To Honour the Sins of the Father

This is part of my novella I am writing, pleas read what I have to say before there are any comments. I have been writing this novella for a bit, shall we say; yes it will be published and sent out soon enough. It is on the 3^rd rewrite and will go to my proofers soon enough. There will be 5 edits before hitting the streets so to say. I am writing this novella actually under no name when it comes out but for right now what I have placed up is the Manuscript that is woven throughout the book, a very large part of the book. What are presented here is actually different chapters in the book but as you see they go together well. I have been given the honour to actually have the gift to have written it, however the inspiration, I guess you could say, and the words have come from the muses who trusted me with this book, the purpose behind it, and the knowledge that these are not my words but come from a higher power that trusted me to do what the books purpose is. Also...VERY IMPORTANT for readers, this part of the book is not to be touched by any editing, I know it is grammatically incorrect in a lot of places; I will not touch it nor correct it. It is the only part of the book, if you can get over the grammar that is like this. Please enjoy.

Prolog

In a mans discourse upon his journey a path has been set, a destination chosen. Walking his path he will run into many obstacles yet has the power from with in to overcome the choices presented. This my friend upon the choices make men into leaders; Leaders into men, and the warriors of the heart. Rising from the down trodden, lifting to the higher plane of existence, knowing there is more out there to achieve. The balance with in can be found even when the balance with out is constantly shifting. Lest I say unto you a boy becomes a man by the world but a leader takes the ability of being a man.

As we pass through time allowing it to slip through our fingers. Knowing we can never get it back. Unrelenting time consumes us into an uneasy rest. Begging us to submit to unruly space that can not be adorned by praise, or given lightly. We try to be the coinsures of time, relentless in space as wee dance much like bugs upon the water, waiting for the time to consume us or drown us in its wake of over gratification, self-indulgences, and miss appropriate behavior.

Men seek to be leaders, overcoming the obstacles presented. Seeking, living, accepting challenges; great or small. Holding onto what they believe to no end. That inside they know they shall overcome all presented to them.

Of birth, life, and death; time in essence becomes the constant struggle in ones life. The time frame of ones living compared pared to the existence we all struggle to have granted only life's simple pleasures, life's anguishes, obstructions, desolation and desires. We struggle for the essence of life. The very blood that courses through our veins, to survive, exist, thrive. Grasping, holding, gasping at life's little nuances to live and to breathe, simply to be. The passion to exist that lies with in even sometimes when all we do is survive it is still passion to , to breath, to emulate what lies inside good or bad, indifferent, auspicious, existence like a mouse caught in a trap seeking away out. Gnawing at its own appendages, even this, my friend, is the will to beat time, to exist, to live, and simply survive.

Gnawing at its own appendages, even this, my friend, is the will to beat time, to exist, to live, to survive. What we believe to be true and what is true are of two different spaces. For even this my friend is the will to beat time, to exist, to live, to survive. What we believe to be true and what is true are of two different spaces. For even in a mans mind what he believes to be true, even a small remote is. Often it is the other case what is true is often clouded by predetermined factors that blind us to the truth. We don't wish to see it, for if we did we no longer would believe in the half truths we lived by or the minute truths that hold us in oblivion. When a man is faced with the truth, he has one of a few things he can choose to do. Deny it is the truth no matter what proof there is. Accept it as the truth and keep the knowledge to himself. Seek other options of the truth that lies with in. The followers will usually choose the first; a leader will choose the last. A leader will seek the truth to no end, almost to driving himself mad. A leader looks at all options, reasons, and beliefs, no matter how obscure.

If one is to seek the truth, one must accept all responsibilities of such truth, no matter how outlandish or unbelievable as it may seem. For the truth is something when presented can be blinding to our senses. It is lies that tarnishes our very being, our soul. Once the soul is tarnished, the light of the truth is hard to get back, at times impossible. Though from a journey that has been taken by many, the impossible is very possible if one is willing to make that journey. The path back to the truth is there, if one is willing to make it, but can only be reached by one whom truly seeks the truth.

To add to that, in all falsifications, there is a small, even when minute, truth. It is the wise man whom can see this truth and sort it out amongst the lies, often they become the leaders we look up to and trust.

Mind you, my friend, this does not mean we do not have leaders that uphold the truth. It is a rare case that a man of truth can shun the lies and live by a code of honour born with in. This leader, not matter the cost, even his very life, he lives by the code we call honour.

Honour is a funny thing, having been on this journey, seeing this in many, not many uphold it for fear of repercussions or ridicule. The strongest have proven that honour is not simply a word put on paper, or spoken so freely that it becomes jaded, unfathomable, or unacceptable by society. How can one expect honour, if they themselves have none? Now some are born with honour and uphold it their whole lives, and some whom are born with it choose to abandon it, and then come back after time realizing that once honour is lost, it is hard to return to that status. Now on a rare occasion honour is stumbled upon by one whom has never heard, spoken, read, or understood honour, yet for some reason, have lived by it for their existence. Once explained what it is, it is like a light flickering in the dark, making sense.

Honour has many definitions if you ask others, but very often fall into the same category. It is a base core of one being that which is unseen, unsensed, but when one walks into that space, they know it. It is something that gets into the veins and becomes ones life blood. A man will live and die by honour.

A man can live and die by truth as well. Perhaps as much as the truth can give life, it can also cause one to die. Depending on what side of the coin you stand. If one is caught in lies, even if not caught by the likes of man, they will be dieing of the lies that catch up to them. They drown in their own self waste of the lies that consimate their very souls.

Living a lie or living with out honour, both can destroy ones very being. The life blood that courses through teir veins.

If one is to think about in the fact that one lives or dies by these two motives, at times wheather they have it or not.

As time moves on and men become smarter. Things change with us, our attitude. Men no longer exist as men. They simply exist. Honour bound or not, they exist; to live, to die, simply to be. It is not up to us to judge but to be, with our with out honour. Judgment; that is a funny thing. To be judged for crimes not committed, to see the days pass as a free man, yet not free held by the constraints around us. Men seeking solace from a world of judgment. Yet, men of honour, living by truth are still judged by the likes of men and those beyond. To be judged upon words spoken, thoughts that are provoked, actions demonstrated by those whom believe enough to do so, and are not afraid to stand. Men whom will make their mark in life; changing all around them. Leaders of the time whom are not afraid to speak, I say these tings to you so you know. Not to bind or tie but to in rage, inflame, make one think upon their destination. The truth lies with in the answers to all of life's issues; survive with in a man that seeks solace in the world.

Solace, that place in a mans heart that he seeks such; peace, calm, balance. Yet is it ever found.

As lightening can strike a man deaf, mute, dumb, it can encompass a truth unknown to the fact that the reality is we exist, merely as play toys for the Gods. Yet some, some escaped Them, allowing free will, exceptions, a way of passage to lead, to become. A road is simply a road, absent, alone, desolate. Yet when that road has purpose it has life, existence so pure, unadulterated; immense. It lies with in, unfounded, exuberated. Yet men carry on. Moving forth, crying out. Men live and die by the interest of other men. Confined by their own restraints. They exist to live, not truly living, grasping at the straws of hay. There are many that break, fall away. There are men whom live, only existence is with in the confines of their walls. They live and die in their own waste, leaving behind trails for others to pick up what they simply have left behind.

Then there are those who break away, find their own path, a way to seek, to lead men from their own desolation, their own destruction.

Death however, is eminent, as the man harvest, animals feed, and children grow. It is not how death comes or the manner in which one accepts his fate, but in the existence of ones way that defines how fairly one dies. To speak that a man can be alive when dead and dead when alive is quite the oxymoron, yet makes perfect sense.

Live while alive, die when you are dead; leaving nothing behind for your brethren to have to carry forth of the remnants that remain.

Love, love is a subject few venture to attach themselves to. It is an emotion so easily uttered; yet does one truly know what it means? What the contents consist of. What the price of those contents are? Or how high of a price? When one truly loves, they are willing to pay. Be it allowing one to go free, when asked by a higher force or fighting to the death for one when instructed. How many are willing to accept this fate? When love rarely, truly ever be defined or accepted. To be allowed freely, or abhorred, when love goes sour. With each person that comes into our lives, we accept them or we don't, we see what is presented or not. To love is a risk, to risk is to accept responsibility of ourselves and our actions. To know that with risk comes pain, sweat, tears, acceptance, and sometimes in the end a risk that included the greatest love of all. Everything we are, all we are to be, and all that we can be. Passion ignites risk taken by the man strong enough to stand upon his convictions, to love with such great passion he places everything into this risk making it a true risk, even at the cost of his very being.

Our beings reach beyond space and time. Whom we are to touch, to love, to live by. To believe in, the fact is all whom come into our lives, all whom leave, are a part of our becoming into being. A child born to parents becomes what they perceive to be taught, yet as they grow older their own place and time and being becomes ore defined; more real. The course is set. All that come and go, all that touch this child's life all that shape his form, teaches him to become the being he has been designed to become. It, however, is his own choice to take that risk, to become what he is called to be. It is his choice to walk his path or fight the current that draws him neigh and become nothing, obsolete, dissolute, and in the end destroyed.

Destruction is something no one can escape, be it by choice or absolution. What mark we leave on the world becomes our being.

Be it a great calling to defend, to love, to support or destroy. We are called. We have a purpose, a place, a being in the end. No matter our fates, we simply are to accept what is presented, love, hate, anger, passion. When we accept we become free. Many will come, many will go. Few will choose to follow what we are called to do, but those whom choose, be warned, your life will be ridiculed, your manners questioned, your sanity exploited, and the love of your calling, perhaps the deepest of loves, ever experienced. The love where you are willing to give up everything. The deepest love of one will ever fill, will be crushed by those whom will never understand, never accept, and quite simply never fill what they are called to do. Because their love does not run deep enough through their veins to them the strength to complete what is calling, what is presented, and they themselves become lost in their own path. Drowning with out ever knowing the greatest gift...Love, the passion to be willing to give everything. Knowing the cost can even be death, and accepting what is to be, yet defending this passion, even when their mark is done upon the world and all that remains is the love that they embraced with such passion they gave all. Even life, giving love a chance to live on.

Once upon the livelihood of the chopping block we call life, men more forth. Grasping so often what is not there, holding onto that small sliver of life granted to them because they contain blood within their veins, screaming out, they move forward. Holding on until that last drop of blood as their lifeless, listless bodies continue on; slipping they fall.

The soul becomes black as pitch so often. Giving into what men consider lustful sleep. With in the simple little things that don't matter. One moment in time we hold what is held true. Forgetting a lot of times, what was once held precious, sacred. Men sacrifice for less than desirable.

The souls of men scream for sanctification, for peace, for blessings upon nothing, once their honour is gone. Seeking for that endless notion, that in reality, there is something greater out there. Something that everyone wants, nothing granted freely, everything warranted for some greater power granted because these men simply sought for what they held dear. For what is grasped, was not desired.

Yet when everything is laid out, nothing truly remains. Everything of materialistic closure,

Materialistic composure can be bought and sold by simply accepting the price of gold held in the palm of one's hand.

Passing through time as gold fades, silver hides and jewels wear down. The honour of a man, the integrity, beliefs held dear, unless agreed upon can not be sold, sacrificed or bargained with. Once gone, it is gone, never to be returned, once tarnished, never to be returned.

Yet once passed on a new beginning, a new start, the journey, begins again. The souls cry out from the depths, begging for a new beginning, a new trial, and a new life. Even so, honour remains, granted, not by the fact of one loosing, but gaining experience, caring forth, allowing, accepting.

Men move forth, time continues, and lessons continue to give life as the things held precious remains as time fades even the most important gifts granted, allowing men to forget that at a cost they gain their eternity in time in a heartbeat, they loose their souls only to continue the cycle over and over. Repeating until the fabric of time no longer exists, the reality of life does and the Gods continue their game.

In the end, as long as honour is in tact, thus time continues, when gone, the darkness comes, overpowering, overshadowing, ending what must be of humanity...

In the depths of humanity, a man will plunder to no end. His honour tested and tried, His morals tested, his convictions pushed. For is a man can stand up for what he believes in, his honour is unbreakable. If he can not stand for what he knows in his heart to be true, his convictions are compromised. His beliefs lessoned, the honour disemboweled. From the depths of hell, temptations rise, men accept or deny, moving forth.

A man must hold fast to the moral fibers from with in. Or the path he is chosen for he will waver and fall off his journey, only to repeat it, begin again and start over with less knowledge than before. Often a man to bend to the ways of the world, fit in no matter how much they tend not to believe they need to fit in. No matter how much they believe they stand up for what they believe in, if they confirm to the humanity that surrounds them the honour begins to strip.

They falter, speaking freely, the words spoken not to be taken back, leaving trails of what believed but if he speaks and can not back up what he says, what does that say about the honour from with in. Is it worth the cost of speaking with out thinking; With no conscience, not thought behind what he speaks?

Words flying like birds that are headed home, with direction but no knowledge of why they were; a purpose, but no real reason.

A man must back his words with his actions, his actions with his honour, and his honour with his life, lest he fails to begin again, lost on the trail set out before him.

A man, whom can not back his words with actions at the cost of looking a fool, is a fool. For convictions, beliefs, and the strength to stand upon them is a man with honour, the faith to pass the journey, and the wisdom granted to speak the truth.

Unfaltered, Unafraid, and Unbroken.

I am what I am, quite simply I exist, knowing I that my calling exist. I move through daily life wandering, moving forth, creating what has been set in the back of what is in ones mind; screaming to the heavens, crying to the depths of hell, living as only I know how.

This Manuscript, a guide, a gift, of what is, what was, and what will be.

As time moves forth consuming, screaming, halting. So the manuscript is yours.

My gift, My guidance, My words, My life....Is now yours.