reblog | 07.17.14 | 2 |
My last Judo class in Japan.
Murder is the only art a swordsman may practise. No ornamental words can change that. You want to protect people with murder? You’ll slaughter legions so that a few may live. Many years, long before you were born, my sword was tearing asunder the lives of men. Yes, all of those men were evil, but they were human beings first and foremost… The world you ardently desire to enter will not know what to do with you. It will deceive you into believing that you are saving lives even as you destroy them. You will accept these lies all the while, your hands will be stained with the worst of offences.
This morning, walking home from Judo, I looked out across the mountains and valleys that make up this city, and I thought of how badly I wanted all of this. I am searching so desperately for adventure like the characters in my books and games. I remembered every scene with my hero looking out across a vast field, an old ruin, or sparkling cities. My monsters are not like their’s. I can not run them through and finish them off - no my monsters loom in my head, and I am still fighting them. Yet I realise now, this is my adventure. This is my story, and I must be my own hero.