It will probably come as no surprise to many of you, that among the many eccentric items in my collection, I own a set of dueling pistols. Whether or not they are “battle ready” is a matter for the aether, but my finger remains on the trigger, always. Part of being a lover is being a fighter: If you did not love, you’d have nothing to fight for. Duels come about as a challenge, Romanticized blood-sport where honour is at stake. I fight as best I can against ignorance and injustice and relentlessly cheer for the underdog in most cases. But the sides I picked were always selected through analysis. Al-Queda may be the minority in number but you won’t find me supporting them or their tactics any time soon. One thing that is sure to cock my hammer, is someone being held down, kept back, or repressed by ignorance. Be it the jackals of organized, evangelical religion preying on the fears of the weak, or a small minded man who would rather crush a flower than let it bloom and juxtapose its beauty with his pettyness. For these things I will fight. I will fight with a passion that knows no bounds, no limit. Once my heart is engaged in the battle, I ask no quarter and expect none in return.
Quixotic? Perhaps, but when passion is involved I cannot remain in the shadows, fearing for my heart and health. I will take to the field with the words of The Rough Rider ringing in my ears:
“Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.”
I could much easier suffer the shame of defeat than the pain of longing felt by the heart that was stirred by nothing. And for this I am a fool? Je dis “non.”