The Helm of Hyper-vigilance - Honor the Armor (Part 2)

 

 

Heavy is the crown we choose to carry, for it determines the world we live in: Peace or a Prison.

Note from the Field: If you missed the initial Honor the Armor post, you may want to check that one out for context. As always, I thank you for being here on this journey through Ink.

The Warrior sat, hunched like the old willow trees - battered, bruised, gutted from the roots, and yet #StillHere. His heart thundered in his chest like the storm that loomed over the distant mountainside. The wind carrying with it the weight of the words that lingered in his mind.

'If you wish to sever ties with us to secure your future in the present...you must first honor us...piece by piece'

Still, he sat and wondered how and where to start, much like with every decision he had to make in his life.

Like waking up, knowing he would return to an unjust, unfair world where everything he did changed nothing.

A world where struggle and poverty reigned supreme without a tangible crown.

Where he witnessed his own parents struggle within and outside while the rest of the townsfolk ignored them, drowned out in their own acute suffering from the realm of past transgressions.

 'That is yours to decide Warrior of Life. Choose...and remember what we have done for you.'

The warrior sighed to himself 'How can I honor you, when there is no honor in what I've had to carry? When suffering has been my bridge. When a fight was my lifeline to cross that shattered bridge built on the backs of failure?' 

The armor responded with its pulses, rapid, sporadic. He seethed as his skin started to burn. His body felt this before. 

This feeling of dread...anxiety..woe...the chains around his neck and shoulders visible only to him and SURVIVAL as it held him tame. 

He was a stallion restricted to basic instincts. 

To scrounge for food and water. 

To shit and urinate. 

To sleep in some sort of position that alleviated the pain of the days he'd live past. 

To wake up and do it all over again, under the control of his master that branded his skin...but all of this was by choice...by circumstance...by the need to survive.

He felt it now while his skin burned. The tension in his head. 

The Helm crushed his skull, heavier than all the other pieces. 

The pain shoved him to his fists and knees like the slave he was. A memory of him as a child, hands burning on the rocks while he toiled to save himself.

The warrior grunts, but no one heard the cries of a man that shouldn't cry at all. He was a warrior. A man. 

'Men...don't...cry....they..bear it...'

But the words weren't strong enough to hold back the tears laced with sweat upon his brow. He quivered as his stomach churned within, it growled for quite some time.  

His throat was a desert within, but he couldn't fix himself to drink from the creek. He didn't know what was in there. 

He didn't see opportunities...he saw his nourishment as a liability. 

And yet...deep down his body begged him to indulge in rest and nourishment.

But his mind would tell him otherwise.

'There's no time, you must keep moving.'

'There's not anything here to last a few hours, its hopeless.'

'The moment you eat is the moment you stop breathing.'

'You're a warrior. Warriors push forward.'

'Warrior's remain vigilant.Who are you otherwise?'

Those last four words shot his eyes open. 

'Who...am I?' his words pained, yet defiant. His arms shaky as he pushed his way up to a kneel. Sweat from his brow dribbled onto his cheeks and lips. 

The world around him was red, charred, barren, rocky, a horror the armor wanted him to witness. He could sense the world through the lens of his captor.

But why would SURVIVAL speak of Honor? There was no Honor in Chaos.

The warrior took in a deep breath as he pulled his gloved hands to his Helm and pulled upwards with what remained of his might. 

The pain felt like he tore away at his own skin. He hollered in the deaf ears of the world around him. His vision flashed as memories broke the levies of his mind. Struggles mixed with moments of calm like oil and water. Failures with small victories. Tears followed by smiles and laughter. 

He didn't recognize these moments, and yet he was there during all walks of life. How could he...forget? How could he ignore the happiness?

He pulled and pulled on the Helm. Screams filled his mind as he yanked for a life time until the fastens that bonded to the rest of his armor popped free. The helm now lifted over his head the screams stopped.

The river flowed in front of him. The sky a calm sky blue with clouds offered brief moments of shade from the bold sunlight above them. A tangerine colored butterfly landed in front of him softly.

A smile etched across his lips 'This...this is...real...'

The warrior placed the rusted helm to his right side and reached for the butterfly with an open hand. The butterfly simply flew away to its next stop in its journey. It was the opposite of who he was. Or rather who he had a chance to be...free from his mind's prison.

'No more...Hyper-vigilance.' he said, as he sat down and stretched his legs.

He turned to face the helm. The slits where his eyes were affixed still seething with chaos. He placed his right hand on the top of the helm and closed his eyes for a moment and breathed. The helm twisted his vision. His thoughts...and he never could take it off. He never wanted to...until now. 

The helm knew only of threats, of the chaos out in the world. The threat was created for him...so he could be ready for whatever would come.   

The worst of it.

But he couldn't separate the real world from the world the helm created. That is why he kept on marching, fighting, ignoring the voice within to take a knee. It led to pain...and yet it also led to awareness he didn't realize until now.

'You blinded me...to prepare me.' The warrior said as he scooped up the Helm from the ground 'Prepare me for the world you didn't want me to ever see...but yet I chose to live in.'

Tears flowed from his ash stained face. Nature around him afforded only the comfort of silence.  He nodded in respect. Even silence had words of wisdom...and now

'I understand...and I thank you for preparing me. To be ready for the future that could come, but isn't set to be...that future isn't...me.' 

The helm pulsed a brilliant blue and hummed before it rose up from his hands. The warrior looked on as the helm seemed to nod without a head, and disintegrated into the gentle breeze. 

The warrior was free to think for himself...to view the world as it is. A small victory for a much longer battle that loomed. The remaining pieces of SURVIVAL pulsed and seemed to tighten around him. He felt the urge to act. The desire to scramble forward. The pressure to hold his breath tightly so he could brace for the world. 

But his thoughts were clear...they were now his to act upon.  He knew with a clear mind what he had to free himself from next....

-To be continued-

 

#UnSkrypted #OpenLoops #Still Here #HonorTheArmor #Healing #LettingGo #InkInAction #Survival #Anxiety #Overthinking