Red Poppys and Black Roses

Rememberance Sunday – 11th November 2013.

There are some things I cant seem to forget. We all have wars.

Its all relative – someone said to me once and I have seen it to be true. Your personal fight is as important as the global fight too. If this is not recognised by others your soul will shrink and start to die. Sure, you may not have to live in trenches in 1918 shooting the shit out of other 18 year old kids in the name of freedom that you dont really understand. But you may well suffer in ways inexplicable and unseen to the rest of the world. Alone in a room with no one to connect to. Alone in your foxhole. My brother. I understand this. We stand alone together. Curaheee. This is just our unchosen journey. We all live, we all die. Our only choice is how we live.

And we all forget this on the good days.

I hope you have many good days.

and if you are male and over 30, and if you have not watched and fully understood ‘Band of Brothers’ then you should. because soon the old boys that fought the wars we remember today will no longer be around to educate us to what we dont have to experience. God spare us ever having to go through those kind of global wars again.

Meantime less than 1 mile from my door a woman was murdered in the street in the last few weeks. Killer unknown. Police have no time. Who cares? No one has the time or the wisdom to know how to care.

Nothing has changed. Trenches of 1918, or the streets of your town 2013. Death is there in some form. Freedom is being over-ruled and abused by someone somewhere in some form.

I woke in the night tossing and turning. again. This time it was over her. I had read some comment about being a whore that she put so proudly onto facebook. I avoid most of her shit these days but some friends of mine are still friends of hers. It slaps me round the chops sometimes.

So she returned to her beloved profession when we split. Its been 5 months. Hell maybe more, I dont even know, I just want to be free. and yet the fire in my gut hurts the same when I see her posts. Bitterness. I carry it unconsciously. Just when I think I am rid of it. This comes up.

In the small hours. I want free of this, and wonder what this means, but clearly it isnt willing to let me go yet. Will it ever? of course it will but not yet. It must have its reasons.

I sit with it for a while. Then I txt her a message. It isnt acid but it is the line I have finally drawn and it has such clarity that I am at least pleased to see it now, where before it was vague and changeable.

I dont want her to be connecting to my brother or my family at all anymore. I want her away from me. I think about trust. I think about my time with her many years, and how she broke my trust in pretty much every way whenever it suited her. Not a second thought about it. Not even once. It took me so long to realise she was just that.

The line I draw.

my trenches.

I never truly understood the idea of Crime Passionale until now. I could kill her. I admit it. So I stay away from her. Just tell her where the line is and ask her never to cross it. I dont threaten her. I just show her the line clearly with absolute clarity so there can be no mistaking it. It is not unfair. It is simple.

She didnt have to rip out my heart. Stupidly I gave it to her. Now a somewhat dead heart. Like the black rose which I will send to her funeral when she dies. If I die first. I guess then I wont. Dramatic? ha. maybe. When love turns like a knife, it burns. I still love her. She never met me there. I accept that. I accept that I should not expect others to live to me and I also recognise what a hypocrite I am, but dont fucking remain in contact with the male members of my family when you dump the rest of my family off your facebook friends. Thats just fucking insulting. Especially if you are proud to be a whore. Thats fine, your choice. Fuck anyone else you like that you didnt already when we were ‘together’ I really dont care and I promise I wont react. But connecting to my brothers is not fine. Stay the fuck out of that kind of stuff, are you insane? I called it an ‘innocent mistake’ on her part when I texted. Keep it up-tempo and light I thought. But I know better. She doesnt make mistakes. I dont even want to think about why she kept connection with the one person who is too random to be expected to behave in my family, other than of course myself. I just wont go there. Its better not to, isnt it. Just draw the line. Make it clear. Lets call it – The End.

When was the last time you fought for your freedom or anyone elses? I think about 6 years for me. I got in a punch up with some guy who was working on a girl half his age. He was fresh out of prison. I knew it was heading to rape. I had no doubt about it. I dealt with it. Got the girl out. Told her to fuck off and never come back to the house she was psychologically trapped in. Then set about dealing with him. He was too pissed to put up much of a fight and I kind of felt sorry for the idiot. He was an idiot, but he was like so many idiots, a dangerous idiot. I am glad to say I havent had a punch up since. Close. but no. And long may peace reign. Remembrance Sunday. But I dont ever forget my own wars.

Freedom has a sacrifice. I try to understand Buddhist concepts of compassion but the truth of what I have seen and what today, Remembrance Sunday , actually means is that for Freedom to exist innocent people must die. Sacrifice is a universal law. Einstein should have come up with a formula for it because it sure exists. Innocent people must kill one another to depose the tyrants, the demons that hide behind the wall of innocents, that they put up without shame. You have to sacrifice innocence to pierce the heart of the darkness hiding behind it and sink it. Its just how it is. If you dont, then your freedom will be lost. That is the best weapon evil ever got to use. The Art of War is learning how to cope with overcoming that. This is the universe we live in. We have to work to its rules. That’s why we use other people to do the killing so we dont have to think about it. Some people just make really good killers. They know who they are. I try to exercise compassion at every turn. I really do. But you take things over peoples lines and no one can control what will happen. I see that there. My line. Beyond that is The dragon. The fire. The Scorpion. The Snake. Call it what you will to understand what the hell it is. I am a protector, but unfortunately that means I am also a destroyer of things. Sometimes it gets out of its box. I try to keep it in there as much as possible. Sometimes it comes out and rescues people, fights for their Freedom. The rest of the time? People look at me like I am mental, evil, insane, an idiot, when it gets out.

It’s a black rose this life has put in my heart for now. Thats just how it is. I dont know any other way to put it, and I dont know any other way to truly protect the freedom we all currently enjoy other than through sacrifice when it is needed. Be that killing your fellow man in a trench in 1918, punching the shit out of some guy in the street in Broome or telling an ex-girlfriend to get the fuck out of your life properly and drawing that line in the sand. Its up to them if they then cross it. What can you do about that. not a lot. I have the fallout of my wars to face. Some kind of shellshock and I try to learn how to keep the box lid closed. The fallout today is the one in my own heart unfortunately. I am not sure how it will be healed, but I wont give up trying.

meantime Remembrance Sunday, or Anzac Day too, is the time to look not at ourselves and our sorry tales, but at the men and women who suffered something so far beyond the things I winge about today and yet it is all relative. Some people wont forget, it isnt hard, just look at your own life in the places you truly hurt. You’ll recognise it. There is a sacrifice we have to make for our freedoms. Dont then throw those who make the sacrifices away. Respect where it is due. and thanks too, might go a long way to stopping those men and women’s souls from shrinking in the shame and aloneness of what they have had to do, in the name of.


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