LJ Idol Week 3: In Another Castle
They say goldfish have no memory
I guess their lives are much like mine
And the little plastic castle
Is a surprise every time
-- Ani DiFranco, "Little Plastic Castle"
Historians say that when Henry VII's man Sir John Lovick built Fearson House, he built it in such a way that it could not be defended. With its wide lawns, open spaces, and lack of thick walls, moat, or battlements, it was a palace built for ease and peace, not for siege and defense. Fearson was Lovick's tangible statement of faith, so the story goes, in the peace Henry VII had brought to England with the end of the Cousins' War. It was his clear declaration that he would no longer hide behind stout walls and fight for survival, but that he and his children and his children's children would frolic in the sun, uncloistered and unafraid, for the threat of violence had been vanquished, never to return.
Because for all of their fairytale mystery, for all our images of princesses in towers and great feasting halls, what castles are fundamentally for is protection. Their massive stony walls, their moats and their drawbridges, their arrow slits and battlements and armories, are there to serve as a bulwark against those who would assault us. The castle represents the last stand, the place of final retreat, of entrechment against an enemy we fear may overwhelm us. Arguably, once we have fled behind the castle walls, slammed down the porticulus and lifted the drawbridge, we have admitted on some level that our enemy has the advantage -- of fire power, of resolve, of strength. Protected by layers of stone and mortar, our greatest weapon is perseverance. We've conceded that the only way we can win is to wait the enemy out, and hope that our walls and our resolve are stronger than their missiles, catapults, and archers.
It's an exhausting way to live, if we're honest about it. To shut one's self up behind castle walls, to entomb one's self for the sake of a (false) sense of security, to limit one's world to what is contained within the fortress we so carefully construct. It says much that we value the sense of safety, of security, of self-preservation more than we value the ability to walk freely, to soak up the sun and the rain, to explore the wider world. The knowledge that the enemy is lurking, always just beyond our sight, poisons the meadow and fields, and makes us retreat to the safe, if small, world of stone and gloom.
And what happens if we do indeed prove stronger, more resolute, or simply more stubborn than the enemy who assaults our walls? What happens when we drop the drawbridge and walk forward into the sunlight, into the open? Do we remain terrified of the enemy, even when he's been so clearly defeated? Do we freeze suddenly, certain that we hear the whizz of an arrow -- or the thud of a footfall, the deep tones of a voice from our nightmares? Does the sky suddenly seem too big, to open, too much? Even when we are no longer besieged, do we decide to remain huddled in the castle keep, for fear that at any moment the assault will resume from another quarter?
Or do we stride out, perhaps more vigilant and more prepared than before, into the bright light of day?
The siege which sent me scrambling for the protection of walls, walls of my own making, walls built of stony defensiveness and mortared together with fear and pain, ended nearly seven years ago. It lasted over a decade -- a steadly closing in of my world under a barrage of insults, of neglect, of deprivation. Each defense I built was steadily worn away, breached, until at the end I found myself huddled tight in the innermost rooms, awaiting the final assault that would bring it all down upon my head.
When that last stout room held, when the door proved unbreakable, I sat motionless, too afraid to lift the latch and venture outside. I was too sure that he was out there, waiting, regrouping, preparing for another assault. Always just over my shoulder, just beyond my sight, just over the next horizon, waiting for the chance to exploit my vulnerability and end me, once and for all.
Even now, so many years later, there are days when the sky seems too high, when the world seems too big, when the love in my life seems to much, when the joy I feel seems too intense, and every fiber of my being longs to close myself up behind those walls. Walls which will keep out the agony and the fear, but which in so doing keep out the ecstasy and the joy and the healing.
I am blessed that there are enough people, things, and experiences that convince me to stay on the other side of the drawbridge, that hold my hands and walk a little further into the sun with me rather than letting me retreat.
Because I don't want to live in another castle.
I don't want to sacrifice this life I've built for a sense of protection against a long-vanquished enemy.
This life that I have built is my Fearson House, with its wide vistas, windows filled with light, feasting halls and dancing grounds. It cannot be defended, be mewed up against an assault.
This life is my unequivocal statement that I will live without fear.
This has been my entry for Week 3 of therealljidol
I guess their lives are much like mine
And the little plastic castle
Is a surprise every time
-- Ani DiFranco, "Little Plastic Castle"
Historians say that when Henry VII's man Sir John Lovick built Fearson House, he built it in such a way that it could not be defended. With its wide lawns, open spaces, and lack of thick walls, moat, or battlements, it was a palace built for ease and peace, not for siege and defense. Fearson was Lovick's tangible statement of faith, so the story goes, in the peace Henry VII had brought to England with the end of the Cousins' War. It was his clear declaration that he would no longer hide behind stout walls and fight for survival, but that he and his children and his children's children would frolic in the sun, uncloistered and unafraid, for the threat of violence had been vanquished, never to return.
Because for all of their fairytale mystery, for all our images of princesses in towers and great feasting halls, what castles are fundamentally for is protection. Their massive stony walls, their moats and their drawbridges, their arrow slits and battlements and armories, are there to serve as a bulwark against those who would assault us. The castle represents the last stand, the place of final retreat, of entrechment against an enemy we fear may overwhelm us. Arguably, once we have fled behind the castle walls, slammed down the porticulus and lifted the drawbridge, we have admitted on some level that our enemy has the advantage -- of fire power, of resolve, of strength. Protected by layers of stone and mortar, our greatest weapon is perseverance. We've conceded that the only way we can win is to wait the enemy out, and hope that our walls and our resolve are stronger than their missiles, catapults, and archers.
It's an exhausting way to live, if we're honest about it. To shut one's self up behind castle walls, to entomb one's self for the sake of a (false) sense of security, to limit one's world to what is contained within the fortress we so carefully construct. It says much that we value the sense of safety, of security, of self-preservation more than we value the ability to walk freely, to soak up the sun and the rain, to explore the wider world. The knowledge that the enemy is lurking, always just beyond our sight, poisons the meadow and fields, and makes us retreat to the safe, if small, world of stone and gloom.
And what happens if we do indeed prove stronger, more resolute, or simply more stubborn than the enemy who assaults our walls? What happens when we drop the drawbridge and walk forward into the sunlight, into the open? Do we remain terrified of the enemy, even when he's been so clearly defeated? Do we freeze suddenly, certain that we hear the whizz of an arrow -- or the thud of a footfall, the deep tones of a voice from our nightmares? Does the sky suddenly seem too big, to open, too much? Even when we are no longer besieged, do we decide to remain huddled in the castle keep, for fear that at any moment the assault will resume from another quarter?
Or do we stride out, perhaps more vigilant and more prepared than before, into the bright light of day?
The siege which sent me scrambling for the protection of walls, walls of my own making, walls built of stony defensiveness and mortared together with fear and pain, ended nearly seven years ago. It lasted over a decade -- a steadly closing in of my world under a barrage of insults, of neglect, of deprivation. Each defense I built was steadily worn away, breached, until at the end I found myself huddled tight in the innermost rooms, awaiting the final assault that would bring it all down upon my head.
When that last stout room held, when the door proved unbreakable, I sat motionless, too afraid to lift the latch and venture outside. I was too sure that he was out there, waiting, regrouping, preparing for another assault. Always just over my shoulder, just beyond my sight, just over the next horizon, waiting for the chance to exploit my vulnerability and end me, once and for all.
Even now, so many years later, there are days when the sky seems too high, when the world seems too big, when the love in my life seems to much, when the joy I feel seems too intense, and every fiber of my being longs to close myself up behind those walls. Walls which will keep out the agony and the fear, but which in so doing keep out the ecstasy and the joy and the healing.
I am blessed that there are enough people, things, and experiences that convince me to stay on the other side of the drawbridge, that hold my hands and walk a little further into the sun with me rather than letting me retreat.
Because I don't want to live in another castle.
I don't want to sacrifice this life I've built for a sense of protection against a long-vanquished enemy.
This life that I have built is my Fearson House, with its wide vistas, windows filled with light, feasting halls and dancing grounds. It cannot be defended, be mewed up against an assault.
This life is my unequivocal statement that I will live without fear.
This has been my entry for Week 3 of therealljidol