Perception of definition.

There are many reasons I try to be concise in my speaking. One of them is the exact inferrance of meaning. When speaking or writing, I am mindful of my words and how they may be understood, or misunderstood. I find myself strict on exact definitions, and loose interpretations are not well-recieved.

Recently I became entangled in a debate regarding sensitive terminology. The terms themselves were related to criminal conduct. My friend gave an interpretation that I found far too liberal, to the point of being misleading. I gave the legal definition as is understood in the court system in this nation, and I do believe my friend became offended. I am not absolutely certain why, but I daresay it may have to do with the fact that this precise definition does not allow for other, similar crimes to be considered with that same severity. Not to say these crimes are not as heinous, but I believe that some believe these other crimes, defined as such, may seem to be lesser crimes to the public at large, therefore minimizing the effects of such crimes.

I meant no such thing. I meant only that to use incorrect terms in any instance can lead to confusion and even to inadvertant misunderstanding. I stand by my belief in this.

On Malcolm.

Malcolm and I have been at odds for years. Since the beginning, really, and for all who know me well it is evident that we share little, if anything, in common. Our beliefs differ, our morals, our senses of duty, our past experiences. However it was brought to my attention recently that he has been suffering from nightmares, and I set about to investigate. It is common understanding that the presence of nightmares can mean that something is loose or unlocked altogether.

Malcolm is not one to talk. He never has been. He uses the shock value of his words to mask the fact that he keeps so much hidden. Perhaps that is his coping mechanism. I wonder if perhaps his years of shrouded silence have caught up with him and have manifested. One can sense a demeanor about him, somethign tense or uncomfortable, at the mention of certain things and of course he would not admit it, least of all to me. I know that I rarely catch subtlety but I know him too well, in that manner.

My main concern is where this will lead, who is involved and who has the information I need. I am told this does not concern me, but if it concerns Nambiet then by all rights it does.

Far less than I had envisioned.

When I put my mind on falling back into posting again, I thought I would fall into it effortlessly. And now, instead, it is merely an afterthought, something that I do as I have a free moment, when nothing else is left to be done. It has been a week since my last post. That was not my vision.

For the past two years, the Rahkas have been unsuccessful in forcing us to agree to several demands as outlined in their Accords. These were very recently revised and although in some ways tempting, there were a few points to which I will not concede, ever. These few are not negotiable. I do not consider myself unreasonable by any means, but there are some sections and subparts that are simply unrealistic. For any who have been long-time readers (and a few of you have been, I know, since the beginning), you know that the cease-fires have been few and far-between, and this past seven months has been glorious for that. However, in my refusal to sign, I have also refused to allow our base to stand as a target; our strategist made a suggestion, it was coordinated and followed through.

I feel no regrets, of course. As I told a good friend Jim once, we always make the pre-emptive strike. It is how it has always been. I suppose it is how it shall be for here on out. We are prepared. I feel the excitement.

A stinging truth.

I saw this on the latest version of Postsecret. And I am quite aware that there are a multitude of soldiers acting improperly in the field; I know the usual reasons behind it, but I also know it is not acceptable. It just struck me to see it, for more reasons than most might understand. There is a sense of shame to see this, a sense of guilt, a sense of hatred.

Inability to sleep.

I know I should allow the body to sleep, at least. I am certain there are a myriad of ways to calm myself to the point that the body would be able to recieve the proper rest. And yet, after wandering aimlessly for the past hour, I know it is futile.

I awoke suddenly to the sound of a far-away siren. I swore I saw the red beacon; I was absolutely certain. For a moment I froze, and I slowly became aware of my surroundings. In the darkness I could scarcely make out anything, and in a moment I turned up all the lights. It was an effort to calm myself, I suppose, to reassure myself that it is all right, now. Nai bansè sirnir srelin.

Something is not right, however, at all. I knew that sooner or later this would come to light, and it is no secret my time in the Reformatory. However I am still not comfortable with the idea of speaking of it, and I am certainly not wanting to deal with it yet. Not in the slightest. This is one of the many things I wish to have forgotten, and had I the power, I would. I spent some time early this morning, pondering the Deadbox and knowing that the Polyclef was mine to use as I please. I would very much like to bury these things that invade my mind now.

A sense of betrayal.

I waited a few days before writing this, knowing that if I wrote it in the depth of my churning shock I would have likely written something unforgivable.

Rhiannon is one of mine, my eldest. We often do not agree and her head-strong personality has caused more than one explosive battle-of-wills. Nonetheless I do care for her, and her well-being is my joy. However, two I trusted (as much as I trust another) made grievous errors in judgement, and Rhiannon was hurt by their acts. For the privacy of all involved, I will not divulge details, however upon finding out what occured I found it difficult to contain myself. I felt conspired against, and I was torn between my duty to her in her safety, and my promise to her in not avenging the act.

This escalated to a completely awkward situation reeking of guilt, suspicion, shame and humiliation.As mush as I tried to rectify it, there seemed to be something even worse brought forth: I was forced to admit somethign to myself, and forced to acknowledge a new truth about Rhiannon that she had kept within her for years. I am not certain what to do about either, yet. I only know that I am finding myself increasingly comforted by indulgences of years past, rather than the more healthy coping mechanisms I have since acquired. On one hand, it is unacceptable. On the other, it is absolutely necessary.

We are unwell.

Finally, a return.

I can scarcely believe it has been a year, already. Several weeks ago I realized this, and set to work on transferring this journal here from another site. It was quite the test of patience, but it is complete, and all is well in that regard. As for this, my first entry upon return, it will not be an entry that chronicles the past year. I find that to be a waste and it would be too long for anyone to ever desire to read it. Instead, I shall begin today's as if there were no hiatus, and if ever there is a need for explanation in the time lost, I shall provide it at that time.

Suffice it to say that the decision handed down to cease in aiding the Host was a severe blow to my psyche and my pride. To stand idly by and do nothing was close to intolerable. Although my duties can be exceedingly difficult and dealing with her as I do can be trying, I felt empty otherwise.

What I am dealing with now is a sense of loss. When I first surrendered myself to God in deciding to become a Christian, I felt a sense that things would change for me. I suppose I had that faith of a child He so desires. I yearned for a change, and a sense of forthcoming redemption. I tried to conform and to please Him in so many ways, and yet, it is never enough. I am not changed, not really so much as I should be. I feel that the religion aspect does little for me. I read the Bible and the words are hollow.

I have not lost faith. I do not doubt He exists, and I do nout doubt His omnipotence, not for a moment. I do not doubt He is a God of love, or mercy, or grace. I do not doubt the power of prayer. What I feel I have lost is my relationship with Him; I wonder even if I ever had one. I want to think I did, at one time; but if that were true, how to retrieve it? Instead I feel that His salvation does not apply to me. That not only am I unforgiven, but that I was not made in His image. And therefore, his mercy does not apply to me.

That is not to say I have abandoned my beliefs completely. I still pray for friends and family as I see appropriate. I look onto nature and see His presence. It is simply that I beleive my faith has shifted. I cannot say I am entirely comfortable or happy in that.