Against all odds,
I have taken great
I pray for a great
‘Like a virgin who has
given away her virginity,
her precious gift–
for love? or wasted?
Or a player at a casino,
not a chip not played.
I have taken a chance—
But the ? is–
Am I doing right?
Or burying myself in a grave mistake?
Will I be rewarded
by a piled treasure
more precious, wealthy than a dragon cove?–
Or burned, engulfed by
a hellish inferno?
Kenobi, is this how you felt?
Seeing the boy on Tattooine,
Grow to be a monster?
Kenobi, did you know?
That the one who you called brother,
Would be your bane?
That by freeing a slave,
would forge a Lord of pain?
Kenobi, could you see the slow-fade
from light to dark?
Did the hurts of betrayal,
Hurt more than the scars of Mustafar?
Kenobi, could you have foreseen
the heart that would become black?
That you were teaching destruction?
Kenobi–is this how you felt?
Dr. Frankenstein, that is who I am.
Instead of a cure,
I’ve created a monster!
With intentions for good–
I’ve unleashed evil.
. . . So who’s the greater monster?
“Can a tyger change its stripes? Or a leopard its spots? If a serpent changes its skin, its still a serpent. ONLY God can change the nature of something.”
The Scorpion and the Frog
One day, a scorpion looked around at the mountain where he lived and decided that he wanted a change. So he set out on a journey through the forests and hills. He climbed over rocks and under vines and kept going until he reached a river.
The river was wide and swift, and the scorpion stopped to reconsider the situation. He couldn’t see any way across. So he ran upriver and then checked downriver, all the while thinking that he might have to turn back.
Suddenly, he saw a frog sitting in the rushes by the bank of the stream on the other side of the river. He decided to ask the frog for help getting across the stream.
“Hellooo Mr. Frog!” called the scorpion across the water, “Would you be so kind as to give me a ride on your back across the river?”
“Well now, Mr. Scorpion! How do I know that if I try to help you, you wont try to kill me?” asked the frog hesitantly.
“Because,” the scorpion replied, “If I try to kill you, then I would die too, for you see I cannot swim!”
Now this seemed to make sense to the frog. But he asked. “What about when I get close to the bank? You could still try to kill me and get back to the shore!”
“This is true,” agreed the scorpion, “But then I wouldn’t be able to get to the other side of the river!”
“Alright then…how do I know you wont just wait till we get to the other side and THEN kill me?” said the frog.
“Ahh…,” crooned the scorpion, “Because you see, once you’ve taken me to the other side of this river, I will be so grateful for your help, that it would hardly be fair to reward you with death, now would it?!”
So the frog agreed to take the scorpion across the river. He swam over to the bank and settled himself near the mud to pick up his passenger. The scorpion crawled onto the frog’s back, his sharp claws prickling into the frog’s soft hide, and the frog slid into the river. The muddy water swirled around them, but the frog stayed near the surface so the scorpion would not drown. He kicked strongly through the first half of the stream, his flippers paddling wildly against the current.
Halfway across the river, the frog suddenly felt a sharp sting in his back and, out of the corner of his eye, saw the scorpion remove his stinger from the frog’s back. A deadening numbness began to creep into his limbs.
“You fool!” croaked the frog, “Now we shall both die! Why on earth did you do that?”
The scorpion shrugged, and did a little jig on the drownings frog’s back.
“I could not help myself. It is my nature.”
Then they both sank into the muddy waters of the swiftly flowing river.
Self destruction – “Its my Nature”, said the Scorpion…
“Old friends make blamed escape goats for those who cannot take responsibility.”
“A fool makes an easy fiddle to play. Play with fire, and you’ll only get burned.”
“Sooner or later, we all go through a crucible. . . . Most believe there are two types of people who go into a crucible. The ones who grow stronger from the experience and survive it. And the ones who die. But there’s a third type. The ones who learn to love the fire. Who choose to stay in their crucible because it’s easier to embrace the pain when it’s all you know anymore.”–Arrow
“Do not give dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you to pieces. Matthew 7:6 NIV
By Edwin Friedman
There was a man who had given much thought to what he wanted
from life. He had experienced many moods and trials. He had
experimented with different ways of living, and he had had his
share of both success and failure. At last, he began to see
clearly where he wanted to go.
Diligently, he searched for the right opportunity. Sometimes he
came close, only to be pushed away. Often he applied all his
strength and imagination, only to find the path hopelessly
blocked. And then at last it came. But the opportunity would not
wait. It would be made available only for a short time. If it
were seen that he was not committed, the opportunity would not
Eager to arrive, he started on his journey. With each step, he
wanted to move faster; with each thought about his goal, his
heart beat quicker; with each vision of what lay ahead, he found
renewed vigor. Strength that had left him since his early youth
returned, and desires, all kinds of desires, reawakened from
their long-dormant positions.
Hurrying along, he came upon a bridge that crossed through the
middle of a town. It had been built high above a river in order
to protect it from the floods of spring.
He started across. Then he noticed someone coming from the
opposite direction. As they moved closer, it seemed as though
the other was coming to greet him. He could see clearly,
however, that he did not know this other, who was dressed
similarly except for something tied around his waist.
When they were within hailing distance, he could see that what
the other had about his waist was a rope. It was wrapped around
him many times and probably, if extended, would reach a length
of 30 feet.
The other began to uncurl the rope, and, just as they were
coming close, the stranger said, “Pardon me, would you be so
kind as to hold the end a moment?”
Surprised by this politely phrased but curious request, he
agreed without a thought, reached out, and took it.
“Thank you,” said the other, who then added, “two hands now, and
remember, hold tight.” Whereupon, the other jumped off the bridge.
Quickly, the free-falling body hurtled the distance of the ropes
length, and from the bridge the man abruptly felt the pull.
Instinctively, he held tight and was almost dragged over the
side. He managed to brace himself against the edge, however, and
after having caught his breath, looked down at the other
dangling, close to oblivion.
“What are you trying to do?” he yelled.
“Just hold tight,” said the other.
“This is ridiculous,” the man thought and began trying to haul
the other in. He could not get the leverage, however. It was as
though the weight of the other person and the length of the rope
had been carefully calculated in advance so that together they
created a counterweight just beyond his strength to bring the
other back to safety.
“Why did you do this?” the man called out.
“Remember,” said the other, “if you let go, I will be lost.”
“But I cannot pull you up,” the man cried.
“I am your responsibility,” said the other.
“Well, I did not ask for it,” the man said.
“If you let go, I am lost,” repeated the other.
He began to look around for help. But there was no one. How
long would he have to wait? Why did this happen to befall him
now, just as he was on the verge of true success? He examined
the side, searching for a place to tie the rope. Some
protrusion, perhaps, or maybe a hole in the boards. But the
railing was unusually uniform in shape; there were no spaces
between the boards. There was no way to get rid of this newfound
burden, even temporarily.
“What do you want?” he asked the other hanging below.
“Just your help,” the other answered.
“How can I help? I cannot pull you in, and there is no place to
tie the rope so that I can go and find someone to help me help you.”
“I know that. Just hang on; that will be enough. Tie the rope
around your waist; it will be easier.”
Fearing that his arms could not hold out much longer, he tied
the rope around his waist.
“Why did you do this?” he asked again. “Don’t you see what you
have done? What possible purpose could you have had in mind?”
“Just remember,” said the other, “my life is in your hands.”
What should he do? “If I let go, all my life I will know that I
let this other die. If I stay, I risk losing my momentum toward
my own long-sought-after salvation. Either way this will haunt
With ironic humor he thought to die himself, instantly, to jump
off the bridge while still holding on. “That would teach this
fool.” But he wanted to live and to live life fully. “What a
choice I have to make; how shall I ever decide?”
As time went by, still no one came. The critical moment of
decision was drawing near. To show his commitment to his own
goals, he would have to continue on his journey now. It was
already almost too late to arrive in time. But what a terrible
choice to have to make.
A new thought occurred to him. While he could not pull this
other up solely by his own efforts, if the other would shorten
the rope from his end by curling it around his waist again and
again, together they could do it. Actually, the other could do
it by himself, so long as he, standing on the bridge, kept it
still and steady.
“Now listen,” he shouted down. “I think I know how to save you.”
And he explained his plan.
But the other wasn’t interested.
“You mean you won’t help? But I told you I cannot pull you up by
myself, and I don’t think I can hang on much longer either.”
“You must try,” the other shouted back in tears. “If you fail, I
The point of decision arrived. What should he do? “My life or
this other’s?” And then a new idea. A revelation. So new, in
fact, it seemed heretical, so alien was it to his traditional
way of thinking.
“I want you to listen to me carefully,” he said, “because I mean
what I am about to say. I will not accept the position of choice
for your life, only for my own; the position of choice for your
own life I hereby give back to you.”
“What do you mean?” the other asked, afraid.
“I mean, simply, it’s up to you. You decide which way this ends.
I will become the counterweight. You do the pulling and bring
yourself up. I will even tug a little from here.” He began
unwinding the rope from around his waist and braced himself anew
against the side.
“You cannot mean what you say,” the other shrieked. “You would
not be so selfish. I am your responsibility. What could be so
important that you would let someone die? Do not do this to me.”
He waited a moment. There was no change in the tension of the rope.
“I accept your choice,” he said, at last, and freed his hands.