Soon
Soon it will be the anniversary of my leave-taking. I never thought I would leave the College of Wyverns; after all, my line stretches back to the beginning of the College, and my ancestors and family are steeped in its heritage.
When I left, I suppose I was a little unhappy. That unhappiness I think could not have lasted more than 60 days; it could possibly have lasted for fewer than 60 hours. Unhappiness is the state of being struck by misfortune, as the Anglo-Saxons in days of yore might have said. And within a very short while, I did not think it was misfortune.
From the well-wishes of the many well-wishers, I realised I needed no wishing-well to be fortunate. I had been slowly stifled, suffocated in the steeping and odorous toxic venom of the place for too long, not realising. There were many sign that the old goodness was seeping out and the foul humours soaking in. There was too much shopping, too much gossip, too much stuff irrelevant to the life of education.
And so a year has passed. In that one year, I wrote 45000 words of prose; I prepared four papers and read ten times that number. I collected certificates, testimonials; I stretched, and in some places broke, the narrow confines of my world.
I have learnt much and been humbled much and felt the worth of things that were once hidden from me. I see that the ideals of the Wyvern Shield live on, though darkness and foulness and madness hunt almost unchecked.
There is light in every corner, sometimes hidden, sometimes in unexpected places. For there are wyverns still. On the Road of the Dogs, on the Eastern Approaches, over the Sea and in the Village, you will find them. Not all are as they were or as we were, but they are there. There may yet be hope.
But above all, there is nothing higher than the Highest. There is nothing greater than to live the life of service and to walk away from Egypt, from the cities of the plain, from Babylon — and yet into Nineveh, and into the service of the heathen, and the pagan, and the wielders of Mammon.
I am sorry for the comrades who took grievous wounds for what was good and right. I am glad that they live still, that many have found places of honour and a second life. It has not all been easy and noble; I have learnt that I too can succumb to vindictiveness and schadenfreude.
It is all adventure, and growth, and in the end, to be counted all as joy. We give thanks in all circumstances, and for all things. And we forgive others not because we are higher than they and can afford to condescend, or because we are lower and are afraid of consequence, but because we too have been forgiven.
I never thought I would have left the College of Wyverns. But there wasn't much of it to leave; only some newish buildings, few friends from the old good days, a tyranny of pale injustice, and oppression of belief. If the young wyverns are to fly, someone should tell them what the past was like, what the present can be made to yield, and what best is yet to be.
When I left, I suppose I was a little unhappy. That unhappiness I think could not have lasted more than 60 days; it could possibly have lasted for fewer than 60 hours. Unhappiness is the state of being struck by misfortune, as the Anglo-Saxons in days of yore might have said. And within a very short while, I did not think it was misfortune.
From the well-wishes of the many well-wishers, I realised I needed no wishing-well to be fortunate. I had been slowly stifled, suffocated in the steeping and odorous toxic venom of the place for too long, not realising. There were many sign that the old goodness was seeping out and the foul humours soaking in. There was too much shopping, too much gossip, too much stuff irrelevant to the life of education.
And so a year has passed. In that one year, I wrote 45000 words of prose; I prepared four papers and read ten times that number. I collected certificates, testimonials; I stretched, and in some places broke, the narrow confines of my world.
I have learnt much and been humbled much and felt the worth of things that were once hidden from me. I see that the ideals of the Wyvern Shield live on, though darkness and foulness and madness hunt almost unchecked.
There is light in every corner, sometimes hidden, sometimes in unexpected places. For there are wyverns still. On the Road of the Dogs, on the Eastern Approaches, over the Sea and in the Village, you will find them. Not all are as they were or as we were, but they are there. There may yet be hope.
But above all, there is nothing higher than the Highest. There is nothing greater than to live the life of service and to walk away from Egypt, from the cities of the plain, from Babylon — and yet into Nineveh, and into the service of the heathen, and the pagan, and the wielders of Mammon.
I am sorry for the comrades who took grievous wounds for what was good and right. I am glad that they live still, that many have found places of honour and a second life. It has not all been easy and noble; I have learnt that I too can succumb to vindictiveness and schadenfreude.
It is all adventure, and growth, and in the end, to be counted all as joy. We give thanks in all circumstances, and for all things. And we forgive others not because we are higher than they and can afford to condescend, or because we are lower and are afraid of consequence, but because we too have been forgiven.
I never thought I would have left the College of Wyverns. But there wasn't much of it to leave; only some newish buildings, few friends from the old good days, a tyranny of pale injustice, and oppression of belief. If the young wyverns are to fly, someone should tell them what the past was like, what the present can be made to yield, and what best is yet to be.
Labels: Odd Thoughts, Reflection, Remembrance
etched with acid at 6:23:00 am
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