The battleground

There are certain things I am supposed to be doing now.

Certain social dance steps, rules of engagement. People are standing around waiting for me to take my cue. Come on, take it.

Anyone who knows me knows that I have little patience for such things.

This, though…. this is a conflict situation. A battleground.

The gauntlet has been thrown- actually, it was one of those cases of you minding your own business, and this guy walks up and cracks you across the face with his glove in public: a direct assault to your person and dignity, with threat/promise of worse violation and outrage to come if you fail to rise up to defend yourself and what is yours.

As a warrior, that rising up is instinctual and right. It feels so good. I can practically taste the blood in my mouth. I can do this- and if I can’t, I’ll die a hero’s death with my sword in my hand. There’s never been a worthier cause to go to war.

But I have seen this movie before, and I know how it ends.

My shrink used to say to me, "What’s your objective?"

My only prayer of attaining my objective is to decline to run the pattern, refuse to play the game. Deny the instinct, the desire, the goading to rise up and fight. Deny the voices (both external and internal) that cry desperately, they will take everything from you if you do not fight- if you do not do what you were made to do.

[Taking script in hand, ripping it in half, hurling the torn papers to scatter and flutter everywhere on the wind]

Needing some strength.


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