Where It Happens
When I walk into an arena, and most recently a stadium, I am entering a ring match. In this corner, the body. In this corner, the spirit. Lights out, crowd up, game on. In this life, in this world there are too many days where we know the eventual outcome to the thing. Daily, flesh takes throne and is head of the winner's circle where our demons and better angels are concerned. So often this is the case, so often is the sad match when Spirit was never even in it, a stunning display of apathy. It's just what happens. The fights are never hard nor the battles epic, it's just the course of events in a day. Let's check the scoreboard and...yes, Flesh 28, Spirit 2.
There is a sweet thing buried in my heart. It is the promise that there's a place I can go and see these two lifelong adversaries show each other what they're made of. There's a place to go where the two can show each other what they're made of, limping off the floor or walking strong. There's a place to go to see a proverbial hell of a fight and to see the good guy take it. I walk in, three hours later, I walk out. I know the fight, I know the score. Spirit wins.
There is a sweet thing buried in my heart. It is the promise that there's a place I can go and see these two lifelong adversaries show each other what they're made of. There's a place to go where the two can show each other what they're made of, limping off the floor or walking strong. There's a place to go to see a proverbial hell of a fight and to see the good guy take it. I walk in, three hours later, I walk out. I know the fight, I know the score. Spirit wins.