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Knowing something without living it isn't worth much.

The Gunslinger

I’m a gunslinger, as wiry and dusty as one can get from walking and riding in the desert. I mostly walk since horses don’t do well in the desert. There’s not enough to eat or drink. I have been stalking another gunslinger for the better part of twenty years. So far, I haven’t managed to kill him, though I did graze him once. He has also been trying to kill me, but I’ve evaded that outcome.

I look out into the distance from a rocky outcropping on the top of a hill. All I see is dry. I ponder the fact that I have been walking this path for so long that I can’t even remember what started it all. I only know that somehow, it has to be finished.



Below, I spot a flutter of movement. It’s him. I quietly climb down to a clearing and crouch behind a group of large boulders. The other gunslinger is also behind some rocks about 100 feet away. Gingerly, I peer over the top to see if I can get a shot.

I know he senses my presence, and I see the edge of his revolver peeking over the top of a rock. He’s going to try to get a shot at me, I think.

We know each other’s moves so well that it is like knowing the back of our own hands. Neither of us has made a mistake in movement for years. It has become more like a dance than stalking. All it would take is one mistake. Yet neither of us has shown any inclination to give up. But why did it begin? I just can’t seem to remember the answer to that.

Then, leaning against the boulder plain worn out with the whole thing, it occurred to me out of nowhere that it was over. I was done with it. I gazed up at the bare sky as if the blue could add something to my realization. While looking up, another realization landed. I had come to love the other gunslinger.

I had no idea what to do with these revelations and sat against the rock for a few minutes. I knew I couldn’t sit there forever because I might still get shot for pondering myself. Then it dawned on me that I should say something, so I yelled to the gunslinger, “Hey, I’m done with all this. It’s pointless. I’m not doing it anymore. In fact, I want you to know that I have come to love you. So…. I’m throwing my gun out in the clearing.”

With that, I tossed my gun out into the dust between us. I then yelled, “I’m coming out now.” I, bit by bit, stood with my arms up–not in the air like surrendering when you don’t actually want to–but wide open out to the side in real surrender.

I moved slowly around the rocks I had been hiding behind, walked toward the center of the clearing, and yelled again, “I love you, but if you want to shoot me, here’s your chance. Take your best shot.” And then I just stood there with my arms wide open.


After a long minute, he slowly stood up and stared at me, dumbfounded, with his mouth open. Recovering, he said, “Aw shit,” threw his gun down in the dust and walked away.


My take

This was an actual dream in 2005. In it, there was part of me that I wanted to kill off. But that part would rather kill me than surrender. It would do anything to survive and never give up.

To break the pattern, one of us had to surrender. I had been trying to kill him for twenty years, and it simply was not going to happen. Since I was the one who saw the need for surrender, it had to be me. But it couldn’t be the kind of surrender where one just gives up. It had to be for the good of everything involved. It had to be founded in love. Love would break the pattern and make it whole.

At that moment, self-importance lost its grip on my life.

We all have internal patterns. Some are part of our blueprint, what we bring into this world when we are born. Others we build according to circumstances that mold our sense of self. These are our core beliefs about who we think we are. They can become rock-solid as we mature. If we do not work on ourselves, they slip into the background and run unnoticed unless something happens to bring them to the forefront. We believe these things about ourselves.

Me, I’m a gregarious loner. That’s one point of view I have about myself, but it is just a point of view, an opinion. That’s all it is. I created it, and now I can’t remember what started that point of view. Most of our beliefs about ourselves aren’t helpful, and they aren’t actually real.

We are so much more. We can barely recognize, let alone admit, how extraordinary we are. Bottom line: Never allow yourself to doubt your magnificence.


Shared with Love & Peace,

Heather

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