Dear Penelope,

This journey was a mistake.
Undertaken for a noble cause,
a heroic deed,
in truth, it was undertaken out of vanity.
What I have lost on its course
surely outweighs my gain.
Shipwrecks and misadventures
have stolen from me years, my claim
to your love, that in the interim
by rights may have graced another man.
It is with that thought my hands do shake.

I'm returning to you now as the man you needed then,
but I cannot help but wonder, am I too late?



. . .

The story of Odysseus and his quest to return to Penelope in Homer's Odyssey captures the drama of one of life's most enduring lessons: appreciate something before it is gone, because once it is, it may be too late.

Warrior's Oath

Lay me low so I may rise again, but while you’re laying waste remember; each new day finds its beginning from another’s end, the sun rises and at its height descends. Lay me low so I may find my roots. For when I fly at this height the Earth is so small and the sun so bright that it melts the wax and I plummet back to what I left. Lay me low so I may win glory. For joy is not in the destination, but the journey. Burn me into the dust, then from old ashes I’ll rise, finding new life. . . . This is a poem I wrote when thinking about what it means to find victory from defeat and the value of humility. I wrote it five years ago and it has become a personal mantra of sorts. From every experience, good or bad, there is a lesson to be learned, and in doing so an individual will never truly know defeat if they use that knowledge to grow. 

A Soldier's Pack

Seven years ago I picked up Steven Pressfield's narrative rendition of Alexander the Great's conquests, entitled Virtues of War, and was completely hooked by his extraordinary attention to detail. In the novel Pressfield demonstrated his vast knowledge of the people, places, and most importantly, the spirit of those ancient times.

When he released Virtue's sequel The Afghan Campaign two years later it was evident his passion for detail hadn't dimmed in the least.

Over all these years, a passage written in that book, by Pressfield's character personae Stephanos of Aegae, has stuck with me. The passage is a poem, which is beautiful in its fierce simplicity and genuineness. The poem reads:

Experience has taught the soldier how to
pack his pannier, with the stuff he needs most
near the top, where he can get at it. In the outer pockets
he stows his onions and garlic, sealed tight so they don't
stink up the weather kit and half-fleece on the other side.
At the bottom, deep inside, he stashes those items that must
at all costs be protected, against dust, against being
dropped, against all elements. There, in the doeskin
you gave me, I keep your letters, my darling wife.

Contents of The Afghan Campaign All rights reserved Steven Pressfield 2006.

Dear Alexander,

Like you I battled the Persians on Bactrian plains, to me wild Afghanistan bared its unruly head, leagues I have crossed to march on the Punjab. Entire legions have bent their knees to me, kings beyond count have paid homage to my crown. In the land of Egypt I was declared a god, and yet, still rugged Macedon I call home. Alexander, I wrote to tell you that today I became a man. For all the wars I have waged, there was but one battle left to win. In the looking glass I gazed and struck down the only enemy I have ever truly had.