What do you see?

What do you see?

When you walk into my house, or my parent’s house, what do you see when confronted with the dead animal heads?  If you are family and friends, most likely you aren’t shocked, and unless you are a hunter, you probably don’t give them a second glance.  There is of course the potential that you are offended.  How macabre, how barbaric, how antiquated, how blood-hungry you might ask.  Let me tell you what I see.

First, I see a myriad of stories.  Each head holds a memory shared, for not only the person who harvested it, but the entire camp. One of the greatest parts of hunting camp is the comradery, the swapping of tales at the end of the day. Not of only successes, but near misses and the beauty encountered.  For each animal harvested the story was recounted as others filtered into camp that evening, breathing the joy of success throughout each person.  In this way the animal doesn’t belong to just the man who pulled the trigger, but to all who were there to hear the story, who walked those same hills, through those same trees, and bent under the weight of a pack filled with meat. 

While you may see a tame, frozen, inanimate rendering of some creature, I see wildness.  Those lifeless glass eyes hold a million mysteries to me. What experiences did that animal have? Living in the wild every day that we spend a short week in, how many amazing sunrises and sunsets did that animal witness? I don’t merely see a rigid, artistic recreation of the animals head, but rather a vision of the entire animal, surrounded by its natural home. Trees, grass, and mountains the background rather than warm earth-tone paint.  To me this is the greatest reason to hang a head on the wall: it is not to intimate a taming of wildness, but to bring that wildness into the tameness of our households.

 

Lastly I see the trophy.  But it’s not as simplistic as you might believe.  This isn’t some point-counting, scorekeeping, record-book-entry-seeking ideology.   Rather it is respect and celebration of the animals’ uniqueness and greatness.  The number of tines and Boone & Crocket score is not a reverence paid to the hunter, but rather to the animal.  The hunter didn’t survive for years in the wild, escaping other hunters, enduring bitter winters, and eluding natural predators.  The animal is its own trophy, a celebration of its own remarkable life and legacy, not the hunters.

When you next see an animal head mounted (it is worth clarifying they aren’t stuffed—that would be a teddy bear!) try to view it from my perspective.  It is not some gruesome braggadocios claim of the hunter’s prowess, but a tribute to an amazing animal’s life. It is a preservation of that animal’s greatness, its story intertwined with those who chased it, and a life ended not in dismay, but in celebration and respect.  And most importantly, at least to me, it is a conduit to the wild places that animal inhabited, a reminder of their mastery of places we only visit for short times.  Next time you see a head on someone’s wall, ask them the story.  If they are a true hunter, their eyes will light up as they recount the tale. And if you listen closely you will hear something special; it’s not the hunter’s story, but the animals’ story, a story preserved forever in the icon silently adorning the wall.  

Dad's Bull

 I stood in the dark timber, my first elk in more years than I can remember lay dead at my feet. I radio back to camp to let them know to bring the packs my way and check in on how everyone else has done. “Dad got a bull this morning” says my brother.

“Is it a nice one?”

“Yeah” he answers.

“A wall hanger?”

“Definitely.”

Suddenly I forget my own joy and revel in something deeper.  To understand what I was feeling at that moment I need to take you back to the beginning. The very beginning.

If you don’t know my dad, your life is dull and dreary. O.k., maybe it’s not that drastic, but you are missing out on one of the most amazing men who deserve the title “man”.  My father hasn’t cured cancer or thrown a Super Bowl winning touchdown. What he has done is everything he can with what he has.  He doesn’t have a college education, but he has the most amazing work ethic and drive of anyone I have ever met. That isn’t just a fluff statement that everyone says about their dads. My dad has worked 60+ hours nearly every week of his life, and back when he did game season it was probably closer to 80-90 hours a week for 3 months straight. Forget days off. Forget weekends. He worked.  Even now at the age of 60 he is putting in over 60 hours a week. And through this he wasn’t an absentee father. He was there for us anytime we needed him, he was involved, and he cared.  His reward for all this hard work was one week a year. That week was hunting week.  I remember watching every year as the group loaded up the Jeep with the old canvas tent and kerosene stove and headed out in the dark the day before the season. Six days later they would come back, tired and dirty, but always happy. And the stories.  It was like they stepped into an alternate universe detached from the one I lived in, and I couldn’t wait to hear their fantastical stories. I was in love with hunting before I ever went hunting.

And then I went hunting. It was here I learned the most amazing life lesson: who you are in your daily life is who you are in the woods, just more raw, more honest.  My dad’s work ethic didn’t go away at hunting camp, it showed through as the natural part of him it is.  He is the first one up, cooking breakfast. As soon as an elk is down he is the first one to get there to start quartering it, tying it on packs, and shouldering one of the heaviest packs back to camp.  In hunting camp his love for me and others showed through in all these selfless acts. Whenever we hunted together he always let me shoot first when we came across elk. He would come back to camp early, losing those last couple hours of hunting to put dinner in the oven. 

Year after year he hunted hard, made sure everyone else enjoyed hunting camp, and waited. He will be the first to tell you that hunting is not about killing a certain species or shooting a trophy animal.  However, every hunter has that hope, that unspoken goal. For my dad I believe it was a trophy bull elk. The area we used to hunt is certainly not known for producing giant bulls, and so my dad waited 8 years to draw in Unit 61, an area that gives out limited bull tags to increase the size of the bulls in the area. True to his form he hunted hard for 5 days, leaving camp in the dark, hunting all day, and coming back in the dark.  Even truer to form he gave up a couple hours of the last day of his hunt to help my cousin find his missing GPS. And then he was rewarded with a broad-side shot at a giant bull on the opposite ridge. A single shot and the bull dropped, and rolled down the hill and out of sight. They weren’t able to find it that night, and the entire camp went over the next morning, the last morning to help find it. We didn’t. I remember being angry at God. I am not proud of this moment, as I admit it was insanely immature of me. But it just didn’t seem fair. No one “deserves” to kill an elk, much less a trophy elk, but I felt my dad deserved it.  He never once complained. Not once did he mention feeling sorry for himself, mad, frustrated. Instead he started applying again. He waited another 7 years.  This time was different. He never even got a shot, never saw a trophy bull. Again, not a single complaint.  This looked like it was his last good opportunity as waiting another 7-8 years maybe wouldn't be feasible, although I would never doubt his ability.

And so here we are this year, in a new unit that certainly isn’t known for its trophy elk. Saturday my cousin got a bull and my dad was there to help pack it out. Sunday morning my brother shot his first bull (another sweet memory), and my dad was there to pack it out. And then Monday morning, 15 minutes into the hunt, less than a quarter mile from camp, the moment my dad had worked for in 42 years of hard hunting finally paid out.  I wish I could have been there to enjoy the moment in person, to help him pack that elk out too. Instead I was over a mile from camp, earning my own elk. And it was the work ethic he taught me that drove me there. 

So congrats Dad, you deserve it. Not just the elk, but whatever “it” is, you deserve it, you deserve it all.  You have given so much to so many, especially me and Kyle. We can never repay you, but I am unspeakably grateful to get to enjoy moments like this with you.

How I became who I am

            It is my father’s fault I am a cold blooded killer. Then again, I am sure he never envisioned me turning out this way.  He would say he was simply passing on a family tradition, showing me the way he had been taught by his father.  Yes, I certainly have my own share of blame in the process. Now I look back with fond memories of the first time my father handed me a gun and took me hunting.  What started as father/son bonding time has grown and taken on a life of its own. I could never have anticipated how the passion of hunting would shape me like it has though.  

            The lessons I learned the first couple of years are many, and they have stuck with and impacted me deeply.  The knowledge my father imparted to his young wide-eyed son were not deep scientific theories, or even lofty theological ideas. Instead, he guided me through several moral philosophies that apply just as profoundly to everyday life as they do to hunting.  Even though we are the hunter, killing isn’t the point. Even when it’s wet, windy, and cold, we are here to hunt, so hunting we will go. Even though we find great satisfaction in success, we rejoice all the more with others accomplishments.  Most importantly, we are successful regardless of filling our tags.  These ideas were hard to absorb as a kid, and still hard to practice as an adult, but I have felt the joy in watching a hunters eyes light up as they describe their triumph.  I have trodden back into camp soaked, and shivering, crumpling into a folding chair pulled close to the wood fireplace. I have learned the real definition of success. 

            As I grew up I found those six days immersed in the wilderness inadequate. Each moment in the woods became a treasure, allowing me to glimpse into the world where the wild animals I pursued spent their entire lives.  Hunting began to morph slowly, changing from a chance for an adrenaline rush and quality family time, into something more intricate. I began reading, and there is no shortage of hunting resources. Magazines, online articles, and books all contained vast amounts of information to improve my success.  I started as a young kid trying not to snap every twig underfoot, to pouring over topographical maps, studying migration corridors, saddles, benches, and a myriad of other geographic clues as to where the elk should be.  Instead of sullenly tramping along, wondering if my dad had anymore candy bars in his pack, I became attentive to wind direction, anticipating its thermal shifts to always keep it in my face.  Subtly I was learning and growing, my path to wildlife literacy gaining momentum.  Then came archery hunting, and learning began anew. Draw weight, length, brace height, and many other factors determine the right bow for each person. I scoured website after website, searching for information on what size and type of bow I would need for my specific build.  Shooting a bow is so different from a rifle there should be a different word for it.  There are muscles used in archery I didn’t know existed, and correct form is essential for accuracy. I worked and worked on it, establishing a solid anchor spot, and went to a local archery shop for tuning help and questions.  Hunting with a bow has provided a plethora of learning opportunities, as I now have to get closer to the animals than ever before. There is an intimacy of being so close to a wild animal, noticing things not seen before. All this led me deeper into the world of hunting literacy, morphing from days in the field to now a hunger for more scientific knowledge. 

            In high school I was a bright but un-motivated student. I got decent grades without having to apply much energy, which was fine with me as I had no intention of going to college. I entered the work force but quickly became disillusioned with the life of a retail worker. The nagging question that kept me stuck there had haunted me my entire life: what do I want to be when I grow up? Finally, that answer came to me, as I realized my passion and knowledge of hunting could be used as a career springboard.  Working for the US Forest Service, or the state division of wildlife would allow me to pair my passion for the outdoors with the principles of management, ecology, and biology.  This would require more than a high school diploma though, so I made the step back into formal education. It was different this time though, because each class had meaning. Instead of useless facts, or boring memorization, I could see each lesson applying and grafting itself to a future career. Experience from the woods melded with lectures, and professors’ wisdom echoed when I went hunting.  I noticed a drive to succeed that I never had before, not simply for good grades, but rather to fully understand the wild world that has always fascinated me.  Who I am as a hunter – passionate, driven, curious – became who I am as a student.

            Five more semesters separate me from graduation, and beyond that I doubt my formal education will stop. Years of experience in the woods are hopefully the beginning of the knowledge I will continue to gain firsthand.  Wildlife literacy is not some obtainable benchmark, rather a lifelong lesson, an idea as fluid as evolution itself.  When I go hunting, I am not simply a predator anymore, but a student also. To me the two worlds have become inseparable; the hunter and the student have become one. Maybe they were the same all along. 

Ode to beauty

Where are you, o' beautiful? I cannot see you, yet I know you are there, always there.  Masked from my sight, wrapped in swirling swathes of muted gray.  With eyes open I peer longingly and see nothing; with eyes closed I can make out your silhouette, memory proving the strongest of my senses.   Knowing that you are there is enough, knowing what I will see when the billowing obscurity is blown away is tantalizing. You will be dressed in radiant white, the hem of your dress a frosted purple, and piled around you will be the snowy white folds of your train.  The sun that now struggles to shine through the storm overhead will illuminate you in purest light, marking you stronger for the storm you just weathered.
We have been tethered since birth, though each of us unaware of the other. I can't say when I first noticed you, but I will certainly never forget you.  While others hardly notice you, my heart and eyes are forever drawn to you. You stand there, outside their car windows in all your majestic stature and beauty and go unseen.  They look from the red light, to you, back down to their phones, and drive into the worries of the day without a second stolen glance or catch of breath. How can this be? I see you in the early dawn, each ray of light reaching out and gingerly touching your face, sharpening each line, bringing rich contrast to your already surpassing beauty.  Each evening the fading sun stretches your shadow out and as it sets for the night I am reassured you will be there when it comes back around.
You are more than a mere object to me, more than a beautiful sight for my soul. You are a portal to my life, an escape hatch I go to time and again.  For the stale recycled air I breath, you are a fresh mountain breeze. For the brown smog soaked atmosphere of vehicle exhaust, you are a powder blue sky with wispy thin clouds.  For the heat baking my feet and blistering my lips as it reflects back off the pavement, you are fluffy dry snow stinging my cheeks with shards of refreshing cold. For the cramped work-space and caged animal feeling that accompanies city life, you are a spacious meadow filled with every kind of wildflower. In you I find the identity of my soul and what it craves-life and death, harsh and mild, wild and tame, alone and companionship.  You are me, and I am you, our identities inseparable, our definitions the same. If you ever falter, stumble, or crumble my world would surely end. But when my time comes, as it certainly will before yours does, I know you will stand stoic and unyielding, but I believe the streams running down your cheeks will be tears of sadness. And maybe, just maybe one of those streams will run past my grave and we will be together for eternity. The moisture from your sadness will cause a single flower to grow, a symbol of the life you brought to me.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

What do you want to be when you grow up? Every grade school kid has been asked this question. Fireman, policeman, doctor, and football player are probably among the most common answers for boys. Teacher and mom were about as original as the girls ever seemed to get. An occasional astronaut was thrown in for the motivated kids. As your senior year of high school approaches the same question gets asked, normally phrased as "....so what are you gonna do when you graduate?".  By this time the majority of people have shifted their answer to something more realistic(since we can't all be fireman and even with the Broncos desperate need of talent none of us are quite good enough) and generally more vague.  "I'm going to such and such school and getting a bachelors in such and such." Even the ones who seemed to still like school at this point and were going to pursue a masters had a more generic idea such as business law or psychology without a specific career or company in mind. And for those like me the answer was a honest "I don't really know. I think I will work for a while and then maybe go back to school".

Then you work. You work some more. Maybe get promoted, get a pay raise. A little vacation here and there.  But you eventually wake up one day and realize you never decided what you wanted to be when you grew up and its 8 years after graduation. Going back to school seems impossible at this point because you are living on your own and your full time wages go to silly little necessities like rent and food and insurance. And when you get honest you still don't know what you want to do, you just know this isn't it.  There is a depression that can only come from feeling unfulfilled and it hits like a tidal wave.   Restlessness, anxiety, anger, all manifest themselves as symptoms of this depression as you grow less and less content with your life. Its hard, if not impossible to resist this either. There are few things as sapping to mans(and I would assume a woman's) self worth as working a dead end job. Even if it is a job that pays well, if the work is not satisfying and gratifying each hour feels like a wasted drudgery, every day off is reduced to a 24 hour countdown to when it ends and work begins again.

That was me. Then I quit, walked out and never looked back. Life instantly began anew, as close to the moment I graduated high school in its liberation and seemingly boundless opportunities. I worked here and there, mostly relying on my talents as a meat cutter. In my free time I fixed a lot of things in my life. Most notably my walk with God, attending church regularly again, and seeking Him in prayer.  I met an amazing woman and was able to spend a great deal of time getting to know her and fell in love with her rather quickly.  Through all this I knew I needed a job, and still wasn't answering the real question: what do I want to be?
I got engaged the same day I went back to Sams. I guess in some small way I thought maybe I had answered the question: I wanted to be a husband and it didn't matter what else I did. I was wrong. It worked for a while to be sure. I got promoted right away, and overall it seemed a better place to work. The upcoming wedding and all the excitement probably played a part in distracting me too. But it didn't take long before the stress and frustration began to show through, the deep seeded realization that this is still not where I wanted to end up surfaced again.

And that leads to today.  I need out. I feel trapped, helplessly locked into a cycle that I see all too clearly laid out before me and around me.  Every single meat cutter I know has had to work two jobs, had a wife that worked full time or in a lot of cases, both.  They all miss Christmas's and Easters, birthdays and anniversaries, and all those silly little 3 day weekend holidays like Labor Day, Memorial Day and Forth of July. But it goes deeper than that, deeper than the lousy pay and erratic schedule. It goes to a lack of satisfaction in my work. I enjoy what I do, and I think that I am pretty darn good at what I do. But what I do does not bring satisfaction in what I accomplish.  I honestly feel more pride, joy and victory when I win a rec league low level hockey game then when I got promoted at work.

So now what? What do I want to be when I grow up now that I am grown up?  I still don't think I can give you a definitive "I want to work this specific job". I can however give you some generalizations that are all together more specific than I have ever been and following these ideas, I think, can lead me to a career that is rewarding and satisfying. First, in the family realm, I want to be a great husband. The kind of husband who you would never even suspect of cheating, the kind of husband you would want your daughter to be married to, the kind of husband you would raise your son to be.  I want to be a father, one who is there when I am needed, strong and supportive, stern and loving. On the relational side of things, I want to be a friend who is always there, dependable and caring, honest and open.  Financially I want to make enough to take care of my families needs and as many wants as I can.  I want to be generous, to my church, to those in need. I have never aspired to be rich as I know I probably can't be trusted with a lot of money and never saw the point in piling up a large number in a bank account I can't take with me when I die. Now however I look at a future with a family, dependent on my sole income, I want to be able to provide. I don't know exactly what that number is, and with the bargain hunting wife that I have I would probably be shocked at how little we could survive on, but I do honestly believe its higher than what I make now. Lastly, and of probably greater importance than all but the first, I want to make a difference in what I do. Clocking in and out, earning a meager wage and making someone else rich is not cutting it for me. I could work there for 40 more years until retirement and maybe get a nice picture frame for my entire working career and the next day they would replace me with an 18 year old kid for half my pay and life would go on as if I never sat foot in there before. I want to leave something behind, a lasting impact on the world, stamping my identity and proof of existence indelibly on the universe. Maybe I am a dreamer, or even vain, I don't know. I do know this life isn't about me, or what I can do here on earth; it is ultimately about bringing God glory. But in so many ways I think redeeming this time I have, finding joy and contentment and fulfillment in my career will bring Him far greater glory than "sucking it up and grinding out a living".

So, to summarize another rather lengthy post(thank you sincerely if you are still reading), what do you want to be when you grow up? The question is as pertinent and important now as when you were in forth grade.

Part 5: Me, Her, and The Light

I hadn't gone more than a step when I tripped, landing hard and smacking my face on the ground. I groaned in pain, as I slowly got to my knees. I looked ahead and noticed the woman hadn't stopped or slowed down, but was still walking calmly up the path.  I checked behind me to see what had tripped me up and found another rock. This one seemed rather small, hard to imagine it was even heavy enough to make me stumble.  When I reached for it though I found it immensely dense and I had to grunt just to heft it in the one hand.  Written in bright blue and all capital bold letters was "PRIDE".  Well surely I didn't want to leave this one behind. What would the woman think, and the man who had helped me if I caught up and didn't have any pride?  I slid it into my pocket and quickly got back to my feet, intent on trying to close the gap between me and the girl.   I found the heaviness of "PRIDE" kept trying to pull my pants down so I had to use one of my hands to hold them up, which only allowed me to do an awkward lopping motion.

As I followed the woman up the path I began to notice that it got narrower and steeper the further we went, the rock walls dropped away revealing a deep dark cavern underneath that stretched further than the light could penetrate.  The path itself felt no longer like stone but a rough, splinter-prone wood.  I was having trouble keeping up as the path got ever steeper and "PRIDE" seemed to weigh heavier with each step. I no longer seemed to be getting closer to the girl, who seemed to not notice the increased difficulty or dangerous drop to either side, she just kept staring straight ahead at the light and placed each step confidently. As for me, each step became tentative, wrought with worry as I would glance at the girl, then try to peer ahead to the light and then down at my feet, all the while tugging at my pants to keep "PRIDE" from pulling me down. Then a new problem added to the difficulty as I felt the wood getting slick beneath my feet. It wasn't water as it felt slightly sticky and thicker, but the further up the path I went it ran heavier, saturating the wood, running up and oozing over my shoes until the warm liquid had soaked into my socks.  Finally I could take it no more, curiosity and caution drew my eyes off the light ahead and down to the path to figure out what this confounded new problem was. That's when I slipped. I landed on my hands and knees, thankfully not flat on my face again.  The liquid was now flowing pretty good, rushing over my hands and swirling around my knees.  I brought my hand to my face for a closer inspection and gasped. The liquid shone a bright red; blood red.  Violently I shook my hand trying to fling the blood from it and wiped what remained on my ragged shirt.  Now for another surprise(I should have been getting used to these by now); my hand was no longer covered in the black tar, even the gunk that seemed to have seeped into my skin was gone. Clean, unblemished skin showed where ever the blood had touched and when I looked at my shirt, where I had wiped my hand off there was pure white cloth without a single rip.  Quickly I dipped my hand into the blood and splashed a handful onto one of the festering wounds on my side. Instant soothing rushed into the wound and as the blood dripped down it revealed a tiny little scar, completely healed and free from any of the discoloration of infection.  With elation I lay down in the stream, letting it rush over me, using my hands to cover me in the blood entirely.

"Travis" It was the woman's and the mans voice this time, and I slowly got back to my feet, checking myself to make sure the impromptu washing was thorough. Every trace of the black grime that had covered me was gone, my shirt was a brilliant white and my jeans where whole again.  The aches of wounds and injuries, including the ones I had taken while on the path were gone, and I felt energized and complete.  As I looked up the path it made a sharp incline, almost vertical, and then it reached a platform of sorts, where another wooden beam came and crossed this path, making a spot wide enough for two people to stand side by side. And there they were. The woman had already climbed the vertical section and was kneeling, possibly in exhaustion.  The man was facing me but it was hard to see his features as the light seemed almost to be radiating from him. I quickly headed for the vertical part and and began to climb.  It wasn't overly high, maybe twice my height but the blood ran thicker and faster here, and as soon as I tried to use both hands to climb the rush of the stream and "PRIDE" would begin to pull my pants down.  I reached into my pocked and removed "PRIDE", not wanting to lose it in process of the climb and clutched it tightly in my hand.  Slowly I began up the wall, awkwardly wrapping my arms and legs around the wood and shimming my way upwards. The higher I went the heavier "PRIDE" got and my arm began to ache. Then almost at the top I lost all strength and the arm holding onto "PRIDE" swung down limply at my side. I cried out, envisioning me falling, crashing off the path below and careening down into the dark abyss.  My other arm and legs were clenched in a death grip around the wood, and my face was pressed tight against, blood flowing and cascading over me.

"Let go and give me your hand" I looked up to see the mans face peering over the edge at me.  The light still seemed to radiate from him so his exact features were still hard to make out, but I could see compassion and love in his eyes.

I can't, I will fall if I let go.


"Not of the path, let go of "PRIDE", its the only way to reach me."

I shook, knowing I couldn't hold on much longer.  What good was holding onto "PRIDE" if it only brought me to my death?  If I never reached the top and met this woman, or got to know this man, what was the point of keeping it? Slowly I forced each stubborn finger open until "PRIDE" slipped from my grasp and tumbled off into darkness.  I reached for the mans hand and he pulled me up easily and I collapsed on my trembling knees, thankful to be alive, thankful to the man for rescuing me.  I became conscious of the woman kneeling next to me and finally got to see her face.  She was looking at me, her smile mimicking the one in my heart.  She was simply put the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.  Had I seen her back in the dark pathway or heading down the red-lit, crowded path I don't know if I would have noticed her, but here, in this radiant white light her beauty shone through, unrivaled.  Our eyes met and my heart jumped somersaults while threatening to beat right out of my chest.

"I am so glad you found me" Her voice rang clear in my ears but her mouth never moved, the words spoken between us deeper than any sound could convey. Words escaped me, so I quietly reached for her hand, her fingers intertwined with mine and tears of joy ran down both our cheeks. I wanted to thank the man for bringing me to this woman, for helping me past those obstacles and we both turned back to him. He was smiling down at us, joy evident on his face.  I noticed with some shock that his hands were covered in blood, so much that it was running down in a steady flow, joining with a stream that seemed to be coming out of his feet. He must have noticed my shock and locked my gaze with his.

"Yes, this is my blood, the blood that washed you."

But why? Why are you bleeding for me? Why did you help me?


"Because I love you." This answer was so simple...yet so complete. I didn't need any other explanation.  His calling me to this path, the help he offered with out me asking him first, the blood he shed so freely for me all proved his love beyond question. "Now, come, I have plans for you two." He reached down, grabbing our joined hands and pulled us to our feet. "Follow me closely, keep your eyes on me. The path ahead will not be easy, but as long as you hold tight to each other and follow me, I will guide you together on your way."

With that he turned and started on down the path. I squeezed the woman's hand, she squeezed mine reassuringly in return, and we followed him.

Part 4: The Rock-Slide

The rock-slide rose abruptly, towering over and dwarfing me.  How could I ever get through this? The task seemed hopelessly large, impossibly daunting in its magnitude.  There is no way I could move all these rocks, certainly not the big ones, some taller than I was.  I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against the rough cold rock. My breathing was heavy and I realized I was sobbing.  After all this, fighting my way to this point only to be stopped dead, my heart began to feel dead.

"I will give you strength" This voice startled me, and I involuntarily jumped, catching my breath and wiping at the tears running down my cheeks(this only served to smear the black gunk all over my face).  The voice had been a guys this time.  I felt inexplicably reassured though, buoyed with confidence. I took several calming breaths, inhaling deeply. A slight breeze whispered through the rocks, seemingly fresher and invigorating.  Reaching down I grabbed the first small rock and chucked it behind me. The next one was large enough to need both hands and as I bent to pick it up I stopped and stared, puzzled.  On the rock was written "Greed". A quick scan of all the other rocks revealed they too had various things written on them. It didn't matter how small or how large the stone was, every one was labeled.  "Greed" got thrown behind me, followed by "Anger", "Lying", "Cursing", "Prejudice", and "Self-love". These rocks all varied in size, but the weight of each felt identical, from small river stones to bigger blocks that required me to wrap my arms around them in a bear hug, the oddity and increased size being the bigger challenge to move rather than the weight.

Now I was confronted with my first real obstacle, a boulder taller than me, and probably three times wider. Written on this one in a glowing red paint was "Selfishness".

"Hey, hey! No need to move that one there champ! Its not really in the way! If you just knock out some of those rocks along the side of the wall you can just go right around it! Or better yet, come on back and we'll go snowboarding! No, wait, on a Heli-skiing trip!" It was the voice of the Odd Man echoing up to me.  I didn't bother turning around, not really wanting to see what incoherent outfit he had on now, but I did glance at the wall that was still standing, the part I would have to remove to go around. The wall that was hemming in this path and guiding me up this narrow way had words written on it too, but instead of scrawled in various colors like the loose rocks, these words were written in a clean, neatly scripted white.  The words closest to "Selfishness" that I would have to knock out were "Family", "Friends", "Church", "Responsibilities", "Self-Discipline" and "Self-Sacrifice", all linked together so that if I took one out the others would topple.  It did look like the wall would be easy to knock down but then I would be exposed to falling off the path. I found comfort in knowing those rocks were there to protect my way, all of them formed to help lead me to the voice(or now voices).  This left me with only one option; to remove "Selfishness". Upon looking closer at the boulder I now realized there were some cracks in the rock I hadn't noticed before(had the cracks been there before?) which made perfect hand-holds.  I grabbed hold as best I could, pulled in a deep breath and with a heave I pulled. The rock didn't budge an inch. Again and again I threw my weight back only to slump, exhausted and panting. My weight alone wouldn't move this rock, I needed some other way to dislodge it.  I studied the wall again, noticing that the seams between the rocks on the wall, notably "Self-Discipline" and "Self-Sacrifice" would make perfect footholds. Given the fragile look of the wall I was hesitant to use it, but realized I had no other choice. I tentatively wedged my feet on either side of the wall, grabbed hold of the rock and pushed gently back. In a rush the boulder gave way, and I had to quickly scramble back as "Selfishness" began rolling down the path.  Elation rapidly turned to fear as I realized the huge rock was now coming right for me, picking up speed and there was no way to get out of the way.  I back peddled as quickly as I could, but tripped over something, probably one of the other rocks I had thrown behind me, and fell with a thud, the air rushing from my lungs.  As I watched my impending doom bearing down on me I still felt comfort, knowing that I had at least moved that boulder, had gotten that much closer to the voices.  Then something miraculous happened. "Selfishness" began to break apart. First into two big pieces, then those began to crumble, breaking further and further down as it got closer until it was a small tide of pebbles and then as it reached my feet about to bury me it vaporized into a fine dust that settled over everything. Finally able to regain my breath I inhaled sharply only to lapse into a fit of coughing trying to clear my lungs of the thick chalky dust.  Shakily I clambered back to my feet, trying to shake as much of the dust off me and stumbled back up to what was left of the rock-slide blocking my path.

Now that "Selfishness" was gone I could see an archway with "True Love" etched in ornate lettering across the top. The pure white light radiated from all around it, blocked by one last hulking boulder.  Because of the bright light shining in my eyes I had to draw close to this last barrier to read its label. It was smeared and barely legible, pitch black scribbled on the dark rock. It read "Lust".  This one had no hand holds though, no way for me to get a grip on it.  I tried wedging my hand between the archway and "Lust" but as soon as my hand touched the rock images shot through my head and I staggered back, blinking to clear my vision.

"Oh yea suga', rememba' that?  Wasn't that just a hoot? Why my dear, ya' blushin'! You wasn't too ashamed of it back then. Come on back to me baby, we can make more memories."  The lady in red! How had she caught up to me?! I quickly glanced over my shoulder but couldn't see her anywhere.  I couldn't go back there, not again, not after coming this far.  Frantically I beat at "Lust", kicking it, punching it, throwing other rocks at it.  Every time I touched it a shock was sent through my system, sapping my energy to keep fighting and to my great shock each rock that struck it was absorbed into it.  Finally exhausted and ready to give up I feel against the archway of "True Love" and collapsed.  Strength seemed to flow back into me the second I touched the archway, not in the violent bursts of "Lust", but in a steady, constant stream of energy. Then from the other side came the mans voice again, still a quiet whisper, but yet it carried authority and reassurance indescribable.

"Allow me. Just ask and I will remove it."


Please, I can't move it and I want to go through "True Love" and see you and find her, the girl whose voice I heard.

"Stand close to "True Love" and you will be safe"

I scrambled to my feet and pressed in close to the archway.  With a sudden blast, "Lust" shot forward and almost instantly vaporized. I had to squeeze my eyes shut as that piercing white light flooded the hallway, temporarily blinding me.  A few minutes passed and I slowly opened my eyes, allowing them to adjust.  I quickly passed through the "True-Love" archway and then I saw her. More accurately I saw her figure, with the light shining directly from further down the path behind her I could only make out her silhouette.  My breath caught and my heart leaped in my chest.
"Follow me" her voice rang clear and melodious in my ears as she turned and continued up the path.  I quickly started after her, breaking into a quick jog.
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Sorry this took so long, I kind of hit a creativity wall and wanted to make sure I was ready to work on it, not try to force it or rush it. I believe I can wrap this up in one more part, which hopefully should come early next week but no promises. Thanks for reading and hanging in there, I do appreciate your time. Again, if you missed the other parts, just use the menus on the right to go to January's posts and you'll find parts 1-3 in there. Thank you again!