Legion

Daniel, sitting on the old bedside cabinet that belonged to his great, great grandfather, exhaled ever so softly as he looked through the old stained wooden window. He was, once again, in the great old loft of treasures. His childhood, the toys, the hide and seek, all there around him. So many memories, so many thoughts and with those thoughts, emotion.

In his hand, rested a small plague that his family, as well as his own Father, adored. He’d read it a hundred times. Maybe, even, a thousand. Each time he’d arrived home from School, then University, it had sat just across from the back door. Like a whispering memory, the words haunted him with understanding, appreciation and so much more.

He smiled, as his gaze moved over the old granny smith apple tree just by the front gate. He closed his eyes, recalling, reminiscing the many, many thoughts. As his eyes opened, he looked at the plague, reading the words one more time.

‘My name is Legion, for we are many’.

Despite loving the words, he deeply adored the meaning or, as far as he knew, the possible meaning. As a child, he’d been the one to run outside at every single opportunity, to bounce around, to play, to explore and yet, he’d also simply wished to understand everything. His ever-young heart, grasping at all and any opportunity to experience the wealth of wonders around every single corner.

He recalled his father, upon a random sun filled day, offering advice. “Danny, your mind will often be confused, directed, pulled, in different directions!” said his father, often with a glorious, little, odd smile across his face. His father loved the fancy tales of intrigue, fancying himself somewhat of a psychologist. He was a good man, a kind man, as well as a valuable role model.

He’d say, “Your fear will say many words, scold, you, hold you in place or ask you to run!”, followed by, “your faith will guide you, push you and make you explore and yet, many of your habits will keep you stuck, never to change, never to learn, never to become something more than you are at that point in time!”

He’d pondered the words. He’d scribed them a fair few times, upon many pages of work and then, just then, he’d finally reached something of a conclusion all those years previous. Each memory, each moment of his, created a flow of thought. Many, many thoughts. Over and over again. A legion, of sorts. Thoughts of faith, thoughts of habit and, of course, the thoughts of fear. Overwhelming, chastising, the habitual circular notions to feed an ego. Scattered, confused, the complete lack of focus clouding his moments.

He’d struggled through the years, seconds of doubt, tears of habit, but his thoughts still arrived back to that plague. He could say that each thought was that of a shepherd, attending to his flock of thoughts, one after another and as long as he seldom allowed a member of his flock to run astray, he would stay strong, stoic, defined, refined and steady. That legion of thought, the hundreds, the thousands per day, all working, pushing, fighting, fending and offending the brief seconds of life they encompassed.

This was why the plague held emotion. This was why, despite selling the house, his old home, the memories remained within him. Once he’d finally realised the message and meaning of the words, his life changed ever so slightly. He could let the thoughts float within his mind, removing their power, their emotion or, when needed, allow his passion and heart to feel every single second. With thought arrived strength or, destruction. His army, the legion of thought.

He returned his view to the plaque and, once again, read the words.

‘My name is Legion, for we are many’.