The Warrior
There was a warrior who loved his country more than anything else.
Though he had seen other countries, and even visited a few, he loved his country more than any other in the world. He was proud of it and its people, and he knew that he would fight for it and, if the time came, he would lay down his life for it so that his country would be strong and live on after him. He felt it so important that his country survive and be strong, be known as great that he would give his very life to see it so. So he trained and prepared for the day when his country might ask him its fateful question: will you die for me?
He believed that there must be some willing to give this sacrifice for their native land to ensure that it was strong among the nations, that it would not be eclipsed by others or weakened in any way. Surely, to be strong was good and this, he was certain, was the destiny of his country; to remain strong, and for its warriors to be ready to die for its sake.
Then, when he was ready and more than ready, the day came when his country did ask him its terrible question. And he answered it as he knew he would, with a simple ‘yes'. So away he went to the fields of battle, to the place where war raged, where the sky was darkened, where the earth was burnt and poisoned, where the trees were shattered, the forests afire, where the rivers ran with oil and blood. Here, there were rainbows in the poisoned puddles which no one noticed as they hurried into battle.
For around them, all was noise; the sky and the surface of the Earth seemed filled with furious anger. Voices called and ordered, or cried out in pain. Some were heard and some were ignored, and on the battle raged.
In the midst of it, a warrior was walking to his death. For he had decided long before that he would give his life if his country asked for it. Then, when all seemed confused, and around him swirled a vortex of fire, when his body shuddered with the impact of terrible sounds and his eyes were filled with stinging smoke, when he could see nothing but a blur - suddenly, there is a flash of light and then no sound at all.
There is no pain, only a sense that something has happened that he does not understand. Now he seems to be suspended or floating, as if in an ocean of light. He cannot feel the weapon he had been gripping so tightly a moment before. He cannot feel the cloth of his uniform, the heat of his sweat, his heavy helmet clinging to his skull. He can feel or see nothing that he can recognise. He feels lost and he wonders what happened to his comrades with whom he was pushing into the field of battle. Here, he is alone and now the war is far away; it is as if it had never existed.
It seems he floats here for a long time, as images pass through his consciousness, flowing over each other, blending, overlaying each other; images of his family and his friends, all those he had said goodbye to, all those he has known in his life. Sensations, too, of his experiences; he glimpses moments of decision in his short life when he has made important choices. He wonders if it was these which brought him here to this place where it seems nothing is - nothing but memories and questions and light.
Then he senses, nearby, a presence. He seems to turn and then, somehow, he sees a face, then a form; but a form he cannot touch. He hears a voice, a strong voice, rather like the voices he used to listen to as he grew up. Voices of those who seemed to know of what they spoke; voices from which he took guidance or orders. This voice too is strong, yet it has a gentleness which reassures him. He listens to it and gradually begins to understand what the voice is saying to him. From this being come words he understands, but this being does not seem to move his lips. Yes, his face is strong, the face of a strong man, the face of a warrior. The face too of a leader, he feels.
Then he hears the voice in his head speak to him in these words....
"I was a warrior, too," says the voice. "I walked the ways of war; I too loved my tribe and for it, I died. Not once, but in many lives....many times, I died. I returned to the Earth and died a warrior's death over and over. Each time, I loved my tribe or country and, each time, I died what seemed a proud death. Though my tribe or country was a different one each time...."
"Yet I loved it just as dearly and I paid the price for my love. Then slowly it dawned on me that I was giving the sacrifice of my life over and over out of, yes, a kind of love, because I had decided that my tribe or country was more important than my life, more important than the gift of living my life. I had believed that the strength of my tribe, my country was more important than me; more important than the gifts I could give to the world with my life, more important than my powers to wonder and create, to heal and to work with joy, to love the Earth and her people, to play with her children and to play as a child myself."
"I had diminished myself, shrunk myself to fit a uniform that did not fit me, for it did not acknowledge the wonder of who I am, the special creation that I am. And so I took off this uniform and vowed never to wear it again. I had found another way to honour my tribe, my country by giving it the gift of peace, by giving it the gift of who I truly am. By showing it the ways of creating peace and guiding it safely to a peaceful existence."
I walked from the path of the warrior to the Way of the Peacemaker. Since then, I have met many like you who have walked the same path as me, into the jaws of war. Now it is time for you to decide - which will be your path? You are at a crossroads....is it the way of war or the way of peace? Now that you can heal your wounds and know yourself in deeper, fuller ways, you can decide in deeper awareness which way you will go..."
The being stretches out his hand, raising it in peace. Then, he withdraws.
Again, the warrior wonders if he is alone. But, no, he feels surrounded by presences he can sense, yet not see. And, yes, he can feel himself heal while he ponders what he has heard. Once again, he journeys back through his life to experience again his moments of decision, now with a fresh perspective. He asks himself if he could have made different choices and taken other paths - and wonders where they would have led him. Would a different choice have led him another way, away from the road which led him into the thick of battle?
He becomes aware that he, too, has decided over and over again to die what seemed a warrior's death so that his tribe and country would be strong. He watches his lives and deaths in a sequence, as if they still continue and are being relived each moment. It is easier to see and discern, now that he is here in a place of peace.
Then there comes a moment when he suddenly sees the battlefield around him. He can clearly see his comrades, fighting their way through the smoke and the fire. He cannot hear the noise of war, but he can see the fear-filled faces and the bodies, twisted. He can see the faces of anger and hate, the faces of pain and shame. He can see, in the eyes, their determination; the will to live, the will to kill. He finds he can move through it all without being touched by it, now he is in a place of peace.
It seems the peace moves with him, so he can observe and move through the place of war without being touched or damaged in any way. He makes his way through the great drama unfolding around him, seeing his comrades fall, watching them make others fall to the earth and be still. He notices, also, other shapes and forms of light moving through the battlefield, seeking to heal, to bring peace, to give comfort.
Almost without his knowing, he finds himself become one of those doing this work, fulfilling this healing task. Moving from a huddled form, wounded and dying, to a cowering child, to a fearful figure caught in crossfire, whispering words of comfort, touching them with the hand of peace, trying to heal their wounds.
So, he moves through the battlefield in his body of light. He makes no distinction between the warriors of his country and of others. Now, he sees their common choice, their shared predicament; he knows they are all involved in the same struggle, wearing different uniforms, but fighting for the same thing.
When the battle finally ends, and those who are still on their feet withdraw from the battlefield, he turns and surveys the scene through his eyes of light. He watches the Peacemakers move amongst those still living, or on the edge of death.
He makes a choice then. Something changes within him to give him a new realisation, a new destiny, a new perspective on life and the illusion of death. Here, in the place of peace, he decides that, yes, he will return to Earth, he will enter again the world of form. But this time, he would bring with him a special gift to the world. He would bring something hidden within him which, when he chose to, he would bring out into the world as his gift to it.
He would enter the world again with a gift of Peace, giving it from his open heart which he knew now to be unbounded in its love. He knew that something inside him would not forget.
This time, he will truly give his life to his tribe, to his country, to the Earth, to the Creator. He will give the gift of his life as a Peacemaker to all and know that Peace will prevail in all Creation, as it prevails in him.
(Story channeled in early 2003 as the war in Iraq began, from the storytellers of the One Heart)