Saturday, August 25, 2012

The Price of Discipline



               

The Price of Discipline

Eric Campos

 

               

                I rise every morning,

                To the song of swords.

                They pierce my muscles, my bones,

                Make me want to falter.

 

                 I rise,

                I neglect the sting,

                Though my body protests,

                With layers of sharp, echoing rings,

                It remembers the din of war every morning.

 

                I rise,

                To take to the open road,

                The start of another journey,

                Another day, more goals.

                To be all that I can be.

 

                I rise,

                They cannot stop me,

                No hand can bar my way, 

                If pitfalls,

                And barriers,

                 Mountains, try turn me away,

                I’ll jump,

                And cross,

                And climb,

                Until my road becomes straight again.

 

                I rise,

                I am the goer that keeps going,

                I am he that climbs mountains,

                And I do it with a grin.

                I awaken every morning,

                With my heart and mind knowing,

                My journey, goals, this new day begins,

                Again

 

 

                I rise,

                My mind steady,

                Body now ready,

                I am undaunted,

                I know what I must do.

 

                I rise,

                My task now set,

                Framed,

                War banner flaring.

 

                I rise,

                I breath in the morning,

                Standing,

                Unyielding,

                Facing the bitter fray ahead.

                I just grin,

                I’m closer,

                I’m not stopping now,

                The price of discipline,

                Success,

                Honor,

                Greatness yielding.

                It is in my grasp.

 

Saturday, July 14, 2012

The Lyconian Creation Myth; an excerpt from the Universe of Calazar (C)

The following is a brief excerpt from my upcoming series: The Universe of Calazar. This is one of the  myths featured in the series, and in the particular novel I have been writing for years (Just ask Nick). Feel free to share your thoughts, the Shield Hall is open. This is an original poem in epic format I have created for the Lyconian race.





                In the beginning there was nothing.

                There were no creatures,

                 There was no land,

                Nor sea,

                Nor was there sky and stars.

                There was no sun and moon, nor other heavenly bodies,

                There was only void.

                Yet there was always Lycan, who has been ever powerful and the root

                Of all that is good.



                Always with Lycan was his wife, Lycania.

                With her they shared power and were eternally devoted.

                It was out of love for her husband, and of what could be,

                 That Lycania, with a voice most fair, began to sing.

  

                She sang of stars that would light the universe,

                Of the Sun, warmth giver, to light the skies in glorious rays,

                And the Moon, mother to the stars, giver of light when darkness lay.

                Thus there was born the night and day.



                Lycania had dreamed of a world rich in color, a tapestry of life.

                She sang of mountain and forest, glen and pine, and meadow 

                And of the bounty the land’s soil would endow.

                Trees would bear food for an assortment of creatures,

                Life would flourish from the earth’s gifts,

                On and on, a cycle upon cycle.



                Her voice ebbed and flowed as the water in the brook,

                 That graces every stone.

                She sang of blue seas and water good to drink,

                Flowing among the lands.

                And too she sang of fish and other animals

               That would inhabit the waters.

                 

                Lycania’s song wove many other creatures,

                Of land,

                Of sea,

                Of sky,

                All these creatures her eyes had dreamed and voice brought to light,

                She sang them beauty and scope,

                To her Eternal Lord, who would give them life.



                Lycania’s final verses were of the Lyconian race,

                For she had made them most in Their light,

                She sang of their strength, and valor bright.

                Their potential for good, and honor great.

                They would rule this world in mortal flesh,

                And guard it safe,

                And goodness would come of them.



                Thus sang Lycania, maiden of the golden words,

                Her lyre echoing in the void.

                By now every God immortal had gathered to hear,

                And moved were they by her song,

                But none more than Lycan, All Father.

                Stirred by her words,

                Her vision pure,

                His enduring love for her,

                And for His Creation,                     

                Lycan thus carved the world into being.



                From His own flesh, Lycan created the earth,

                A sphere, perfect in form,

                And above the world He set the sky.

                To light His creation, Lycan created the sun out of his burning will.

                He shaped the Moon, Sun’s companion,

                Hope in darkness when the Sun must rest,        
               
                From Lycania’s own grace He drew.

                To the Sun and Moon He gave each other,

                And the Moon bore billions of children,

                These are the stars that surround the world.

                 

                Then from his beard, Lycan World-Maker drew a single hair,

                And placed it on the world he had created.

                From this sprout Hanuiir, the tree of life,

                From which grew all other trees and plants.

                Many bore fruits and things good and wholesome,

                And colors too lined their make.

                True beauty did they partake,

                Bright lit by the Sun.
               


                Lycania’s song, had touched the All Father deep,

                From Him a single tear drop He let fall upon His new world,

                And this tear would fill the world with river, lake, and sea,

                And it would cover the globe, and give life to all creation,

                Just as Lycania’s music stirred within Him the inspiration, to create.

  

                The world made, with water to drink, foods to eat,

                Lycan turned to create living beings.

                Taking up a handful of earth mixed with water,

                Lycan blew it to dust, and what landed formed

                All the creatures of land,

                And sea,

                And sky,

                He made them as all beings, in male and female,

                And they were all beautiful in His sight and the sight of the Gods.

                But most marvelous were the people of Lycan.

               

                Lycan Great, Maker of the World, again took up earth and water,

                And metal,

                For this as well did He make,

                And drawing  His own blood, and Lycania’s, 

                He let these two drops into the mixture,

                And Lycan blew to life a man and woman, their mortal children.



                Thus was born the Lyconian race, and the world we live on.

                And all the Gods after listening and watching agreed,

                It was a masterpiece to behold.



               

            -Lycania’s Song, and the Creation of the World

            (The Lyconian creation myth of their race and their origin world, Lycan)

           

Friday, March 23, 2012

Spring's Early Light

Eric Campos


Sacred meadow, gold and green,
Stretching far as the eye can see.

You tempt me cross, and yet that cannot be,
My mortal steps would surely trample thee.


And so I just stand,
I watch,
I soak you in from afar.


I gain joy in my heart,
It is a beautiful sight,
And yet, I know,
With winter it shall depart.


And that is what makes it a vision greater.


Saturday, January 21, 2012

Finding Home

          Going to school far from home has certainly been an experience. Up in Baltimore I’m more or less on my own- I have friends- but the family is split in Pennsylvania and Georgia. The majority of Loyola’s New York and New Jersey student body are more or less in their element, they have easy access to home while I’m one of the only ‘Johnny Rebs’ on campus. It was certainly a change freshmen year, but truth be told, it was a smooth adjustment.  I love Baltimore, but this doesn’t change the fact that sometimes I miss the old homestead, the family, and friends, and sights, and just feel that define what I would call my homeland. This year I left home in early September and didn’t return once until Christmas break. The atmosphere up north is great, I have met new people, encountered new ideas, slowly but surely I am carving my own place in the world. I’ve also learned that spending long lengths of time away from the familiar, kindles a new found respect and reverence for that which the individual returns too. 
                It’s funny. I can remember when I was kid wanting to get away from Ellenwood (the suburban area I live in just south of the city), leave it in the dust as they say. Now, for most of the year I am- and it is now I recognize how my original surroundings were crucial to my initial development. I feel like these past three years more than ever I have recognized my roots in this particular state, this was where by an odd stroke of fate my mother and grandmother ended up living. This is the only state where my Father’s line came to America- making me the first Campos born on American soil. It is a state filled with history and natural beauty, the Georgian wilderness tempting my imagination since I can remember. The culture and genuine warmth the people display here are also what have shaped my own sense of courtesy and respect towards other people.  
                Being from Atlanta has actually become a part of my identity. In a school where the majority responses to “where are you from?” are either Long Island, or Jersey, perhaps the occasional Connecticut or Maryland (yes, not that many Marylanders, but they have a presence)- I’m one of the few that replies with a southern state. Exotic, as this one random upperclassman commented my freshmen year. Yes, I could tell many a story of how… shocked or disappointed (not quite sure) people were/are that I do not possess a very strong southern accent- if any at all.  It makes me unique- or rather adds to my unique presence. Remember to always embrace where you come from, because in some way it helps mold who you are, what you become. Though you as the individual form your being, I feel that this is influenced by the acceptance and/or rejection of your environment and people in your life.
                I’ve certainly had adventures this trip, from my Uncle’s backyard, to the mountains of northern Georgia, to historic Oakland Cemetery. I explored new sites, and experienced shenanigans that shall be remembered always, conjuring laughs and sighs for years to come. It’s the smallest things about home, about those you become closest with, that you really pick up on with time and in reexamination. It’s the funny quirks of individual family members that make you laugh, the general oddness of people that’s really funny- God knows I have had many of those experiences this trip and it’s those moments that really chisel a smile on your face, into your memory, forever. It’s those moments that return people to home, just as much as images of the physical locations.
                There is a fundamental need for Human Beings to have a home, a homeland. The home goes beyond any physical location. People live all over the world, an individual can own several houses, but does that make each of them a home? Or is there a presence of home in each of these houses? The truth is, I believe, that a home more than anything is a house of memories, good, bad, but over all impacting, shaping a person’s life. The home is family. The home is memory.
                It is because of this that I imagine it’s so hard to create a new home when setting out into the world. Though in a way you never leave, because of the memory, the memories survive, and you take those with you. It’s based on those memories that you create new ones, new homes, those are the bricks that truly shape how one lives. Memories can fade of course, whether by sickness or just passing time. In that case one has to look to who they are as an individual, and acknowledge that it was in no small part because of their roots, their home, both the people and the location.
                To find one’s home is to know a part of oneself, in a great sense this is every person’s origin. Of course the higher home for us all is God, in his infinite forms, The Creator. In knowing both of these origins we can learn to better understand the individual person, and the human race, and the divine. To truly find one’s home is to be able to grasp a kind of safety and contentment in yourself as well as the outside world- and of course those who make them all worthwhile.
                Like the Red Road, the home is defined uniquely, we shape it ourselves. Therefore, a home just as with people, is to each its own. In this my dear friends and readers, I invite you to meditate on your own sense of home. Look for the small things, take a walk outside, and if you reach some powerful thought or just want to share your own ideas of home, please do. Remember, the Shield Hall is open.    
                Shifting gears, I would like to take the time to share my love and appreciation to all my family and friends for making this a great return home. You make it so, all of you.