you kidding. And on and on it goes. Each time I sit down this is the ritual. Panic. Funny, when I am away these mini dialogues take place easily. Flowing like I have been doing this for years. Unfortunately, I don't write these down often enough. My thoughts are at least write some of these down it will affect frequency, if not intensity.

In the past just I would have these inner dialogues, mini clips and do nothing with them. Not recognizing the call of an undiscovered gift. It has be ringing for years. Just haven't been answering. This is my confidence, knowing that its call has happened. A gift lies within. The gift desires to entice me, inviting me to sit down, take up pen and write. These are the very tools I keep telling myself are the weapons of victory over my foe, doubt. Failure is apart of the game. A piece of advice I was given for golf to aid my quest.. You are going to hit ten bad shots during the round. It is not a question of if they come for they will-- it is how you recover. What you do with it. That's the difference maker.

Thank God for writing prompts.

These precious weapons forged of pure gold. Better than a sword. Manna from heaven. These put me on a course of relaxed thought. Fluid. Peace. Letting the mind go, giving the heart the wheel. It has given me a WIP. About 7500 words worth from one prompt. I was blown away. Pretty cool.

So doubt will come. My adventure is seeing to its demise. When it comes, overcome it. Teach it this is not its domain. To beat it, knock it down and around sending it hobbling down the road. Bye, Bye, baby. At least that is the theory.