The Athlete

THE ATHLETE

He stands in the arena of a worldly court

the athlete

great tennis player

waiting for his opponent to take his place so the game can begin

burning in the afternoon sunlight

golden fire reflecting in his blue eyes

the athlete

waits

he knows how to wait

the athlete has been waiting for this moment all his life

dreaming of the arena since he was a little boy

alone in the mountains staring into his reflection of the clear stream

fishing rod, forgotten

dreaming the dream over and again

of escape

of triumph

of playing tennis in the great courts of the world �" clay-grass-hard

it didn’t matter he would play them all

and he would win

the athlete dreamed, he dreamed of this moment, all the moments of his life

dreaming so hard he no longer knew where the dream began

and he ended.

The athlete sees his opponent on the other side of the net

A pause �" air stilled-breath held

For a moment the athlete glimpses something behind his opponent-

A shadow �" a dark whisper-a smirk, perhaps?

Sometimes late at night he thought there might be another opponent

One in whose hand was not a tennis racquet but a whirling fiery globe

But poof �" the thought- the shadow- the globe-is gone-it is just a guy, another athlete, across the net waiting for him to serve the ball.

The athlete shakes off the ghostly vision and prepares himself-

image of the ancients arise in the heat of the court before the battle

Greek warriors of old

Ancient 12 �" sacred number

Who vanquished the Titans

the most famousgreat

Apollo-Zeus-Poseidon-Hermes

To name a famousgreat few

The athlete liked Hermes the best-

Protector of athletes Patron of artists,

Winged messenger of Gods and mortals

The athlete has wings of his own he dreamed them in the mountains and they are with him always, mythical wings to help him fight to help him to win in the arena of the worldly court.

The game begins

The athlete speeds up and back

Rising breath sweat falling like sweet rain

Perfect shot

To stand still in the arena is forbidden

No mercy no slack no turning back

The arena burns- yellow sun high in the brilliant blue

The crowd loves him �" chants his name

Adores him

He finds fame in the arena

Love

Each step each pace each whip of the racquet is a flaming sword

His body is a flaming sword

His opponent pants defeat.

It is over

The crowd whooping whistling wild on their feet

Thundering applause

He wins, as always

The Athlete wins

He dreamed hard and trained hard and there is no lack

Only a champion’s belief and a golden winner’s cup.

Later breathing in privilege at fine dining establishments

Sipping sweet wine on white linen

Nibbling fine chocolates

And dreaming dreamless dreams

on red satin sheets far from the mountains of his youth- the athlete savors his victory.

And the one whom the athlete thought he glimpsed behind his opponent across the net, the guy waiting for him to serve the ball, was, indeed, really there all along �" no ghostly vision �" something -

Something ancient something dark and glutted the enemy of all athletes

The true opponent �" the malefic wing catcher-

He was watching the athlete then, and the true opponent watches the athlete now �" he is a good student of God’s souls �" he waits and he watches and he studies and he remains hidden -waiting for his moment in the arena of the world, the whirling fiery globe-the world- is his- he waits for his perfect moment to destroy the athlete for that is the true opponent’s dream-

To destroy God’s souls.

The true opponent particularly wanted this athlete

Whose soul shone so brightly in the heart and mind of God

(Some would call this place Heaven)

at his creation, and from the day he was born to this Earth the true opponent studied him, the good student that he is, breathing fury, he wanted him, he wanted his bright light, and so the malefic wing catcher �" the true opponent waited for time to pass �"

He waited for the athlete to fall.

In the arena of the world time means everything- And time, that enemy of mortals and mythical gods alike- time passes-Even the magical winged shoes of Hermes could not stop the passage of time �"

And so it was that time passed for the athlete. Far from the arena - far from the great tennis courts of the world - and even farther from the boy fishing in the mountains dreaming of the golden cup �" the athlete traveled, moved on in the world, growing older in time.

It was then that the athlete began to feel a new opponent with the passage of time- unfamiliar and strange it stared at him from across the net-

Waiting for him to serve �"

Except there was no longer a net-

No longer a play-

he could not even see his opponent

But the athlete- trained for battle- knew something was there

An opponent

One who was strong

One whom he had never faced before

And he did not know how to do battle with this new opponent

And sorrow �" hidden and deep- filled the athlete’s hand, the hand that once held a tennis racquet like a fiery sword.

The true opponent smiled.

Perfectly in time his time had come to defeat the athlete.

The halter he began to make for the athlete from the moment he was born was now complete, it was a halter made of chains with many links whose name was addiction, the true opponents most successful weapon against God’s souls.

The halter which always caused the fall was addiction.

And, indeed, after a time of wearing the halter, the Athlete could no longer bear its weight, and so, the Athlete began his descent.

Down

Down

Down

The athlete fell into the abyss of addiction, dark and lonely, falling all the way to the ground- tasting the bitter soil of the arena �" the weight of the halter pinned him to the black earth, it took from him his power-

his hope-

and mostly,

his wings he had so carefully fashioned as a boy a long time ago.

The true opponent did not bother to count to ten

He surmised the athlete was down

And not getting up

Ever.

The malefic wing clipper, smiled as the bright soul of the athlete

Dimmed,

becoming like a mourning light

No longer bright

this mourning light surrounded him

His face, the one he did not show to the world

Was gritty and wet

Not like sweet rain

But hidden sorrow

Fears no one could see

Infinite loss

The athlete- seemingly vanquished- closed his eyes on the floor of the arena-

there was no hope in him-

no fight-

The athlete knew he was broken and there would be no way back to his golden cup.

Deep within, in the blessed depths of him, far beyond the whirling globe, the part of him that the malefic wing clipper could not touch by Divine Decree, and the part of him, the best part, that he had forgotten about, something stirred.

A memory. A remembrance. A promise to an Old Friend.

The Athlete then heard a voice. It was with him all along, like the mythical wings he had fashioned for himself as a boy surrounded by the mountains and the cool, clear water.

Never

Broken

You

Are

Never

Broken

The Athlete remembered the bond, the blessed bond, between himself and God, made a long time ago, in the beginning, when it all began. Heavenly Force dwelt within this bond, and there he would find himself again. Deep inside of him was the eternal winner’s cup, the golden chalice.

His Heart, and it was the athlete’s heart, the blessed bond, that would save him from the darkness, for this blessed bond was rooted in Heaven, and the true opponent was not welcome there.

The Athlete wished to rise, to transcend the bitter soil of the arena. Old Friend whispered to him that in order to rise it would be first things first, and the athlete would need to call upon the 12 warriors once again-

12

sacred number,

12

steps,

steps like warriors

and these steps would remind him always, one day at a time, what was inside of him.

The Athlete realized that all along his true field of play had been inside of him; it was his soul, and he, now that he was sober, was a great athlete of the soul, and he vowed to teach this knowledge to all the athletes who would come after him-

to be a light-

to shine brightly his light

no longer mourning

for others who were tasting the bitter soil of the arena for, in the end, all of God’s souls are athlete’s fighting in time to make their stand in the arena, both worldly and spiritually, to keep safe from the true opponent’s halter-

to be free and alive, joyfully and wildly alive.

With a nod to the great Olympians of old,

the athlete now stands, forever stands,

one day at a time

in both the arena of the world

and the arena of his soul-

the eternal victor.

The athlete is-and always will be-

One day at a time,

Holding the golden winner’s cup

that sacred chalice

for the athlete knows now that his arena-

his true field of play

was never made of shale or grass or sand

but was made of something much

finer

and

sacred

and

holy-

It was always his heart.