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Would you dare to look upon my naked soul . . .

I see and hear the many tales of war. I feel the agony of widows and widowers, mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, daughters and sons, all wailing the loss of their beloved warriors. I envision the rage of bloodlust and am spectator to a bloody history of mankind and angels.

And, yet, I have not tasted war in my own skin. I am a civilian.
I am free from the ghosts of the dead by my hand or by my tongue.

But, I am only such because those dead and bleeding warriors have paid it so for me. I smile in the shade of lush valleys with my sons playing at my feet, their laughter challenging only the sparrows. I lavish the innocence in their eyes, because too many other sons have slain their own souls with their own hands around the throat of their’s or someone else’s’ enemies.

I do not know the depths of a warrior’s heart, but I know the breadth of mine.
I have heard warriors at peace tell me they are no longer that man, but I wonder if the ghosts still haunt them. A warrior at peace may sing the songs of love and play, but when the drums of war beat again, do their hearts feel the rhythm to the core?

How may the broad heart of a civilian woman learn to love the depths of a warrior? And, if he has shut off the depths, does that make them go away? Do those abandoned halls fester in the darkness or do the winds of change sweep them clean to be opened once again with new life? Do not the dead haunt there still?

I have written again and again my cries of loneliness in secret. I have stayed my hands, over and over, from reaching out and begging to be touched.
Do I continue to love openly in the silence, alone; or do I leave the warrior, that he may traverse the world as he does, in search of peace?

I need not ask this question for I know the answer.

I feel the anguish of loneliness and would stab back at her sting by lashing out in selfish need. I may even tantrum with ultimatums and make promise notes of abandonment.

But, I know my heart and the breadth of her expanse is immeasurable.
Time has proven that no matter how often she shuts down, or turns to love another; she continues in her turning and returns.

So, here I am.
I am a civilian and I love a warrior, though I know not how.

He keeps his silence and maintains his distance. He is free to find lust and even love in the arms of other women both like me and unlike me.
But, the scope of my vision cannot expel him from my sight. I see him and although I may not be a fighter in my body, the angels and demons cannot withstand the strength of my soul and there on those unseen plains will I stand in the gap and hold back the tide and none shall take my beloved from me.

Even if he choose another way, and I bind myself to another (may it not be so) I will hold fast in the unseen world and sway the very bed of Death’s river, if only I might see him one more time and know the touch of his lips on mine.

I know not death, nor do ghosts haunt me, for I am clothed in Light. But, the darkness presses in heavily. And, although it has no footing where I stand, nor winging where I fly; although I may slip and fall and the dark may feast upon me: I am not alone.
Immanuel, God with us, is my strength and heals me. I will continue to rise again, and Heaven help the dark whelpling or dragon who dares to come against me.
It shall not pass.