Man is measured not by what he thinks, but what he does with his
life. The main threats to the human soul
are real and powerful. Sin is in all of
us, and corrupts the human heart indefinitely.
There exists seven categories of the deadliest of sins. Pride is having faith in oneself to
accomplish any goal without aid or help from God or others. Greed concerns everything physical without
the spiritual virtues in mind. Gluttony consumes
food, drink, and provisions beyond or below sustenance. Envy desires another's characteristic or
gift, never being content with one's self.
Sloth lacks motivation and initiative to accomplish anything of
worth. Lust gratifies the desires of the
sexual nature, fulfilling only the pleasures of the body. Wrath burns from hate and vengeance, seeking
only to destroy and bring down others out of spite. These sins are the end of
man, engulfing his soul to the pits of hell.
Living a good life does not save him, only the power of Christ can free
man from bondage. Sin cannot be
extinguished by man alone, but with Christ's help, it can be resisted through
power of the cross.
"Wise Men"
By JDN
In the days of old in the age of
ancient ones before the existence of cults or priests, mortals communed with
the gods through those who had direct communion with them. They were wise old men who lived in the
mountaintops, as close to the gods one could be. With this venue of knowledge, men would
travel to places of holy ground where wise men would live who would know what is,
what was, and will be.
Duncan was such a man. Despite being intelligent l, his entire life
had been failure after failure. When he
planted crops, no rain would fall. When he attempted to build something would of
wood such as a house or barn, it burned
to a smoldering pile of ash due to a freak fire accident within weeks. Once he had joined the military of his city,
but after a few weeks, everyone would hate him for reasons unknown to him, and
captains would try to pawn him over to
other divisions, thus in the end, he was dismissed entirely from the whole
military. Even in love, he could find no
success. Every woman, young and old,
rich and poor, sweet and spiteful, large and small despised and even dreaded
him as he would walk by them on the streets.
Children threw stones at him.
Animals kicked, bit, and even defecated at him if
he came too close. Indeed, Duncan was a
mess. No craft or skill seemed to work
for him, thus lived cautiously off his parent's considerable amount of
inheritance.
However, it would be unfair to
conclude that Duncan was a complete failure.
Despite his lack of success, he had a great intellect and a perceptive
mind of the world around him. He could
point out flaws and defects in the life of others. When he was not working on his latest
failure, he would converse with other gentlemen in the local pubs describing in
detail his latest blunder and how he was a cursed man. Despite many conversations with these men, Duncan had no friends whom he felt he could rely on.
He spent most of his days either coming up with ways to make a living for himself, or talking
about his failed experiences with everyone.
One day, he heard that wise men could foretell the will of the
gods. With nothing to lose from death itself,
he ventured toward the direction of a high mountain. Along the way he met with those returning
from the mountain with either great joy or sorrow on their faces. At last he made his way to the mountain. Looking up, he realized the climb would take
some time. He climbed and climbed, facing
all sorts of trials in the forms of colds winds, light snow, a broken shoe on
sharp rocks, and a tree full of angry squirrels flinging their nuts at
him.
After days of
hardships, he reached the sanctuary of the wise men. At first he saw nothing but abandoned tents
with shoddy looking shrine in the midst of them. He marched forward, stepping over the ropes
and broken poles. At the threshold of
the holy place, he knocked on the door, only find the door cracked open.
"Come in," stated an
ominous voice from the darkness within.
Duncan strutted in, "Who
are you, old man?"
"I am Marcus, keeper of the
shrine and assistant to the wise men , and who are you?"
"That is not of your
concern, old man. I want an audience
with the wise old men now!"
"Be patient young one. I will summon them to let them know you are
here."
"Good, now get going"
The elderly man hobbled to the
ivory doors to the right. Duncan,
considering his harsh words to the elderly man, pondered whether he had been to
brash with his words. He had been
through many trials to come here the wretched squirrels being the worst. He had never seen so many nuts flying at him
at one time. While he was reminiscing on
that experience, Marcus returned smirking.
"They are ready for
you," said Marcus.
"Good, and I'm sorry for
being harsh on you earlier, I apologize."
"It is all right, think
nothing of it. Just be more polite in
front of these holy men"
"I will, thank you"
Duncan stepped through the untarnished
doors, the only thing that seemed to be untouched by the decay.
He paced through to find three wise men in meditative stance looking
upon him with scrutinizing eyes, sending shivers down Duncan's spine. As he entered, the doors behind him shut the
sound of locks clicking following. An
uneasiness fell on Duncan as he approached the old men. He sat in front of them, trying to copy their
sitting positions. He only achieved a
partial imitation, but thought himself satisfied with this accomplishment
itself. The wise men simply watched
him with an unchanging stare. After a
few minutes, Duncan's left leg fell asleep, so he stood up, walking around the
room. Suddenly one of the old men
shouted, "Can you not even sit still for five minutes!"
"My leg fell asleep, I was uncomfortable," exclaimed Duncan
surprised at the outburst.
"If you were uncomfortable
sitting like that, then why did you even try it in the first place."
"I do not know, I just
thought I'd try it. How was I supposed
to know my leg would fall asleep that quickly?"
At this point, the old man that
had spoken thought to himself for a moment, "You have a point."
The other two wise sat there as
before with dull expressionless faces.
Duncan, recovering from the
shock of the outburst said, "So anyway, I simply want to know why the gods have punished him with this accursed bad
luck with anything I touch or venture to do?"
"What do you mean? The gods have not punished you. You still draw breath and you have good
health. Not perfect health, but it's
still pretty good, "answered the old man, the only one of the three
interacting with him.
"But what of my failures,
my ventures, my inability to fellowship with man? This cannot be of my own fault? What good is health if I cannot make a living
for myself? It seems there is nothing
under the sun I can do that will bring me satisfaction or even a descent
life. Even women, from whatever
background or being, look my way or even treat me as a man. Nay, I am but a beast. A walking curse. A bad omen from hell itself. I am but a......."
"Ok, let me stop you right
there. I get the point. What I do not understand is why you think the
gods are too blame."
"Who else is there to
blame? I am an honest hard working man
who has done no sin. I have prayed to
the gods daily, offered sacrifices of what was left of my stock, and volunteered to do the most hated and dreadful charities
imaginable. What more can I do? I have no answers left except for the gods
curse upon me.
"There are many answers to
why you have difficulties. If the gods
wished to punish you, you would not have made it this far to inquire of
them. From what you have told me, I can
say that the answer to your problems
lies in front of you."
"What do you mean?"
"From the way you talk, I
can surmise we are not the first to hear of your problems from your mouth, am I
correct?"
"Yes," answered Duncan
with a puzzled look.
"Well," smirked the
wise man, "you are a classic case of a whiner with a poor attitude."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me, a
whiner. You cannot succeed in anything
because you concentrate on your failures rather than believing yourself that
you can do it. No one wants to be around
you because you complain about the difficulties rather than the benefits of the
outcomes. Women detest you because you
complain about your problems and never listen to theirs, and worse, I think you
point out their physical flaws because you are too shallow to look at anything
else about them. Children torture you
because, well..... they are children, and your mean spirited appearance only
encourages it. I'm not sure about the
animals mistreating you, but judging from the sounds the squirrels made as you
were climbing up, and the sounds you made, animals just do not like you."
Duncan just stood there confused
and bewildered what the old man said.
Looking back, the old man had a point.
He had only focused on his failures and identified himself with it. His complaining, which he had presumed as
simple conversation in his mind, always turned other from him. Duncan realized he fallacy and he begged
forgiveness from the gods.
"There is no need for
repentance to the gods, my son. But you
should apologize to those whom you have complain and murmured to for being such
an ass to them. Instead of portraying
yourself a failure, work to succeed and listen to others for a change. The world becomes a better place if you shut
your mouth and open your hears once in a while."
Duncan bowed with respect to the
wise man's words, "Thank you so much for your words of wisdom; I will apply them starting today."
So Duncan descended from the
mountain, encouraged by the wise man's words.
The squirrels, though wary, did not through a single nut at him, except
for one as he walked past in the head.
In a few days' journey, his home town was in sight. As he traversed further in the town, he
noticed an unfamiliar air about the place.
The sun was at its highest point, but there was no one on the streets,
not a single soul. Duncan sprinted
toward the market place only to find barren stands and a rotting corpse of a cow.
Duncan, perplexed by this point, wondered what could have happened. A sharp pain shot through his chest. He clutched his chest to find only a sharp
metal protruding through his skin.
Gasping for his last breaths, he turned around to see a familiar face
holding a bow. Duncan collapsed to his
knees with the taste of blood frothing from his mouth.
Duncan could only manage to
mutter, "Why?"
Standing over Duncan with a
rusted blade, the attacker whispered, "Because you were so rude to me at
the temple, I've destroyed all your neighbors and livestock, and now I have
taken your life as well."
Duncan attempted to speak, but
his throat overflowed with blood, thus only coughs could only be heard.
"You see, fool, all your
life you were consumed with your own ambitions, failures, and peace of mind
that you shut yourself off from everything and everyone around you. A heathen such as yourself deserves no second
chance. No amount of wisdom or knowledge
would change your ways. The deaths of
you and those you could have helped is your real punishment from the gods. May the
lords of the underworld take pity on your evil soul."
Duncan with tears running down
his eyes grasped his throat, begging for mercy and forgiveness. His self proclaimed judge swung his blade,
slicing through Duncan's eyes. He heard
his killer laughing and then nothing as
all noises faded away. Darkness enveloped
him. No longer did he feel the attacker
stand before. He deep thrust pressed
upon him. His soul spiraled into an
abyss by forces unknown. What appeared
to be liquid surrounded his body. Chills
of fear and uncertainty infected his thoughts.
His mind went numb only being able to focus on the regrets of his
life. Duncan sulked in his misery ,
unable to forget, unable to change his ways, never again to feel the peace of
mind he longed for. He moaned in life,
and now moaned in death.
