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Oct. 2nd, 2004 @ 06:01 pm Does heartache make you stronger?
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A disappointingly short answer, I fear, for the question seems so obvious to me.
No, heartache does not make you stronger.

I have found that many people focus their attention on their experiences of loss or heartache, but that is not the part that has made them strong.

Love makes you stronger.

And amazingly, it makes you stronger whether it is returned or not, though of course I happen to believe that returned is more satisfying.
Oct. 2nd, 2004 @ 05:58 pm Do you consider yourself to be adventurous? 9/17/2004
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Adventurous – how is that meant, little bird?

The sparrow replies: ad·ven·tur·ous
inclined to adventure, to undertake new and daring enterprise which are hazardous or risky
willing to undertake or seeking out new and daring enterprises

There is quite a large gap between inclined and willing, little bird.

Well, I will have to say no, then. Not inclined, though willing. I did not seek risk or relief from boredom; glory or thrills.

My life was a series of unavoidable adventures, if you like, for I did not turn them down. But meeting your life head on does not seem adventurous to me. More stubborn than anything else; too stubborn to give up.

It is my life that was adventurous, little bird, not me. I am a simple man who wanted to be happy.
Aug. 15th, 2004 @ 03:52 am Do you believe in an afterlife?
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I believe in many kinds of after-life. Life after birth. Life after Life. Life after change. Life after war.

I have been a sword, broken and reforged at will and need. I have been heated in the fires of battle, and of love. I have been quenched with the water of the sea.

My kind are born without certainty, no promise but what our hearts tell us about the power that made us, and we draw our own conclusions. But I abandoned that chance for love, bound my heart to a different after-life – the day after day that graces and darkens the eldar – for the sake of the spark of my heart, the silver light of sun upon the water that is Idril Celebrindil. A darkness hides within their version of the gift – many of them believe the length of their days means their song will cease after the last battle.

I do not believe this. I have lived among them taken my beloved and my brother from their side – their souls are bright, their hearts strong, their maker no less in love with them.

In the event I am wrong, at least I will not have to face it for long. And I would never, in any circumstance, regret the choice I made to bind myself to those I love.

Some choose not to believe, I know, and I respect their journey to that choice. I am full of sorrow for those who can not believe and long for the comfort.

But I think I am sadder still for those do not believe in this life.
Aug. 15th, 2004 @ 03:11 am On The Chance That it will Please Faramir of Gondor
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1.Who are you?
2. Are we friends?
3. When and how did we meet?
4. Do you have a crush on me?
5. Would you kiss me?
6. Describe me in one word.
7. What was your first impression?
8. Do you still think that way about me now?
9. What reminds you of me?
10. If you could give me anything what would it be?
11. How well do you know me?
12. When's the last time you saw me?
13. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn't?
14. Are you going to put this on your page and see what I say about you?
Jul. 26th, 2004 @ 11:15 pm What is your weapon of choice?
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I have been comfortable with many weapons, coming to think of them for the most part not as a method of attack but as the extension of my mind through my hand.

My fosters taught me to use the bow as they used it, sighting down the shaft of an arrow until I had merged my mind with the feathered dart and sent it aloft, as a hunting hawk, to chase down the object of its desire.

In the hands of the Easterlings I learned to use my fists when I could, as they had the all important quality of always being with me. I also learned to use my wits, and to keep them always sharper than a arrow – a man must care for his weapons if he wants them to work well. I understood in the fullness of that time that no man could easily be rendered weaponless, and less often still defenseless.

Next I learned to use my senses, following the river to the sea, where I was taught to love well the sword, to understand the ebb and flow of the waters of the world, and the value of a brother at your back.

When the wind stung tears into my eyes, I would smile, feeling the ocean in my body, feeling the track of the salt as the mark of my mentor on my cheek, the kiss of blessing given by my god.

In Gondolin, I learned the fire that comes from defending what is your own, the power that makes your fight personal because you have something to save, not just something to lose.

Looking back, I will tell you then that my weapon of choice is belief.

Belief put the words of a god onto my mortal tongue. Belief allowed me to fight where despair would have counseled me to go quickly by my own hand. Belief won for me a love I should have feared to dream of, let alone pursue. Belief that my pulse echoes the pulse of Arda lets me fight with conviction. Belief allowed me to know that no loss could stop me from trying again, unless I stopped myself.

Believe and conquer; believe and defend.
Feb. 23rd, 2004 @ 10:49 am (no subject)
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Feb. 11th, 2004 @ 04:27 am gondolin
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Dec. 20th, 2003 @ 07:21 am Do you feel that you were born with a predetermined role in society? If so, how do you feel about i
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You ask a man who found an entire city, empty and waiting for him, a guide on the beach and a god in the surf if he feels his role was predestined?

And yet, when I had walked through the gates of the mountains, and lent my mouth to the voice of a god, I went unheard. How can a man know what he was made for?

That is our gift, I believe. The uncertainty that plagues some men uplifts me with the feeling that my heart can try anything.

I do not know if any soul has ever walked the world in freedom since the time the music wrote the shaping of all that it became. And yet, though I was not a singer, the essence of my soul was part of that song. I choose to believe my hand pointed to the notes that would one day be me.

And in my heart, I know that I would not change a note of that which made me who I am. I would only wish to change the fate that came upon those I love – and that we are all born powerless to prevent. I gave all that I had to give at the moment it was required of me, and that is my measure of whether a man has risen or failed.

The song of life is written in water. We may not change its nature, but we can divert the flow.

And, we can learn to swim.
Dec. 20th, 2003 @ 03:46 am (no subject)
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Two Sisters of the First house married two Brothers of the Third...

It sounds like the beginning of a tale – auspicious and full of portent. But to me, it was just my life, though it was only a tale, for I never knew my mother or my father except through the stories of my fosterers. And prosperity was a long way in the future – though I did not know it, for a while I was all that remained of the House of Hador.

My mother's people were slain or scattered after the “Glorious Battle.” It does not seem a very good definition of Glory to me. My father was slain in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. Now, there is a name that speaks about the impact of war.

I was fostered in the forest of Androth – grey elves and a sweet silvered land, where I learned to be neither a man nor an elf, but myself.

Later I learned that a fair stream of silver wound all about my life, and that I did belong – to Ulmo, to Gondolin... and to Idril.

That which is worth having is worth the labour of earning. I am a man who is loved.