Wander Wounded Heroes

I have been pondering a blog post about the vilification and disappearance of the Warrior Class for ages now.

This isn’t it.

2 things happened simultaneously, as they often do.

I wrote half a piece about ‘waiting’. It was the wee hours of the night and sometimes I forget what I have written, that is when my muse takes over, she is always welcome.

The next afternoon my psychic friend wakes up from a nap and messages me out of the blue.

“Who is the soldier?” he says.

“What?”

I’ll spare you the hour of back and forth before I opened my documents and saw what I had written.
There was a grand and glorious joyous noise unto the Lord. Sounded a lot like me laughing.

Instead, here is what I wrote.

There is a thing I believe in, and it happens because I believe it, not the other way around.

They say lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice. Ask the Eiffel tower, she’ll tell you that is a lie.

If you live a monumental life the strikes of light and electricity are bound to be frequent and spectacular. Especially if you are always reaching up into the heavens, emulating and taunting the gods. The hits just keep coming. Sometimes all you have to do is be walking through the storm. I love to dance in the rain.

My matriarchal legacy dictates the following is absolute truth.

The women in my family, for generations, have seen “him”, and that was it. He was the one, they were just done.

I believe it (as undeniable fact) that this was my destiny, I had concrete proof that, ‘yes, this happens’. It’s not a concept I adopted, it is an integral part of how I was raised. Some day I will meet the one and I will just know it.

Amazing right? They write books, movies and music about this shit. 

This is poetry and art.

Most people go their whole lives and don’t get anywhere close to this.

Wait for it…

This legacy I was conceived from has a disclaimer, not a price, but a disclaimer.
“You can have this, but you gotta wait for it”.

Cue 2 wars, my dad and grandfather were soldiers, met my Mom and Nana before they went overseas. These women waited.
It is why I am here.

I met a lovely girl online, her love is a soldier.
He has “war is the answer” tattooed across his back. She has ‘love is the answer’ across her chest.

I think they are gonna make it.
I want them to make it.

I feel strange using the war analogy now, this woman Jena and her story have altered me.

I think I glorified the idea of being an army wife. 

Yes, I am loyal and yes I love my free time, I hate goodbyes but I love hellos.
Patience does not come easily to me.

I am not that brave nor do I stand idly by very well. It is much more like me to take up a sword and fight beside him than to keep the home fires burning.

 “What is he whose grief bears such an emphasis, whose phrase of sorrow conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand like wonder-wounded hearers? “

(Hamlet, the answer is Hamlet)

I always remembered the last line as “wander wounded heroes”.

My wander wounded hero. My wanderings have wounded me too.

Sometimes lightning just strikes.

Luck isn’t a thing to be earned, it just happens.
Just exist, that is enough.
Conquer what you need to conquer, I’ll wait.