For Glory

As eventful as writing this story can be, more times than not weeks will pass before there is really anything worth recounting. This is not the telling of a tale that is based on a singular experience or muse. It didn't happen "one day" or even over the course of a few months. It's been going on now for years.

But, in all of that time, I have never hesitated or lost the motivation to keep going. It's become part of normal, everyday life. Ingrained into everything from work to play. Always there, always happening bit by bit.

It has made life more interesting and colorful. No where near common, never dull, never mundane, hardly meaningless. There is suffering, hardships, wounds and scars. There is the outcastishness that comes with the part. Stories for blogs and private journals. Never really fitting for idol conversation over coffee. Entertaining in one light I suppose. The Journeybook interactive page where the video series is primarily presented remains active enough. The video collection for this very story alone contains nearly 90 entries with viewers daily. They read, they watch, they remain silent.

It is a rare thing in the pagan community to see stories such as this. The ever growing number of people who lay claim to a connection with old gods. Most of them lost, confused, alone. Searching for some sign of hope in a darkening grey world. Sad, shallow, half-hearted efforts - no stories to tell.

The Spring rains have come, slowing things to a crawl, reminding me of how exhausted I am. The kind of exhaustion that only the path can bring. A kind that sleep will never resolve. A long road traveled, the end still far away. The exhaustion comes from that knowing. A constant testing - the gods asking how deep your faith goes, how boldly you might back your claims on them. Many fail the test.

They comes into this with all of the energy and passion of a renewed soul. They burn out quickly. They don't have it in them to endure, to remain focused, to stay driven. They still make there claims but there is no longer effort there. No more rituals, no more energy, nothing left to say, no will left to search. They fall silent, apathetic, forgotten.

Daily - the candles are lit, oils and incense burned, new votives offered, weapons sharpened and polished, stones carved, maps studied, pieces written, photos taken, video edited and presented to the eyes of the world. Every day, year after year, tale after tale even when there is no tale to tell. Amidst it all - time capsules, most made by and for whatever community I might find myself in. I travel to them, add in tokens, letters, pieces of this same story that will not be seen by mortal eyes again for another 200 years. Long after I am dead and gone, long after this very recounting and the video documentations cease to exist less it be recreated over and over again by the hands and voices of someone else.  But the stones were carved, tantalizing pieces locked away. Luring, enticing, full of questions and wonder. An investment into the curiosities of men. A thought that what we do today will be the myths and archeological quests of the future.

A farm boy who became a pagan king. A king who defied a God for the love of a Goddess. A journey spanning thousands of miles full of beasts, magic, mystery, unexplainable manifestations, mortal wounds, and epic victory.

Classic. Timeless. Immortal.

A life well spent. 

Even as I am writing this hundreds of new photos from this story have been sent out into the world in different places and left to the imaginations of whomever might lay eyes on them. From there they will spread out. Copied, shared, renewed over and over again with no further effort on my part. an advantage of the technological age. easy today to scatter the pieces like leaves on the wind until they encircle the entire world.

And then there is you, dear reader, who happened upon this be either chance or destiny and have read this far from whatever distant land you are in. I will show you things you have never seen before and never will again. You've discovered a tale that will never have an ending even if I were to die today. I've already traveled too far. Death would only deepen the tale.

Bound in mortality and  life, by year's end I will still hold lightning in my hands and the event will echo like thunder. I will have turned rain into wine and drink of storms from my cup. I will have put my pagan crown up against the might and will of Zeus and I will have defeated him. I will do all of this in front of a live audience who will witness and be a part of each step in the journey. I will present it to the eyes of the world in every medium. I will be filled with pride in the accomplishment.

And then, I will still have to go back to doing dishes, laundry, cleaning my house, and pretending to be a normal guy... as best I can.

Winter will come again. The months of questing over for a time. And in those dark winter months I will grow restless and begin to dream of adventures once more. This is the path and the life it brings.

Endless. Everlasting. Renewed like the seasons themselves.

A beautiful, glorious life. Too rich not to share.