I am aggressive by nature. If I find something that I can face and grow by, I find it, and face it.
So tonight, I do my routine: calm, peace, love on one side, then abject terror on the other. Twice. Then the third time I see an armored man sticking a spear in my face–killing me–and it’s gone, just like that. I kept looking back: is that it? That was EASY.
My best guess is this is a memory from a past life. I must have gotten tired and forgotten how to die properly. It happens.
My sense is that I have been on this Earth many times, and been a soldier many times. I identify in many respects as a soldier even now, although my battlefield does not involve physical weapons. I am quite prepared to die or be destroyed for fighting my fight. A life worthy of rose blossoms and violent suppression is something to be proud of.