Confronting the Crippling Cockatrice of Condemnation

ENOUGH!!

I tire of being shackled by condemnation!  Did my savior die that I might remain chained by the guilt which comes from the enemy?  I hear his mocking laughter for the last time as I rise up and snap the chains that encircle my wrists and ankles.  They break like brittle ceramic, for their strength was but an illusion!  How can condemnation have any strength when the savior was condemned in my stead?  I have been a fool!

Now as I feel the power of heaven flowing through me, my tongue is loosed in praise vocalizing the Holy language that only the King can understand, for it does not originate with me, but with He who has been with me all along, waiting for me to throw off the enchantment that had blinded me and take hold of His authority over darkness!

And I do just that for now my eyes are opened and I see clearly what was crippling my spirit!  Surrounding me, filling the courtyard I have allowed myself to cower in, is the fog of condemnation, the foul smoke that pours from the nostrils of a Cockatrice!

My hand takes hold of my sword at my side, unused for far too long, and I draw it forth with renewed zeal to fight!  The unknown tongue that flows from my lips becomes a battle cry!  I cast about the room for my enemy with fire in my eyes!

I glimpse the great beast through the smoke and see it moving to escape, or so I assume seeing only it's tail facing me.  But as I pursue it, brandishing my sword, suddenly I see it stop and out of the clearing smoke, it's monstrous, beaked snout appears, curling back on its serpentine neck.  My first concern is its fiery breath and I suddenly realize that in my haste I neglected to grab my shield once again, leaving me defenseless.  Fortunately, the demonic spawn is not interested in destroying me... not yet.  Gaze dragons, known more commonly as cockatrice or basilisks, like their fallen master, are ever more concerned with keeping Sons of Adam under their foul enchantments if not completely corrupted to their foul purposes and this one is no different.  Seeing that I have awakened from it's smoke enchantment and thrown off the condemnation of it, it falls back to it's primary means of attack for which it gets its name!

Almost too late, I remember to look away before those deadly eyes penetrate the cloud and paralyze me in their crippling gaze!  I am too soon set free to allow myself to fall back into that trap, however, turning my face away from the beast leaves me blinded to its next move. Fearing that it will double back and strike, I decide to move.  I leap sideways, rolling and springing back to my feet to keep any forthcoming attacks from landing.  The moves prove wise.  A sudden crash beside me confirms that the dragon is no longer interested in enslaving me.  Having roused so quickly and fully immersed in battle-song, I have proven that I will not be shackled again.  But more than that, I have dared to come out of my prison with sword blazing and proven myself a threat.  That the dragons cannot allow for they know the power of an armed Knight Raider.

My momentary zeal cools, replaced by wisdom.  This is no mere dark creature.  This is a Great Wyrm!  And very few Knight Raiders have the faith to face one alone, let alone defeat one!  Faith - that is what I'm missing!  It has been so long unused that once again I have forgotten it and find myself almost defenseless... almost but not fully.  Judging by the crash beside me and the large shape in my peripheral vision, I close my eyes and spin, swinging my flaming sword with both hands in a wide, chopping stroke to my right.  It makes contact and draws blood, but the poorly aimed blow is largely deflected by hard scales.  Still the basilisk roars in pain and by the sound I can tell it has reared back and that the blow must have landed on or near it's striking head.

This buys me only a few rapid heart-beats, but I make them count.  Casting about for my shield, I leap away again, this time backward and away from my assailant.  I need space to move and escape.  "Lord, deliver me!"  I cry, knowing that I cannot evade my enemy for long.  My muscles are too weakened by lack of use and I feel myself growing fatigued already.

Enraged now, I hear the dragon sucking in a great, long breath and I realize it is about to breath fire.  The area is not very large and I realize too late that I have moved away from the entrance and put my enemy between myself and freedom.  I see my shield lying in the far corner where it was carelessly discarded, but it is still too far away to reach before the flame strikes me and melts the flesh from my bones.

Suddenly, the Emissary is there!

As I move away, he passes me running toward the dragon and I hear another roar of pain accompanied by the fiery blast that should have ended my life.  The heat and light from it fills the air but deflected in another direction giving me the time I need to reach my shield and put it between myself and any further attacks.  Of course now I am cornered, but taking up my faith again and reminded that I am never alone, I turn to face my foe with renewed hope once again.

The Emissary stands before me in resplendent armor, bright as the mid-day sun, and it is the Basilisk that turns its face away for the moment, it's snout freely bleeding from a large gash laying open one of it's smoking nostrils.  And then the Emissary speaks to me.

"Remember your training, warrior!  You know the Word that is needed for this deceiver."

Suddenly a verse from the sacred scrolls comes to my memory and I release it from my lips in song as I once again brandish my blade and stride forward with new confidence.  It is from the 37th song of the great Psalter: "Turn from evil and do good; then you will always live securely.  For the Lord loves the just and will not forsake his faithful ones!"

My sword flames brighter at the words and as the great wyrm turns its blasphemous gaze back to fix upon me, I realize that looking through that holy fire I am sheltered from its inner darkness.  I can look at my enemy without fear, armed with the knowledge of the Word.  My enemy realizes it as well, and instead of crippling condemnation in those eyes, I see defeat.  My King has already defeated this foe and I am his representative bearing His authority and accompanied by His Holy Emissary with renewed faith to stand.

And so it falls back, but not before resorting to its final and most deadly weapon... it's voice.

"This changes nothing, Knight Raider!  It is not the first time you have pushed me aside and strode forth in all your glory to take back what I have stolen from you, feeling so self-assured and even blessed by your wonderful King to do great exploits.  But I am patient and I know that with great freedom comes great temptation and that you are pitifully short on endurance to go the distance in prolonged battle.  You will tire soon enough and look longingly into the surrounding darkness for comfort and pleasure and I will be there to see that you return to it.  I have no need to fight you further.  You will return to me like the little spoiled child you are, begging me for the trinkets only I can give."

"No.  I know you're game.  You offer what I want only to then whisper to me what a failure I am for taking it until I can no longer breathe under the weight of your crippling enchantment!  You are not called Cholos for nothing.  You are the crippler but I will not be shackled again.  I am saved by the grace of my Lord, not by my own righteousness!"  I take another step toward the winged abomination still looking through the flaming blade as I hold it before me.

Cholos retreats toward the entrance and begins to slither his serpentine body backwards through it as he hisses his final words.  "We shall see... as we have seen before.  It is always the same with you.  A moment of inspiration, a day of strength and glory and your flame goes out, the sword sheathed and the shield abandoned, for you cannot hold those weapons and handle the pleasures we offer at the same time.  Your sword arm will grow weary soon enough, mighty man."

And with those final sneering words, the basilisk disappears behind a final blast of choking smoke that catches me off guard.  Inhaling it, I swoon momentarily feeling the exhaustion return to my sword arm as if weighed down by the very words of the serpent.  I lower my sword watching the holy flames dwindle along the blade and question my own resolve... for I too know my pattern.

I stumble backward... and feel strong arms catch me.

"You are safe, my child.  Rest now in my presence and put no more thought into tomorrow.  For today has enough troubles of its own and I am here with you.  And I will be with you tomorrow when those temptations return.  And I will not give you more than you can bear.  Take what you have learned from this encounter and hold it close."

I look over my shoulder and see, not the Emissary, but my Lord himself, his face so full of love and care for me that I cannot help but surrender to his embrace.  I collapse against him, turning to bury my face in his lap as the tears fall freely.  How my King loves me no matter how many times I fail him.  And because of HIS love and mercy, there is always hope, not only for me, but those he calls me to fight for.

"Turn from evil and do good; then you will always live securely.  For the Lord loves the just and will not forsake his faithful ones."  Psalm 37:27-28a

"Oh my Lord, help me to be a faithful one!"

Faithless Knight

I hear the cries of the young girl as the dark creatures assault her in the night.  She has run to them again...in spite of her grandmother's warnings and threats and the constant reasoning of her counselors.  So full of pain that she cannot see reality, the young fool has once again given herself to the darkness.  And the darkness is merciless.

But what of me?  I am supposed to be a Knight Raider, a soldier of the light, in service to the Light Bringer, the great King of Kings with all of his power at my command.  Yet here I am, listening to her cries and powerless to help her.  No.  That is a lie.  A lie I tell myself to ease my conscience.  I am far from powerless.  As a Knight Raider, I have super strength at my disposal like Samson of old!  As a Knight Raider, I have the supernatural power that far-surpasses any incantation or magic spell, power that unravels the foulest dragon-speech!  And yet, here I stand, listening to her cries, torn by the shrieks, not only of the child, but her distraught grandmother, hopeless and broken by the repeated destruction of each of her grand-children as they grow to adolescence and leave the protection of her home in rebellion.  All that power flows through me as a child of the king with His authority and by His imparted birth-right.  Surely I could pursue the foul host that repeatedly violates this princess!  My sword is drawn, my armor secure (though I seem to have misplaced my shield), I cry out to the King and the Emissary stands with me holding out a flaming key as I wave my sword, even launch a few arrows into the darkness, but my shots fly far afield, for my arms are weighed down, my strength useless because I refuse to take that key.  

"Lord, why will you not free this girl?"  I cry! "Her grandmother and I pray and we counsel and we teach and you do nothing!  How can we have hope when we see her violated again and again by her own choice, listening to the dragon's voice in her ears and ignoring yours?  Where are you?"

The Emissary speaks, as he always does when I ask these same questions, for the answer is always the same...

"I am with you in power and authority.  Go and free her!  Are you willing to pay the price for her as I paid the price for you?  The key to your shackles is within your reach.  Will you take it up and be free?  Will you be an over-comer in my service?"

"NO!  Why must it fall on me?"

And I realize that I have just given my answer.  Sagging back to the floor in misery, I lay my sword down and reach for something that will drown out the screams... my crystal ball perhaps... or my trinkets purchased at the Dragon market.  After all, if I take that key and put it in the door of my wooden prison it will ignite a fire that will consume all that I've accumulated here.  And I love my toys... even if they are broken and grimy.  Surely the king will here my requests and send another to free the girl.  He loves her more than I do anyway.  He will not let her go.  That I know.  Somehow it will all work out.  If I keep shooting arrows of prayer out into the darkness from my window, surely one will find it's mark eventually.  Or perhaps the girl will listen tomorrow when she returns bloodied and filthy, broken by her mistreatment.  Why do I need to change?

And so I return to my battle plans and strategies to engage the enemy; plans I will share with my fellow Knight Raiders to inspire them to take up the battle that the King is calling THEM to.  After all, I am an influential speaker.  I can inspire them to make the sacrifice, I reason.  And as I lose myself again in my piles of trash, another scream from the darkness falls lifeless at the window pane and the Emissary weeps.

  

Sword Drill

A hand full of children.  Just a few stand before me these days listening to my instruction and of those few, only maybe two even show up with their swords.  How am I supposed to instruct them to fight the enemy when they don't even see the necessity to bring a weapon?

This is the issue I address today.  The lesson I teach to them is that they NEED to bring their weapons!  I have been instructing them in the need to clothe themselves daily in their armor.  We live in enemy territory and their lives are constantly at risk, yet most of them don't believe it.  How can they when all they see is the pleasures and comforts of the wicked culture we live in?  They might as well laugh at me for I see it in their faces, the apathy and deadness of being.

Most of them are stricken with lycanthrope like their parents, but because of their immaturity, their desease shows more prominently.  Covered in various shades and thickness of fur, their ears losing their round curves in various degrees and mouths bearing fangs of different lengths.  The worst of them even bear intimidating clawed nails on their hands.  But they see it as normal.  Most are not alarmed by it.  After all, they are the twice born children.  At least their not among the living-dead.  At least, that is their thinking.

What breaks my heart is how much like the dead they look.  I move my gaze to the back of the group where a few visitors stand, looking around nervously, not knowing what to make of this place and my teaching.  Vampire children, living dead, not yet understanding or accepting the free gift of the Eternal King that is available to them.  And yet they are here.  Their parents have come seeking something and brought their children along as well.  And some of these young dead look more alive than the regulars.  Their hunger is greater... hunger for better sustenance.  Though it is amazing that they can smell it here in this place, when our people wallow in the same filth and smell of death half the time.

Still, there are a few children who show promise.  Those two with their swords seem to show some skill and a desire to learn more.  Help me, Lord, to remember my old skill with a blade that I might impart to the next generation some hope!

Shackled to the Accursed Idol of "Graven" Images

I have turned a corner and I don't know that I have the strength to go back... and it scares me!

Why did I ever bring that DAMNED idol into my house? One day in the market... one moment of weakness... when the price was just right... and now my family is enslaved with stronger shackles than ever! Oh what a terrible sorcerous invention with it's dazzling images ever shifting before our eyes drawing us in with its fantasies of every kind. Who can resist dipping in to the sludgewater it offers when ever it flows from the crystal eye taking on the form most agreeable and ever available? The dream weaver, the scrying pool, the bearer of ill news, the "graven" image updated and ever shifting before us, beckoning, hungering, feeding.

I hate it!

And yet, I love it!

Too often I cannot turn from it and my family is mesmerized by it constantly! What could we accomplish in our lives and in the lives of others were we free of its spell, released from its shackles? And yet how relaxing to just slip into the silky, smooth, seduction it offers, gazing upon its countless worlds of possibility and myriad stories of a better life... or perhaps a not-so-better life, but one that is fascinating in its provocative plot twists and exotic settings that glisten and gleam in a million colors and shapes so pleasing to the eye.

And what thoughts it plants in my mind as I gaze upon it daily, what concepts contrary to the sacred text! Oh, God help me! When I'm not fighting my sin nature directly, I'm feeding it!

And worst yet, I don't know how to reclaim my family. Even my wife has become seduced into the arms of another "lover." How it hurts to be neglected in favor of a fantasy.

Oh WHY did I bring that DAMNED thing home? God forgive me. The one we had was bad enough... but NO, I had to upgrade the temptation, give it more power and prominence. Now, I deserve what I get. God have mercy!

How do I turn back now? How do I reclaim what I've lost... and do I really want to?

Feeding on the Eternal Cure for Lycanthrope

I find myself succumbing to the lycanthrope more and more lately. What is it about the blood of others that I find so intoxicating?

My son is the biggest victim of my rage. Is it that his emerging manhood threatens me? I wish I fully understood. But it seems the slightest things he does lately bring out the beast within me. Yesterday he bit his sister after the two of them manifested their bestial natures and attacked one another and he was foolish enough to do this in front of me. But did I turn to the "Wellspring of Life" for sustenance and strength to resist my own transformation? Of course not. Before I had hardly considered my own behavior, the degeneration was complete and I was pouncing upon him. I scared myself for one instant when my claws found their mark horrifyingly close to his left eye and I thrust him from me before my tongue found its satisfaction in the blood that was drawn. My own flesh and blood. Why can I not remember in those moments of passion that my wolf form is never the answer? I cannot teach my children to forsake bloodletting when I constantly model it for them.

The only shred of hope I find in this situation was the quickness of my recovery. I am getting better at realizing my mistake and willing myself to change back sooner than I used to. My son slinked off with his tail between his legs and my daughter instantly reverted to express concern for him and for my violence. That helped me to snap out of it. And when he returned a few minutes later, I asked his forgiveness.

Oh the sweet balm of forgiveness, not only from the King, but from those you have offended. Instantly my son's form changed from a slinking, wounded were-creature to a handsome young man. In that instant of divine healing between family members, both of us shone with the radiance of human flesh. My son is a great young man and I am never more proud of him than when he shows the glory of the King in his demeanor. I'm sure he would say the same of me. Oh that we were not born into this bestial nature. And yet that is no excuse for we are twice-born. If we would but feed on the "Source of life" rather than each other, we could put off this hairy hide forever.

The realization brings with it a fresh hunger for purer blood. I must shut myself away from family for some time alone with my Lord. He beckons me to feed and I know it shall be sweet. Even now, he is at the door, knocking and calling to me. "Come and be filled. Eat my flesh and drink my blood and you will find true life."

"Cure me, great Lord! I come to you!"

As I enter his presence, the light of his being illuminates the darkness around me and I realize how many dark creatures lurk in my carnal world, even in my own home. I am disgusted by the truth of my own weakness as I realize that I have allowed these cruel minions of hell into my life. A golden calf is most noticeable, brazen in it's prominence. It's form changes constantly, all of them attractive to me and glowing with an eerie dark glory that attempts to overshadow the glory of my Lord. But now his presence has been invited in and as I lift my voice to sing of his wonders, I see the Golden Calf revealed for what it is, a slinking demonic entity that flees the room... for now at least. (Is that an admittance of failure for the future?) I look down and realize I still have a chain on my ankle whose other end trails after the demon. Oh Lord, break this heavy chain!

I worship louder and notice a familiar goblin cower away followed by several grims. My burdens lift as the grims flee and my desire to attack my children becomes less with the goblin gone. The longer I remain in the King's presence, the more is revealed and though I am relieved, I also grieve at my condition. For the King gave the life of his firstborn son that I should be free of the influence of these hell-spawn, yet I allow them to hold sway over me. Soon, a Cave Troll is discovered hiding in my closet. Though not a strong specimen, still his desire to possess the belongings of others has rubbed off on me and I renounce it as I continue to bathe in my Lord's presence. And the King never shows mercy to dark creatures who dare to threaten his subjects. Taking the cave troll by the throat, He casts it from my home! One down, and I feel it's hold on me shattered!

Oh the blood of the only pure Prince of Peace, Joy and Life! As the fangs of the enemy are dislodged from my soul, my own life ceases to drain from me, vitality is restored and I am able to feed once more. The master opens his veins to me, and how holy the sacrificial act, as his life drains that mine might fill... and yet He is never diminished by the giving. For such is his paradoxical nature, that in giving he is never exhausted, in shedding his eternal blood, yet eternity never drains from him who is the source of true life.

Werewolf in a Vampire World.

There are some who say we give too much credit to spiritual bogeymen, but I have seen the spiritual world and know that we humans are guilty of just the opposite, especially in this "civilized" culture. In fact, I still see the things of the spirit as though they were physical creatures and it is not a pretty sight. Everywhere one looks there are demonic manifestations sucking life from us. Oh, vampires are real. They are the dead, the spiritually dead. I cannot look at the lost without seeing the death of their spirits tainting their beauty and poisoning their selfish existences. How they feed upon one another, sucking life from one another, feeding themselves on the poisoned life-blood of others suffering from the same lack of life. And whenever possible they will feed off of the living as well. The saddest thing is that those who are spiritually alive allow it. We are not much better in our existence than the dead in too many cases, feeding off of one another, wounding and maiming one another, attacking the lifeless corpses around us, rather than bringing them the cure they so desperately.

Lycanthrope plagues the living, corrupting the lives of those who should be pure and full of power. The power we choose to draw from too often originates from the natural condition that plagues us, and we wallow in the bestial nature of the lifeless around us. And I am one of them. A werewolf who struggles with my sinful nature, too often roaming the world in the form of a brute beast craving pleasure and blood. I feast daily, lapping up the blood from wounds I've inflicted, often on those closest to me. Only later, after nearly gutting them, do I come to my senses, transform back to my higher state of being and attempt to repair that which I have ravaged.
Oh God, deliver me from this animalistic state that has no attractiveness to the dead. Why should they give up their blood-sucking lifestyle when the living exist the same way?
And then there are the Dark Creatures that enslave so many. Vampires, for all their vaunted power, are powerless, slaves to the Trolls, Goblins, and other creatures of hell that more and more brazenly walk in the open, weaving enchantments like chains. Oh how they entice both the living and the dead, minions of the dragon and his spawn. Their numbers sicken me, and yet, I too find myself drawn to what they offer, too often supporting their foul agenda to destroy all of mankind eternally.
I don't support that idea specifically but I am guilty of forgetting that the pursuits of my life, laid out by these damnable beings, bear consequences that feed the frenzy of bloodletting.
Right now I am struggling to take hold of life. I have been seeking the Lifebringer, that I might feed upon his flesh as He commanded, and gain pure untainted life. To feed on others is a living death, even for the living. It sickens and only barely sustains. We take on the life of those we feed on and none but the living God offers pure life.
The problem is that we must come to him in human form requesting his life which he freely offers but never surrenders. And for me, to throw off the beast, to renounce the sinful cravings of this dark world, proves to be a test most sorely passed. His life tastes so sweet and satisfying when I feed upon it, yet the bitter-sweet taste of forbidden blood ever lingers on my tongue. How do I forsake it fully and find the cure for my lycanthrope?