Tradition: Maker and Breaker

Tradition! The word rolls of my lips, seemingly lifeless, and yet brimming with power. What does it mean? Dictionary.com brings across the idea of passing down beliefs, statements, customs, legends, practices, or information from generation to generation. A customary method or manner, a long-established way of thinking or acting. It is what was always done for no reason other then it was always done. On the surface it seems empty. Pointless. Why do something just because it was done that way in the past? Are we not creatures of logic?

And then we turn to the source of power behind this word. Tradition. The smell of freshly cooked egg burritos on Christmas morning. The feeling of the first snowball slowly forming into a snowman. Buying a flimsy tree with Charlie Brown. Going to that one park to look at the sunset like you did with that special someone.  It could come in the form of a 25 cent piece of candy, or a 250 dollar TV. A frozen pizza, or a brand new car. Tradition can come in every form imaginable, depending on the individual. So what is the common factor? Memories. Doing what was always done, because it was always done that way, is a way we can connect with the past. It puts us back in the arms of loved ones to walk alone a path that was once walked together. It is a form of bonding when one shares the same experiences with others year after year.

I don't think anyone will argue that traditions in the above sense is bad. But what when we are ripped away from such things? When what is the normal, becomes painful? When the sunset becomes stained with memories of what once was, but is no longer? When loneliness sweeps in like the wind and poisons our new experiences with want for the old? Traditions that once made memories, no break us. We watch the sunset over the lake of old, but now we lack the warmth that made the memory special.

Tradition. Maker and Breaker.

Walls: Defense or Destruction?

Do walls help? Do they hurt? Are they meant for keeping things in, or keeping things out? Do all walls have gates? If a wall has a gate, will it be able to serve its purpose?

Walls. If you never ever let anything get around your defenses, then you will be safe. Or will you be? Is it safe to be inside your walls, with noone to keep you sane, save yourself? Is it possible to prevent anything from entering your haven? With physical walls, perhaps not. With mental walls though, anything is possible. There is always those who are able to penetrate even the highest defenses you throw up however. I think the only real way to ensure victory, is to also mitigate access with others. Create a barrier between your wall and others. Otherwise, even the tallest wall has a chance of being scaled.

On the flip side, if you allow everything to enter your realm, you are destined to have much more fun and pleasure-for a time. For while a wall blocks all, so does a lack of wall allow all. You will be open to all, and this includes pain. Every time you allow something in, it will bring pain. It seems to be a part of the curse of human nature. The saying 'no pain, no gain' comes to mind. While seemingly just a false bravado, the saying seems to hold much more relevance here. If I seek to gain anything from a lack of defense, I will also be subject to pain. Maybe it's worth it. Maybe not. I know nothing worse then losing what you hold dear. And yet, it happens again and again.

So what then? Should I isolate myself from all of humanity? I am obviously the problem. I am the common denominator, and as such, the weakest link. I play the part, but do I fit the role? Apparently not.

Building walls. Unlike physical walls, it is much easier to build mental walls then to tear them down. the stronger the mind, the stronger the wall, and the faster it will be rebuilt. I have lived my life as of yet with no defenses. How much more pain can I take? I do what is right, always striving to hear God's word in all I do. But I need to build. build. build. I need a wall. To let know one in. Safety. Whoever it was that said 'It is far better to love and to lose, then to never have loved before.' was probably someone who has never loved before. Because it is far worse to lose then to have never known. I now wish to possess that which I used to think a waste. Irony.

Who am I?

Me. A name. I call myself. Who am I? It is the question of the ages. Everyone desires to know who they are, what they like, what they hate, why they do what they do, why they feel what they feel, but who truly knows the answers? Everyone is different. What makes us the way we are?

I think this question is hard to answer, partially because we are always changing, but also, because deep down, we are afraid of the truth. What if we aren't who we think we are, aren't who we want to be? So then, what defines us? It is our past that defines us! What happens to us one day, changes us for the next. What someone says to us, what we dream, what we see on TV, what we say to others, even what we ate for breakfast... it all plays a part. Nobody has the same experiences, therefore, nobody is the same.

Then, there is the fact that because everyone is different, everyone's perspectives are also different. I can answer who I see myself as, but that will not be how you, or my best friend, or my parents see me as. I tend to be critical of myself, while others might not be so harsh towards me, or themselves. All I can offer, to the reader, is my personal answer to the age long question: Who am I?

I am Ben. I am the class clown, the kings best joker. I climb the highest, so I fall the furthest, I am a misfit among misfits, the pedestal of men, I am the knight in shining armour, but the inside is rusty. I am the loner in the crowd, the wild lunatic at home, I am the playdough you mold, only I never get hard. I'm an elevator, always lifting, and yet always underfoot, I'm the back of the poster, the fish out of water. I'm sweet, I'm clever, I'm pleasant, and kind. I am the the burnt out candle, the wax with no wick. I am Ben.

Now, I ask you... what is your perspective?

The Beauty Of The Beast

That great enemy that we all share. We can't live without him, and yet, we all wish we could cut our dependency off with him. He wastes our time, and yet is one of our greatest enjoyments. We give him more of our time then we give anything else, but when we need him the most, that is when he flees us. We chase him, but he runs, leaping and ducking our flailing arms. We try to leave him, and he chases us with a intensity that smothers even the boldest of defiance.     What is this monster that we flee and crave so badly? What is it that causes us to turn to that which we all wish to flee? Every waking hour is spent as far away from this beast as possible, savoring every minute of freedom, only to be swept back into his lair, just as every fly is inevitably swept into his own demise. Even in that moment where we embrace this creature, when we desire his presence the most, it is then that he starts pushing us away. Our minds will start to wander of there own accord, stirring up thoughts not thought for centuries upon centuries. It is like a game of cat and mouse, where our prey is our predator, and his entire purpose is to push us away when we want him, and to pull us in when we flee. Sometimes, he loses and pushes us too hard, and we gain a short amount of freedom from him, but alas, it was then when we needed him most, so it would be more accurate to say that he escaped us. When he loses his game, we lose as well.

So what then, my dear reader, is this beast?

Dearest Daughter,

I never was a good father. It all started on that sandy land, where I first met your mother. I could have sworn she was an angel. Her beauty outshone even the loveliest of queens. Which, coincidentally, was another interesting point- she herself WAS a queen. But I wouldn't know that until later, much later. That was the first meeting. I was very young at the time, but even in my youth, I managed to impress her greatly, when I single handedly saved her life, as well as the lives of her loyal subjects. But that is a story for another time.
I didn't see much of her in the years to come, as between her political aspirations and my own personal training, there was not much time for personal enjoyment, not to mention we lived a good distance apart. Finally, a good ten years later, we met again, this time under different circumstances. She was now an ambassador, and I was given the assignment to protect her-after an attempt was made on her life, that is- and so we went to her homeland to hide from whoever it was that wanted her dead.
I have already gone slightly into detail about how beautiful your mother was. Needless to say, she had an amazing heart for her people, as well as a good head on her shoulders, and I was very, very attracted to her. I wasn't exactly a goody-two-shoes, but she still seemed to like me. At first, she resisted my approaches, but eventually, I got to her, and we were secretly married. It was the happiest day of my life. Unfortunately, about nine months later, it was ended when I mercilessly murdered her. Yep that's right, if you don't believe me, go back and read the first sentence. Now you understand?
I didn't do it on purpose. I was just angry, and rightly so mind you, at her for disobeying my wishes. I strictly forbid her from following me to work, because I knew she wouldn't like what she saw. Did she listen? No, she had to see for herself. Not only that, but she also decided to bring the person who would probably be the most upset, and try to kill me. Basically hired a freaking assassin, and then brought him to my front door!!! You would have killed her too, trust me.
Before she died, however, she did give birth to our children, twins, but her assassin friend got to them before I could. They were hidden away, before I could even see there faces or utter there names. To be honest, I wasn't even aware of your presence(for you were one of the children) until much much later. You never knew your brother-another safety precaution to prevent me from finding either of you- as they kept you both isolated. You followed after your mother, and were adopted into royalty. Your brother was a poor farmer. After many many years of waiting, I finally met you, and because I was so excited, and at the same time, afraid to lose you again, I had you thrown into one of my holding cells. You were not very talkative however, and I SO wanted to hear your lovely voice-the voice of my daughter- that I ordered them to make you talk, by any means possible. It was more screaming then talking, but for a lonely and depressed father, it was music to my ears. I even had your home destroyed in an effort to keep you talking.
As it worked out, I met my son, your brother, when my enemies learned of your location, and decided to land a crippling blow by taking my daughter away from me. He was in the rescue team, although he didn't know who you were, let alone me. I let him get away, out of love, and instead did him a favor by slicing open the old man he was traveling with, who was not only slowing him down, but just so happened to be the same assassin that my wife had hired to kill me... pretty much saved his life! And what thanks do I get? He comes back, this time with the intent to kill, yes KILL, me, his own father, his flesh and blood. Me, being the kind father that I was, not only let him live, but did him ANOTHER favor. I cut off his right hand. How is this a favor? Just think about it... with this age of technology, he could easily get a replacement, much like I did back in the day, a replacement that would be ten times better then his hand!!! A hand with features, man, features!!! And not to mention how easy it is for a handsome crippled war hero to pick up the ladies...
Well, he didn't take the hint. I don't know where he got his pessimism from, but he takes it all wrong, and decides to come back AGAIN, only this time, my master is here. My son finally sees the light, and together, we pwn my master. Only problem, is that in the process of betraying my master, I get a huge surge of electricity to flow through me, and it paralyzes me, and sends me into a coma. Your brother, a son after my own heart, does me a favor (although I think he had different motives, the traitor) and burns me alive.  How am I writing this letter then? Well, he only killed my body, but he can never slay my spirit!

So, in conclusion, my dear daughter, I guess I am trying to apologize... apologize for the fact that I am simply not sorry for any of this.

V

P.S. Do something with your hair, it makes me hungry every time I see it. Donate it to some charity, before i throw up again!