Battle of the Thorn

I love in the Bible when St. Paul refers to the thorn in his side that is always with him - that one problem he's aware of that constantly haunts him... his demon, the skeleton in the closet. Perhaps this isn't the only exegesis, but given that it's been attributed by various authors to everything from mild sickness to regret to far more carnal things, I think it's fair to say that his secret lies with him now until the resurrection of the body allows us to ask.

Of all the writers in the NT, it is Paul with whom I most relate. I, too, have my secret thorn. So long you can keep it, bear it, fight it, and lose. Lose and lose and lose. It never ends, it never stops whispering in your ear or pulling you out into the wilderness to have another go. Unlike Christ I am not offered all power on earth... I'm not offered anything substantative beyond normal human means.

My thorn and I have an interesting relationship. Born in a type of love that has been corrupted, and finally descending into near-madness by constant perversion and twisting, my demon is nearly never exorcised. Always always always it's in my ear, bidding me to fail. I do fail too. There's no doubt who's the stronger... well that's not true, there is a doubt. There is a type of giving in which I have never gone to, a wall of defense that has never been breached. The emeny sallies forth again and again, often breaching the outer perimiter, only to be rebuffed at the last second by shields of faith, arrows of holiness, and an armor provided by God's metallurgists from the oldest and strongest of metals - fate. It comes again even as I type, manifesting in seemingly endless hordes. Comes wave upon wave. Against such reckless hatred, as the King of Rohan noted, what can men do?

Thus far i've done nothing. I've just hidden behind my defenses. Guards of elite demeanor provided by the angels in heaven and not by my own strength of will repulse the onslaught. I try to surrender only to have my angel grab the white flag and say no... the fight will yet be won. God will triumph in the end... just hold the line... just hold the line.

What can I do? What long forgotten arcane tactic will God use to bloster the ranks of the righteous against their enemies both without and the traitor lurker within. The whisper is felt coldly against my will, stinging all of my sensitive spots of the sacred, profaning every altar and temple that I construct.

Back to the battlements for now.