3.1 The Final Away.
The rage continues around me. Even their wins are cause for yelling and aggression.
I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m battle weary. I’m change fatigued.
I am choosing now to walk away. I won my quest. I took them down. I have no appetite for this type of destruction. I was born to craft and create. To bring forth, not tear down.
No doubt they’ll play again. Not me. I have retired from this. I set some wheels in motion. My will continues though I am no longer part of the league. They cannot call on me. I burnt the bridge to my house. I locked the doors and moved far away.
And there, far away and from a distance I watch, as the championship continues. A cold war poorly disguised as an elite sport. Or is it sport disguised as war? Expert commentary, print and screen. They observe, they take sides, they have opinions. Just another cog in the slow moving, automated, global ‘war machine’. East v West. Rich v poor.
Mud sticks and I can no longer make out one team from the next. I turn. Away from the competition. Away from their cheers and cries. Away from the insanity of the game they don’t even know they play.
3.2 The Welcome Home.
I walk to the fields in silence.
I smile at the small, simple beauty.
I pay homage to nature and the universe.
I remember thinking how complicated it all was, when really, it was this magically simple all along.
Here is the welcome I have been seeking.
The place in which I belong.
The soft, peaceful strength of her embrace.
The place that I call home.
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