The time I spent is Islam
I asked them how a loving God could ever compell an honest man to murder
He said, “You do not understand the meaning of those words;
You do not even speak the native tongue of the messenger”
And he said perfectly calmly.
I told him I am not even a man of Islam
He asked what I was doing there.
I told him 2 reasons:
First, I never got to feel what it was like to have a good brother.
Second, the nature of social Islam ensures that you’re surrounded by advisors, bound to their philosophy and they know that their not strong enough alone.
It takes a village.
That was where I spent all that time talking to brids and whispering to horses.
My brother said “I’d like to introduce your two new brothers, the falcon and and the stallion.”
I made a vow to never speak another human word.
Sama; she taught about her savage world, and in it their are hunters who themselves are prey.
She even showed me how she warns her friends away from danger.
Ra’dun taught me how to lead, that a king is always in the front; always the first one into Battle. A man who will not lead does not deserve to be followed.
Together we hunted the enemy, the cunning wolf.
She decimated the heard, spread out her prey and devoured the weak ones.
I used a trap to ensure I had a chance to look her in the eye.
And the moment I did was the moment I died.
She told me her story too, and I heard every single shutter, every subtle twitch in her tired brow.
But then I saw the fire in her eyes. It was the fire of God, I read the words of a messenger and my heart burned.
I surrendered to her, she bowed back.
I let loose my trap and never has she left my side.
About chrooth
No this isn't some sort of midlife crisis thing. I'm just adapting. Like anyone else on here, or who does this, I believe I am writer. Unlike most others, I believe I am a writer because I have always written. Long story short, I was a really weird kid and sometimes it just felt like the only place I could turn for some solace and empathy was an empty page. I've always been a melodramatic writer and I've been really happy for a long time so I haven't felt the need to write but when I do... I have to. I basically live on the road, so my journal is hardly ever within reach, and when it is I convince myself that I'm too busy to make any time for it. So here I am, embracing the future, having acquired the journal that will follow me almost anywhere. I'm having one of those, "WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THIS BEFORE!?" moments, and GOD after so long I can't tell you how good it feels to just let my mind spill through the tips of my fingers again. I suppose this would be an appropriate time to qualify both my ability and my intentions. I am not a good writer. I am told I have a strong tendency towards run-ons, I over punctuate, and I curse like a sailor. I can't spell for crap and especially while typing, I have a tendency to just leave words out. As I mentioned earlier this "blog" is meant as a replacement for my long treasured journal, which tends to imply a need for privacy. However, if you were to ever read my journal, you would eventually come across an entry musing over the purpose of a journal, wondering why they are written and kept in secret. I have no secrets. I had far too many secrets for far too long and I assure you, I have no more energy for them. Additionally, I can not properly conjure any feeling of being heard by manufacturing an imaginary personality that lives in a book and understands my words. So I write, and have always written, to you.
Thanks for reading it!
Chrooth 