I was far up, at one of the pinnacles of San Diego, sitting near a lighthouse, overlooking a peninsula of land, navy ships, flora, and ocean as far as my eyes could see. It was mid-afternoon, but not a sunny day in San Diego. No, it was cloudy, windy, and the air chilled. I pulled the hood of my jacket a little tighter over my head. Partly because of the cold, partly signifying a person not yet ready to reveal or be revealed. I looked down at my ballpoint pen as I snapped the cap on. Click. That was it. I slowly pulled the ribbon over the last written page of my journal to bookmark it, taking one more glance, and closing the book carefully.
I put my hand over the cover, feeling the flower print engraved in the leather. Written. There, lay the secrets of a dream, partially traveled, and partially to come. There, written. Secrets of the heart, and mind, and soul. I lifted my head to look down over waves crashing along the rocky coast far down beneath me. Those dreams and secrets, seeming as wide as the ocean in front of me, and as far away, were somehow captured, at least a little bit, in the letters I wrote on those pages. There, in stories that would bring both pensive smiles and unstopped tears. There, in thoughts no one knew, nor could understand. There, where a heart felt its own sadness, and knew its own joy. There, where hope dared to rise, again, and again. And again.
I shut my eyes. The battlefield. I played it in my mind again. I think back to the beginning of the battle . . . and shake my head in mixed disbelief and confusion at its end. Like those who study their opponents in martial arts, I carefully reviewed the plays . . . in slow motion. Except, my battle was not confined to a ring. Nor was it as obvious.
Happy hobbit music hummed in my head as I saw myself joyfully enjoying the friends around me; enchanting, distant, melodic notes gained heartfelt volume as I watched myself gracefully rise to the calls of love and honor. But chords turned minor and eerie, and darkly crescendoed, as scenes played in my mind of enemies sneaking up near me, unnoticed. Of black, formless creatures reaching out to envelope me into a nothingness. Of feelings . . . a mixture of utter terror with paralyzed passivity . . . determination that fought against a desire to fall into the darkness. To give up. And of a mind grown weary with deferred hope, exhausted fighting, and feared defeat.
But at this moment, the very emotions I despised, fear and anger, channeled into energy and determination. Hurt, into compassion for another’s hurt. Shame, into hope of a day wrong would be made right. Light was born. And, I believed.
And, that moment, I vowed: when memories begin to become fuzzy and hope begs to let go, I will hope still. I will imagine the stillness of the quiet rivers, and green slopes, sitting with friends, and laughter. I will trust that the battle will soon be over. And though another will come, it always does, I will see peace in the land, and I will rest. And so, I will remember that time is a tool, rather than measurement, to the wielding of patience. And hope is a very hidden, yet powerful, strength.
And, so I fought on. With grace, with strength, with hope.
But at this part, my mind stopped in its memory of the battle. This part I payed close attention to, for I became confused.
The battle did not end. Nor, did I see my strength. Nor, did the object of my hope, green slopes and peace in the land, come. From the top of that pinnacle over San Diego, I opened my eyes and imagined the ocean to be the vast battlefield that I fought in at that time. I saw, with great anguish, and sadness, as I fell. Slowly. My hair unraveled and caught some of the tears on my face from my pain. My white and brown colored horse, of hoped-in glory, fell at my side. I saw her eyes begging forgiveness as she saw me lie beside her. Those around me continued in the heat of the battle, but the sounds slowly dimmed, as I realized reality. No strength in battle, no hope in glory. It was over. I was over. There was no hope.
Slowly, my eyes closed. Soft thoughts of all I held dear came to my memory. I did not entertain disbelief in the fall, but began to reconcile with the loss . . . and I gave up. I gave in.
A hand touched my shoulder. I saw him for a brief moment. But I don’t remember much. I couldn’t really remember what he looked like. But two things exuded from him: great strength . . . and great kindness.
I think I rode on his horse. I think he took me far from the battle. Even now, I’m not quite sure where the battle was, or how it fares. But I’ve recently woken up . . . back here. And I am rescued from the battle, though it may wage on.
And though my hope gave up, and I did not see the valor and courage that I desired to be, there was a peace that rested over me that I couldn’t explain.
But one thing I knew. I no longer cared about the battle. I did not care about the glory or the strength to be grown in my own soul. Of trying so hard on my own, and for my own. I cared only of one thing. I wanted to know him more.
And so, as I sit here on the cliffs overlooking the ocean, and as I close that book to the battle traveled, I do leave a bookmark . . . for the story will continue. I will know him. I will love him. And I will be ever in awe of his great strength . . . and indebted to his great kindness.
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