Advice from the Hermit Issue #2: The True Nature of Love

Okay...a question that has vexed everyone alive at one point or another in their lives: What is love?  Those people that write the dictionaries tend to focus on the chemical and biological aspects; poets, songwriters, and other various writers focus on the feelings it inspires.  But neither group has really defined it.


Love is the ultimate paradox.  A paradox of logic, of feelings, and of life.  This is why it is so impossible to define; it is something different to everyone.  Well, honestly, that isn't true.  The shape it takes is different for everyone, but the main premise is the same regardless of who you are, male, female, whatever.  And therein lies the first paradox.  It is the same but it is always different.  Which leads into the all of the other paradoxes.  It is the most selfish, and the most selfless, of feelings.  It is the desire to make someone happy, which is truly selfless, but it is the desire for you to be the one that makes them happy; which is selfish.  It is also allowing someone else to be the source of your happiness (which is sort of selfless, though not very greatly), and for them to make you happy (which is definitely selfish).  It is a complicated emotion, but also a very simple one.  Even when it ends, for whatever reason, it is still a sense of happy nostalgia but also a source of great emotional pain and sorrow.


Love is the "bipolar" of emotions.  It exists at the extreme ends of so many different spectrum that I doubt you could count them all.  Try experiencing everything there is to experience about love, and you will spend the rest of eternity at the attempt.

The Trouble with Thinking

Sometimes it's dangerous to have a brain.  Especially when one cannot claim, or feign, ignorance.  That is usually my problem.  I know something but never really enough to really draw any conclusions.  Except, usually, the wrong ones.

Take, for example, my current situation with Misty.  I know that I haven't heard from her in a year now.  But I have no idea why that is the case.  I can, and have, leapt to a lot of different conclusions in the meantime.  But I don't know anything, definitely not enough to reach the conclusions I've come to.  I've been offered a lot of conclusions I supposedly could reach, based on what little I know.  But, honestly, I really don't believe that.  I don't think I know enough to actually know anything.  And it really bugs me.

Part of the problem is seriously distorted thinking patterns.  I have probably the lowest self-esteem on the planet (okay, that's an exaggeration, but my self-esteem is almost non-existent).  Mostly because I'm tired of fighting with myself over how little my value to the world is (or at least how little value I see myself as having to the world), I've started looking into cognitive therapy.  Hopefully, I'll find some answers in that to the questions I'm asking myself lately.  Then again, some of them are probably questions I cannot answer myself, purely because I am much too close to the problem.  Or, because it has been such a part of my day-to-day stuff that I really don't pay attention to it anymore.  Usually the questions of the "why" variety, honestly.  The questions that never have easy answers anyway.  Usually.  *laugh* It's interesting, though, as the more simple something is, the harder it is to explain.  Take one of the simplest of math problems, 2+2=4.  Sure, most everyone knows that 2 and 2 equals 4; but try to explain why.  You have five-hundred-thousand words and twenty years.  And the "it just is" statement isn't an explanation, it's just a means of dodging the question.  No luck?  Yeah, that's what I thought.  Complicated is easy to explain; it can be broken down into simpler ideas.  But get down to the base, the very basic elements of something, and what then?  You've got no where else to go; at it's simplest level, usually, you can only take things on faith.


This is part of the problem when dealing with the distortions in thinking that come, not only from low self-esteem, but that are doubly impacted by both ends of the bipolar spectrum.  Depressive thinking is pretty much always negative, usually to the extreme.  Manic thinking is usually positive, typically overly positive thinking.  Admittedly, in my case, even when affected by mania (or hypomania in my case; a lesser type of mania that is commonly all that affects those with Bipolar Type II), my thinking is almost purely negative.  What few positive thoughts I have, are usually undermined fairly quickly by other, much more negative, assumptions.  And, unfortunately, it's those negative assumptions that most of my thinking is built on.  And when it comes time to tear down those most fundamental building blocks and sort out what is and what isn't well-founded is very difficult.  It probably wouldn't be as bad, but I question every positive or optimistic thought that crosses my mind as being possibly overly optimistic and unfounded.  This was further reinforced by my former therapist, who often suggested (and/or warned) that positive or optimistic thoughts may very well be "mania".  Regardless of what you might hear, it's not easy to tell what is based in fact and what is based purely on emotional, and distorted, thinking.


Which is half of what I'm dealing with right now.  What is based on my own negative assumptions (possibly reinforced by others, whether knowingly or unknowingly) and what I actually "know".  Honestly, I don't know.  Especially in this mess I find myself in struggling with my own mind around, and over, Misty.  I find myself asking; did I not go to talk to her in the beginning because I knew it was over?  Or was it because I felt it was always going to happen and just assumed that's what had happened (and was reinforced by those around me; since, apparently, my therapist and family are all fairly negative people)?  Do I have enough information to actually know what happened?  To know what she wanted to do, and that this was what she wanted to do?  I suspect not.  To be honest, I think, if I'd been this clear-headed back then, I wouldn't have questioned it so much and I would have gone and talked with her.  Yes, it's always possible that leaving is what she wanted, and planned, to do.  But I just don't know.


I'd like to say I know her well enough to question a few things about that.  Primarily, I'd like to think that if she'd planned, and/or wanted, to leave, she would've said something.  Secondly, and this one's pretty big, it would require me to step beyond that and have to believe that she was lying to me before hand; especially since the last thing she told me was "I love you."  She did say it herself, first, not as a reaction to my saying it.  And, it didn't sound distant or vague either so I didn't feel that she was just saying it and didn't mean it.  Which leads me back around in a circle, obviously.  Why didn't I go after her?

Well...that's a question I can't seem to find an answer for; I don't know whether I picked up on something leading up to that, that made me believe it was over.  Or, if I'd just slapped together a bunch of stuff to make it prove that's what happened.  Honestly, assuming my recollections aren't completely skewed to see things just as I want to see them, I believe it was the second.  But, again, the only way I'm ever going to know that now would be to go and talk to her.  Which isn't exactly easy for me to face, honestly.  Not that I need to talk to her; that's something I've wanted to do for months.  But not knowing what her reaction will be does bother me; it's a huge unknown.  Truthfully, it terrifies me.  And I'm not even sure what I'm the most afraid of.  Finding out she did leave?  That she's found a new boyfriend?  Indifference?  I don't know which of those is a "worst-case" scenario for me.  And, to be completely honest, I don't know that any of them are really what brings on such panic in me.  I think it's simply the fact that I'm walking into a completely unknown situation with no idea of what to do, or say, or the faintest idea of how I should act.


All I can really say is; if there is a divine being somewhere, I really do hope they favor lovers and fools.  Because I'm going to need all the help I can get.

Another Night

    And so it began; another night without her.  He could just make out the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall outside the bedroom door.  He lay in the hazy darkness on the bed, his hands clasped behind his head, gazing upwards at the ceiling.  His eyes were bloodshot, testament to the sleepless nights he'd had of late.  They focused on nothing, staring past the ceiling, the roof; seeing and seeking the past.

    A brighter past; a past in which they shared their laughter and their sorrow; their pleasures and their pains.  A sad, distant smile adorned his lips.  As much as it hurt to think about her being gone, he still couldn’t help but love her deeply.  She had done more than stolen his heart; she had completed his soul, making him feel more complete than he had ever been in his life.  Even knowing that he may never see her again, may never hear that sweet voice in his hear, or feel that angelic touch on his soul again, he still couldn’t stop his heart from swelling to bursting when he thought of her.

    As he lay there, drifting in his waking dream, he heard the clock chime faintly.  “Three o’clock,” he thought to himself, shifting slightly.  A faint clatter drew his attention; he’d removed his pistol and laid it beside him when he’d collapsed on the bed earlier.  Sighing, he started to lever himself up off the bed, hoisting the shoulder holster holding his pistol as he did.  Halfway to his feet, some subconscious sixth sense screamed out a warning.  He threw himself to the floor in a headlong dive just as something crashed through the window.  Shards of broken glass rained down around him as he moved, twisting himself enough to draw his pistol from its holster, leveling it at the monstrosity slouching in the demolished remains of the window.

    He cursed under his breath; he’d hoped they wouldn’t find him so swiftly.  He wanted to at least have more information about what had happened to her before they did.  But that was a wistful hope now. 

“And one for another day,” he vowed to himself.

    The creature facing him focused on him with milky black eyes.  A snake-like hiss escaped from its “mouth”, a thin slit at the base of its head filled with four rows of pointed, sharpened teeth.  It watched his movements warily; it had been warned, apparently, of his talents.  Not that he needed those talents to deal with something as weak as a Naga.  It drew itself up to its full height, almost brushing the ten foot ceiling with the top of its head.  Its gaze never left him, though it was difficult to imagine what it could see with those dark, milky orbs.

    He watched its movements almost casually.  He’d faced down more Naga than he cared to recall; their attacks were almost laughably predictable.  He nearly laughed as the Naga seemed to coil into itself, preparing for its powerful lunge.  When it came, he knew it would come blindingly fast; but always, always, it came straight ahead.  No last minute swerving, no feints or bluffs.  Every time, it was straight at the enemy.

    Not that its attack wasn’t dangerous; few had the speed and agility necessary to avoid the attack a single time, let alone long enough to realize it’s predicable nature.  With the full strength and weight of its form behind it, he’d seen a Naga tear through a ten-inch steel wall like it were made of paper.  And as its snake-like appearance indicated, it moved with the speed of a striking viper.  But none of that really mattered to him; he could easily match its speed and strength.

    So he watched.  And waited, for that single moment that would tell him when his action was necessary; that moment that put him on the brink between life and death.  Again.  He’d lost count years ago how many times that had happened in his life.  He wasn’t about to start again now.

    There; he saw the rippling of the muscles along the snake-like appendage that served as its “legs”.  That was the sign to watch for; that tell that warned of its impending strike.  And it was, as he’d thought before, laughably predictable.  He moved even as the Naga sprang forward, his motion so smooth and quick as to make the Naga seem as if it were standing still.  He hit the ground just as it came even with him.  Three shots erupted in the night; two pierced mere inches apart on its chest, the third dead center between its eyes.  The Naga’s momentum carried it on, where it crashed through the wall loudly.  Had it survived, it would have twisted in midair, using the wall as a springboard to throw itself back into the fray.  A worry for lesser men, he thought.

    “I see your reputation is well earned, Valentine,” an inhumanly deep voice, carrying the tone of gravel sliding across slate, came from the shattered remains of the window behind him.

    Without even a hint of surprise, Valentine turned.  “I prefer Val, actually,” he drawled out casually.  “I take it this was your pet?”  He addressed to the figure standing framed by the shattered glass.  It was human-enough looking, if one ignored the glossy obsidian orbs that sat where eyes normally would in its face.  It was dressed, typically, in a well tailored three-piece suit.  “One of these days,” Val continued, “I really need to speak with your tailor.”

    The demon laughed.  It truly was a demon; the Naga could be considered demons by many, but they were truly merely the lowest level of creatures that true demons employed.  Val wasn’t showing it, but he was horribly terrified by the things mere presence; he’d slain a true demon only once in his life.  Which was one more than most would ever claim to have killed; it was one of the reasons they were seeking him so desperately.  Along with the object he had fled with from that encounter.  They felt it set a bad precedent to let demon slayers walk away alive.  Of course, the object they sought from him had never been in his possession, but they didn’t know that.  And he wasn’t about to tell them, since it was the last bit of protection that she had left.

    “Your bravado does you credit,” the demon smiled, a hideous smile given the soulless nature of its eyes, along with the sharpened teeth that filled its mouth, “but it’s not very believable.  I could’ve killed you where you stand at any point, whether you killed the Naga or not, or even without sending it after you.  No, I merely wished to test your abilities.  I have a favor to ask of you.  One that will pique your interest, let me assure you.”

    “And what would that be?”

    “As you know, the actual existence of demons has little in the way of racial loyalty behind it.  The demons who seek you were allies of the…demon you managed to slay.  I was one of his chief rivals.  You actually did me a great service in slaying him, and for that I thank you.”  The demon stepped carefully over the shattered remains of boards and glass that littered the floor.  “But, there are still other…obstacles…standing in my way.  While I do have a vested interest in that treasure you stole; I sense that you do not have it on your person, so killing you would prove counter to that interest.  At least, for the moment.”

    “Get to the point,” Val interjected.  “I could care less about the current events lesson.”

    “Yes,” the demon paused.  “I suppose it would be rather boring for you, at that.  Alright,” the demon pulled an object from the pocket of its suit.  He tossed the picture to Valentine.  “That is what I want you to kill for me.  Aside from Exaros, whom you have already slain, she is my closest rival.”

    Valentine looked down at the picture and nearly dropped it in shock.  It was a picture that appeared to be of a girl of about ten.  “She is a rival?”

    “You should know better than to judge us by our size or appearance,” the demon retorted.  “She is, honestly, one of the oldest of our kind.  Old enough, in fact, to remember the Dragon Wars.” 

    The Dragon Wars; Valentine had heard of them while he was a servant of Exaros.  The Dragons were guardians chosen to protect humanity from the demons.  Supposedly, they were human originally, but were given the gift of magical power; enough power that each was individually as strong as even the greatest of demon lords.  They were hunted to extinction, however, by the very people they were chosen to protect.  Thanks, in part, to the demon’s subversions.  However, before that, there was a massive war between the demons and the Dragons.  It was that confrontation that sent the demons into hiding, disguising themselves as humans, and their attempts to turn the humans against the Dragons.  Each dragon was supposed to have possessed a single amulet that was the channel for their power; so when their death approached, they could pass it on to a successor.

    “And you expect me to be able to kill her?”

    “In all honestly, no.  I expect you to die, in fact,” the demon’s bone chilling smile returned, “but, if you should manage to survive; I can perhaps give you information about the one you seek.”

    Valentine crushed the picture he held in his hand in anger.  A bright light shimmered around it, “And why shouldn’t I just beat the answer out of you now?”

    The demon laughed; full of such malice that Valentine’s blood froze in his veins.  But his anger burned too hot for it to really affect him.  “You know as well as I that you couldn’t beat an answer out of me.  Kill me, perhaps, if you were lucky.  But you don’t possess the power to force me to tell you anything.”  And with that laughter hanging in the air, the demon vanished.

Advice from the Hermit atop Hawke's Aerie: Issue #1

Okay...I've decided to collect a lot of the advice I've given to people here and there and reproduce it here (and add to it, as things occur to me).  Sort of a mini-article type thing.  Maybe one of these days I'll actually gather up enough of them to actually publish something.  This will be one of the most recent I've given, in response to the "is/isn't there a God?" question that crops up from time to time.  Especially amongst those of us with chronic illness and/or other disorders that we can "treat" but not be truly free of.

So, below is my response to the question.  "Is/isn't there a God?"


"Well, unfortunately that's going to be a loaded question honestly :P.  There are as many that believe and find comfort in that belief as there are those that DON'T believe and feel irritation that other people do believe (well, irritated when those people try to push their beliefs on others, anyway, which is pretty often, in my experience).

I, myself, don't believe in God (or, at least, not a "God" as most religions do).  I do believe in a sort of "universal consciousness" that filters about the universe; not really "God" but basically just the balancing cycle of life/death/birth/etc/etc/etc that exists everywhere.  Honestly, my path is more of a shamanistic one; something of an Amerindian tradition, rather than a "religion".  It shares some similarities with a lot of Eastern beliefs (Buddhism, Taoism, et al), with one rather large distinction, in that shamanism says (basically) that everything has a spirit and should be respected.  Which is similar to animistic beliefs (like Shin Tao in Japan), but animistic religions worship those spirits, while shamanism (and you'll see a few places that talk about shamanism and animism as being synonymous, but they aren't) simply believes that those spirits are worth of respect (but never worshiped).

:P BUT back to the main point now; you'll probably wind up with both groups of responses, which, unfortunately when you're confused already, isn't going to help you any.  Painfully, this is one question that only YOU can really answer.  *laugh* Most of the advice you'll see will be skewed very strongly in the direction of the beliefs of the person giving it (:P which is also central to my own, personal, belief system; everyone should be able to choose their own path to follow)."