The Flight of the Rocketman

"In the East we have learned that which you Greeks have not. The wheel turns, and man must turn with it. To resist is not mere folly, but madness."

"And as for the wheels you speak of," my master finished, "Like every other, it turns both ways."

- Gates of Fire, Steven Pressfield

I found myself cleaning my old pad and slowly scouring over every cubby hole and shelf for things that I might need in the place of my Mom where I have been staying as of late. There is this dead air that hangs there. Still and unmoving, there is a presence that is almost comatose. Quadrillon, also knows as The Ube Room or Club Liwanag, sleeps, awaiting its former glory or to take on a new role. It will have to wait a little longer.

It has not been lived in for almost two months now. And this feeling of sadness overcomes me. As I slip in pillowcases over the naked pillows, I realise the futility of my actions. After all, no one will be sleeping there. I hound for a bed sheet to cover the nakedness of the bed but find none. None has been brought over. No one stays there. Why would anyone bother bringing over things that are in much more need back here at my Mom's.

Almost two and half years has been spent in that studio apartment. Many crazy things has happened there. If these walls could talk, all the things they could tell. I'd be glorified and then slain without mercy in the same breath. I've unfolded myself and shown my creases to the presence that lived there and still lingers there. I miss that presence. It is in that studio where I have truly allowed the Elusive Bliss to completely overcome me. There were moments in that room that the Elusive Bliss was not so elusive. It was just Bliss and I had him for constant company. Sometimes we'd wake up at the same moment and stare at each other and smile. I'd then turn around and go back to sleep despite the work that needed attending to in the next two hours. As I close my eyes and by instinct, pull-up the blanket to cover my body, Bliss would brush my hair with his hands and blow softly at the back of my neck. It would tickle but it would send me off to sleep.

I went there to pick up some CDs and books. Clean it up a bit and found myself reading the first few chapters of Steven Pressfield's Gates of Fire. It is an awesome book so far. Already, I'm thrust into the world of Spartans and mighty forces of King Xerxes and his Persian empire. But, essentially, this is a tale of bravery, of courage, of duty. Reading through, you know that these people knew what they were born to do and would die doing that which they were destined for. For the great warriors of Sparta, they knew they were to die in battle. There will be no greater glory for anyone under the warrior code.

There are no more warriors in our time. Even the soldiers cry and mourn the loss of life. Their hands are stayed by political forces that they do not understand. People will rally in the streets and protest the loss of human life. The human rights of others are trampled upon and the soldiers do what they are told in defence of these crushed rights and more bledshed is spilled. And people throw cans and rotten vegetation at their faces. I've seen, read or heard about the indifference and even the apathy that American soldiers were treated to on their return from Vietnam back in the sixties. I have no love nor care about that particular war. It has no concern to me. I don't even know the politics of that situation to properly form an opinion. But it is one powerful image that has proven to me that there are no more warriors in this generation.

They have no place in this world. You have to get along. You have to fit in. You have to part of the system to change it. To stand outside, you can only watch. For if you criticize, you meddle into affairs that do not concern you. You are part of the statistic or you are not. Glory now goes to the one who thrives after survival.

And yet there are many who carry the spirit of the warrior in their souls. Riding in the wombs of the hearts and passions of many men. Now, instead of shield and sword and spear, they carry new weapons - education, articulation, social position. Hard work has always been a weapon that people keep forgetting exists.

The wheel turns and man must turn with it. I don't know if I've been turning in the right direction. Then I read the words in the book and I can't help but gasp. It is something I've always known and something I've always dreamed of but never really took to heart what it can mean. The wheel can turn the other way too.

I don't really know what this means for me. In what ways that this can change the way I'm going. Maybe, at one point, it can help dispel the doubts about how I feel I am living my life. Why must I always move with the tide? The salmon will always be famous for swimming up the water fall to lay its eggs. Man, by nature, did not just thrive with what nature has provided for them. They altered the land to make it even produce more for them and their progeny. The wheel can turn the other way too. Maybe I can force it.

Two memorieals remain today at Themopylae. Upon the modern one, called the Leonidas monument in honor of the Spartan king who fell there, is engraved his response to Xerxes' demand that the Spartans lay down their arms. Leonidas' reply was two words, Molon Labe. "Come and get them."
- Herodotus, The Histories
Read from Gates of Fire by Steven Pressfield