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by Shawn D. Dusseault

This is the story I must write about the hero that must be, the hero that must be found by each of us.
And if you find this one you will know and all things will come to you, but their must still be patience in you.
Without patience there is no end for we are always seeking it.
The most important things that are to be found are not to be sought by us.
The most important things we can hold close are those things that we cannot touch for they are too near.
The most beautiful things to behold are those things our eyes would go blind with the sight of.
The hero is all these things and yet more than my words can define.
My efforts here are not to describe but rather to relate.

How did I come across this magnificent hero, you might ask?
He was in the wind when it sighs with the trees.
He is cracked and hissed with the wood in my fires.
She rolled onto the beach with the waves.
She blessed me with her damp caress when I lay in the grass.
The web, remember, will not allow us harm when we find shelter in the spiral.
As the spider we must maintain our own however.

One day the breeze of the night blew so strong and the trees sang praise to the evening.
One tree swayed and swayed with the carelessness of a child on the edge of danger it is ignorant of.
The bough snapped with its moving away from its center.
But the other trees used the remains of their fallen sibling to provide for future growth.
Thus the cycle of life ran.

What we call time, the illusion that it is, moves on when we watch.
And so it is recorded that the hero is found and lost, and abused at points.
Some just do not understand that what they merely harm themselves in this process.
And what is done to one is done to all.
Hurt is an unpleasant reminder that we are human, for our souls are beyond that.
For our existence in that state I can only say this:
“We do not ask because we know, we know that there is nothing to know.  There is nothing to know because
all things are possible when held beneath the light of the infinite and the One Consciousness.”
If that sounds paradoxical that is because that is exactly what it is.
Here there is wisdom to be had.

One may now speculate as to what this hero is.
Although each of us will have our own answer, and each of us is right,
if we are being honest with ourselves.
Find truth and find the hero.
Find yourself and find the truth.
Know when to just be.
Learn that and I will to.

Through the mist he came, with the identity of both male and female- such clumsy things these words we use.
The weapon she carried was of great power yet he would use it to cut no flesh or wage any war.
For he knows it is mastery over the weapon that we should seek, not mastery over others by use of the weapon.
Forged of will and tempered with patience the thing shone with brilliance not known to the eyes of humanity.

Enlightenment came at the cost of the ego.
The personality the shell of the spirit as the body is the shell for the blood.
Both must be stripped away in the end.
Then we may return, and again.

Loss is so often a source of gain and the hero knows this.
I shed a tear for regrets as the warrior goes on with eternity in mind.
Darkness strides into her path.
The darkness of despair and self doubt.
Conquering these would not be easy.
Though to give in would have been to admit a sort of suicide.
For with a shadow of doubt hanging over all we do, defeat is forsworn.
If he never looses himself, even in the face of loss a victory has been won.

The center the hero fights for is a place of great stone temples, forests of grand trees.
Flowers abound and the paths are clearly marked.
Both hills and meadows are were the hero rests, and the rain always brings warmth.
All windows look out and in at the beauty that surrounds the eye within.