Mar 01, 2009 13:15
He was a preacher. It was a life he walked into fully realized. There was no pressure from the parents, he wasn't hiding from the horrible scary thing called life, and he suffered none of those great traumas that causes some to seek shelter in such places. He was a preacher of The One, The True and The Only because he believed in it. Because it struck such a chord of common sense in him, it baffled him that others could be capable of believing in something else. So he became a preacher.
Now let us be clear, he was not a firebrand. He did not employ any false fire rabble-rousing tactics. He did not stalk about in front of his audience as if he was the hunter and his listeners the prey. He did not spit forth any poisonous bile about non-believers that would cause those listening to immediately seek them out and carry out acts born more out of misplaced passion than true faith. What he was known for was preaching, as well a listening. Think on that quickly. A preacher who listens? Would that still make him a preacher? Did it matter? He came to view people more than just mere sheep to be guided or students to be taught. He believed they could guide and teach him as well. And so he listened.
He would listen to people at any time and any place. In the streets, in the shops, in the bars. He would listen to those of the other faiths as well. Those that followed The Here And Now path, the Change Is Possible belief, as well as those that believed in nothing but science and emotion to guide them. He would debate, he would laugh, and he would learn. He would drink, he would smoke and then he would move on. His faith always present, always in tact, always there to lean on.
For in the life that he had lived, in the things that he had experienced and had learned, it provided such clarity. It cast such a blinding flame that he was able to consider other things in that friendly nod and wink manner, but the flame could never be dampened or extinguished. For it warmed his soul in just the mere recounting of it, even when there was no one else present. That it was possible to find someone and in being with them over time, you could allow them to become your everything.
Let us not get confused. This not the outdated and naive thought of the There Is Only One faction. The One, The True, and The Only believed that anyone in time could be your everything. That life was infinite in its possibilities and not some fruitless search for that single needle in a haystack that will make you a complete person. Not there was anything wrong with that belief he would remind himself, if you like your suffering long and pointless, by all means feel free to tag along with the There Is Only One.
Yet in his travels he came across a monk who many believed to be quite mad. And not mad mad, but you know, funny in the head mad. In his studies he had uncovered a long forgotten manuscript called 'Cose Non Dette Maid', or 'Things Never Said'. In it was the idea that there are times to be quiet, to stay silent so as to not lose all that you have gained. The new idea stirred a slight concern in our preacher's mind as it immediately fit with a sect that had split off in the years before, The Neverythings. They had decided to reform the The One, The True, and The Only belief. They took the stance that having one person be your everything was an ideal that could never be possible. That people are too different deep down to find that total commincation, that complete agreement, and that there were things to hold onto. To farm out to others. That the one you find could be nearly everything, but never your complete everything.
His mind click automatically. Your lover could only be your nearly everything because of the 'Things Never Said'. Because ideals are nice in theory but in practice when there are very real things to lose, very real persons to hurt or destroy, they give little comfort. His mind stumbled about as that easy smile his never questioning faith provided faltered. Yet quickly the smile returned as the preacher did the only logical thing that he could think of. He killed the monk, burnt the manuscript and found a bar. And there he drank watching in slight disbelief as his inner flame flickered.
kimz,
thinkingz