For me the path of surrender in paved with grief. So much is already gone, so many paths have lead astray. Hopes have been dashed so many times. Grief is a death, something valid turned invalid. No matter how much power or energy I use to move through surrender quickly, grief quickly stops me.
To me grief is about men, communities of men, families of men. I look into my father’s eyes and can see his grief, my grandfathers and great grandfathers, all those generations back before the time when our family came across the sea. We fought for William, who brought glory to England, but also slaughter and grief, of the slaying and the slain. It has been a long time since I have wept at the graves of my ancestors, made the soil wet where the bones of my blood are buried.
In this grief I must surrender that there is anything called a path, any conclusion that I can plan. There has been death and darkness, no daylight or night but a pall. I want to go to that noble graveyard and dig my own hole. There seems to be no other worthy activity. In this long night of grief I am denied that privilege. So I fall asleep on the cold ground wanting nothing more than to die.
The other side of grief is obedience, waking up in the morning light, I see her high on her-tower-throne. Hail Athena-Nike, Ever Virgin, Daughter of Zeus, Pray for me, this city, and its holy people. I am a man and I shake off my slumbers, wounded, still weary, ready to fight and die for Her once again.