Once upon a time there was a warrior who travelled alone, carrying his shield, staff and belongings with him wherever he went. The Warrior, while alone, wasn't lonely and felt comfortable with his own thoughts. He appreciated being able to follow his own path, follow his own dreams, and to have the energy to defend those who needed defending when he was called upon to do so.
One day he saw a man travelling in the opposite direction. He noticed that the other also carried a shield, but instead of a staff, he carried a sword. Maybe he too was a warrior? The Warrior noticed the other man didn't seem to have any belongings, nothing to identify who he was. This the Warrior found strange, for how can someone be without identity? The Warrior paused in his journey and watched the other man approach, and as the other man came near, the Warrior also noticed that the man looked haggard; his clothing rumpled, his hair disheveled, his eyes unfocussed and darting to and fro.
The Warrior paused in his journey and sat, cross legged, at the side of the road waiting for the man. As the man walked by, the Warrior asked, "Sir, would you like to sit with me and enjoy some refreshment? You look like you could use a rest." The other man started, as if he hadn't seen the Warrior, and turned to look at where the voice came from, finally seeing the Warrior for the first time. With trepidation, the man thanked the Warrior, and joined him at the side of the road.
"What brings you down this path, Sir?", asked the Warrior, offering the man beside him his flask and a chunk of bread and cheese from his pack.
"I am going to fight in a battle that I heard about." Ah, thought the Warrior, the man is a Fighter. This explained his tired and anxious appearance, as well as his lack of belongings. He would lose a bit of himself wherever he fought. "Are you not going to the battle?", asked the Fighter.
The Warrior looked back down the road, where he came from, and quietly replied, "No, that is not a fight I need to be involved in. I moved on as they were all fighting...there was no one to defend."
"What do you mean there was no one to defend? If they were fighting, doesn't someone always need defending? Isn't there always someone in the wrong who should be defeated?"
"No, kind Sir, there isn't. Those who need defending are the ones who aren't in the battle. They are the ones who need protecting from those who choose sides, from the ones who have passed judgment."
The Warrior watched the Fighter, to see if he understood what was being said. The only thing the Warrior saw in the Fighter's eyes was confusion, and a hint of righteousness. "I can see, kind Sir, that your views differ from mine. Would you like to discuss this over more wine, and bread?"
The Fighter cocked his head to one side, faintly squinted at the Warrior and drew his sword closer. The Fighter was getting ready to decide which side of the fight he is going to be on. The Warrior, reached out his hand, holding the flask and offered the Fighter another quenching sip. The Fighter took the flask and said, "all right then, tell me; why you battle to defend and not to defeat?"
So the Warrior, took a breath, gathered his thoughts and spoke.
"With each battle to be fought, there are many sides. There are those who say they are right, which makes the other wrong, and the wrong say they are right, and that makes the other wrong. They are all fighters. They battle to win, to not lose, to save face and to prove their worth. That is not a reason to battle. There are those who are innocent, neither right nor wrong, and yet they suffer the most for they have lost everything because the others fight to prove their point. Those are the ones I battle for."
The Fighter looked at the Warrior and with puffed chest, prepared to speak. But, the Warrior put his hand gently on the Fighter's arm and looked into his eyes with gentle heart and peaceful spirit. There was no fight to be had. The Warrior held the Fighter's gaze and continued.
"To be a warrior, to defend, means choosing to battle for the innocent, not to fight for or against someone, but to stand beside those who need help, because they are unable to defend themselves. The warrior must use his staff to hold the fighters at bay, and if needs be, push them back. The warrior does not chose a side of right or wrong, but protects the innocent from more suffering. Can you see the difference, kind Sir?"
The Fighter pondered what the Warrior had said, and was silent for a moment. And then, with a voice that spoke of uncertainty and fear, asked, "but how do you know who to fight for? Doesn't choosing a side fuel your desire to fight for right, to defeat what is wrong in the world? Are not the innocent defended if there is no wrong?"
"To choose a side is to feed the fear of those who think they are right", said the Warrior, with sadness. "They are fighting to remain as they are, to not give any ground, to remain rigid in their thinking. They need find a common vision to battle for. With vision man finds focus, and a path that will lead him somewhere new, somewhere all people can live in peace, where there is no loss of innocents."
"But how do I know who I am if I don't pick a side?"
"You know who you are by those things you carry with you. If you are always fighting someone else's battles, you have no time to gather your own thoughts, your own ideas, your own beliefs. If you choose their battles, you will only carry those things that belong to other people."
"How can it be wrong to choose a side? When I choose a side, they always win and there is no more battle." The Fighter was struggling with his thoughts, the confusion and angst clearly showing on his weathered face.
The Warrior thought for a moment, his next words were important to him, and he needed to get them just so. "This isn't about right or wrong. When we choose a side, then there is just one more person on that side and they will win; there are more people. The fighter chooses a side because they want to be on the right side. A warrior battles for his vision; a vision of peace, of a better way, of a better life for him and those around him."
The Warrior paused, looked at the Fighter and asked him to rise and walk with him for a bit as his body was sore and needed to move. The Fighter agreed, and they carried on down the path the Warrior was taking. As they walked side-by-side in silence, the Warrior gathered his thoughts, getting ready to speak again. When he was ready he gently spoke, "my tools are my shield and my staff. My shield I use to protect others from the barbs and arrows being thrown at them so that they may stand tall. My staff I use to help those who have fallen get up, so that they can lean on it while they regain their path. I use my staff to create a safe place for them to walk, clearing obstacles in their way. I don't fight for them, I struggle with them as they find their own way to carry on. Their peace is my peace, their strength is my strength, only until they are able to support themselves."
The Fighter was silent as he walked beside the Warrior, and the Warrior respected the silence. He understood the struggle to be had when a fighter's purpose has been challenged. He, too, was a fighter in his past. His sword used to cut others down, his shield protected only himself as he fought. One day, he met another warrior and learned to find his own vision. After a time of travels in comfortable silence, and sharing of more drink and food, the Warrior carried on with his story.
"The sword I carried in my past, when I was a fighter, was used to cut down bramble until it was no longer sharp. Then it was used to make furrows in hard, dry land until it was rusted and crumbling. From the bramble I fashioned this staff, and was able to help herd the sheep and keep the wolves at bay. With my shield I was able to collect and carry water from the stream to quench thirst. When I wasn't fighting other people's battles I was able to find my own path, to defend and help those who needed it. I was a warrior for those who needed help, I helped them battle to make their own vision a reality. While helping them, I found my own vision, my way through the dark and into the light. I don't fight for right or wrong, I battle for good. I carry with me my peace, my thoughts and my vision, as easily as I carry my staff. My time is my own, and my heart is filled with the relief brought to the eyes of those I help. Their smiles the only thanks I need."
The Fighter stopped walking, and turned his face to the sky an expression of relief visible on his face. His shoulders relaxed and the sword, which he had been carrying at the ready, slowly dipped to touch the ground. The Fighter turned towards the Warrior, and with pride in his voice, asked, "kind Sir, may I travel with you a while?"
"Kind Sir, you would be a welcome travel companion, until you find your own path, and your own vision to follow."
