Hero Armor

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Stained a deep red, a wooden wardrobe gathered dust in a darkened attic.  Particles of dust floated upon the air, symbolic hordes of a time forgotten, ready to invade the lungs of any trespasser and discourage any thoughts of return.  The single source of light within the forgotten realm enters via a high window, sealed shut with age.  As sunlight fought it’s way through the window, to illumine the fine wood work and countless hours of craftsmanship evident in the detailed symbols, shapes, and runes laden upon the doors, the details began to glow a fiery jade.  First the shapes, then symbols, and runes.  As the glow intensifies, an ethereal voice – almost like music – is barely discernible as it whispers “someone may ask…the time has come again…”.  Suddenly, as if the emerald light might overtake the sun and exit out the portal the original source entered from, the doors swing open on internal hinges.  As the jade brilliance fades, the whisper continues in what seems a language long dismissed as time rolled forward.  Within the wardrobe lay what looks to be ancient artifacts:  a golden helmet worthy of the Amazons, a chest-place of shining silver which could double as a mirror, boots as white a new fallen snow, a blade which seemed to  generate it’s own shimmering light, a belt of amethyst so deep one could fall into it,  and a round shield emblem-ed with the profile of a fierce and roaring lion.  Each piece, glistening in the window’s light, upon closer inspection, revealed what can only be described as a script not of this earth, almost angelic in its form.  In the midst of gazing upon these contents, the unknown voice spoke, with a hint of sadness: “the time is past…they did not ask, but go into this waking day ill-fitted…”  As the voice trailed off, the sun’s light escaped back from whence it came and hid.  The doors of the wardrobe swung with an old creaking, closing as if they knew not when they might open again.  The meaning of the subsequent click, unmistakeable; the doors had locked.

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The Beauty of Foolishness

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I’m no stranger to the idea of foolishness.  Occasionally, I attempt to whimsically write of it and I often live it too.  It is something I’ve embraced, an idea that causes me to go all-in in a unique way: grappling with the understand of what I am, who I am created to be, what I have been wired to love and enjoy, and embracing those things whole-heatedly.  Nevertheless, every so often something unexpected comes along that challenges, broadens the scope, or reinforces my understanding.  Consider the idea of “Mannequins with Disabilities“…

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What do you see?

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Growing up on a farm in Michigan a boy named Earl really struggled in English class.  He didn’t read very well and always struggled aloud, but enjoyed poetry.  His English teacher saw an opportunity to help and pushed him to overcome both his speech impediment and the fear that it generated, transforming this struggling student into someone we all know well.

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Lewis and The Dark Knight

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Discernible shafts of light shone through the iron bars on the far wall.  The stone cold cell was empty but for a straw mat and the lone body laying upon it.  A knock at the door awakens the prisoner’s senses as the subsequent cold wind coming through the barred window further drags him into the waking world.  With a creak, the door opens and in steps a tall, lean, well kept, man in a suit.  He knows the prisoner’s real name – Wayne – and offers a path, an opportunity to fight injustice and combat the criminal mind.  This mysterious man doesn’t exit the cell before imparting a task, a quest to find the blue flower and ascend the mountain…

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The need for Superpowers…

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It is no secret that I believe in superpowers.  The brokenness that resides within our spheres of influence needs people who know who they are, what they can do to be agents of restoration, and are willing to do it.  There is more than meets the eye to to you and those around you.  I am not the only one who believes this and someone found a way to say it that I never could…

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Be the Mystery…

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Jon Acuff recently launched his new blog and one of the new posts focuses on being who you are, not who you’re supposed to be.  I thought it was a good post that felt a bit like Joel Clark’s Awake and Donald Miller’s Million Miles in a Thousand Years (the Donald Miller book I thought I would never read).  As I read, I came to realize that in various shapes (and posts on this blog) I actually have a take on this that is uniquely Welty…

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We’ve been given SUPERPOWERS…

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We’ve been given superpowers, ask us for an autograph!  We sing, we dance, we’ll make you laugh; don’t you want to be like us?  We’ve been given Superpowers, ask about our rock and roll; our hair, our clothes, our beats, and pets; does he have a girlfriend yet? – Superpowers, Five Iron Frenzy

What’s your Superpower?

“What’s that?” you ask; you don’t have one? I’d beg to differ; just because you don’t know what it is doesn’t mean you don’t posses one.  Still confused?  That’s alright, In Return of the Jedi Princess Leia was too.  She didn’t understand her brother’s connection to the Force and that it ran in the family.  Her response is telling:  “you have a power I don’t understand and could never have…”.  Let me ask it another way:  What’s your gift?  What are your natural abilities?  Therein lies your superpower.

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Life Lessons from Inside Arkham

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Crouched in the shadows, slowly moving towards a target.  The silence is broken – but my concentration is not – by agitated husky voices complaining that it’s too cold; cheap, two-bit, thugs. They’re spooked by a noise and start shooting, alerting others to a phantom presence that may only exist in their mind; maybe not.  Slowly, I look up and scan the sky above for a grapnel point; it’s high, but the best vantage points always are.  Pressing the worn button, the milometers thick wire releases like a coiled serpent ready to strike, the hooked ends flashing open like the gaping maw of a Predator.  The scarlet beams of laser-scope sights sweep the area far below, desperately searching, as the high-pitched voice of the queen makes threats fueled by rage and a psychotic, growing, loneliness.  These are the pawns on the board in the game of chess against injustice.  Their princely king is dead.  I know because I saw it, I carried him just like I carried someone long before him; someone he killed.  Nevertheless, the contest plays on unabated, because the queen still lives and seeks revenge for the death of her love.  Revenge against me.  Who am I?  I am Vengeance.  I am the (K)night.  I am Batman.

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Famliy of S.H.I.E.L.D.?

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“You fit S.H.I.E.L.D.’s profile: a criminal with a specialized skill-set and no family; that is what these people do, prey on loneliness, desperation, and fear and offer a home when you have no one else to turn to” – Ian Quinn, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

What is family?  Is it blood relation?  Is it those you fall in with and build community around?   Can it be both?  This is a fundamental question that arises in almost every project that Joss Whedon is involved in.  From Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Firefly/Serenity to Dollhouse, The Avengers and his latest project, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. this theme manifests again and again.

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The Light That Burns Twice As Bright…

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“The light that burns twice as bright only burns half as long and you have burned oh so brightly…” – Eldon Tyrell

Roy Batty. Rick Deckard. Eldon Tyrell.  If you know these names, then it’s likely you’ve seen Ridley Scott’s science fiction “tech-noir” masterpiece Blade Runner.  It’s also likely you’ve read – or at least know – that the film is based on a novel called “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” by Phillip K. Dick, who also wrote the stories that led to Minority Report, Total Recall, and A Scanner Darkly.  Simply put, Blade Runner is the story of Rick Deckard – Harrison Ford – and his mission to “retire” (terminate) a rouge band of “replicants”:  life-like machines that think they are, and desire to be, human.

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