The fighters had met before. The are often at odds. They know they need each other, but just cant seem to agree on much. One fighter is clad in all gray. He is older and has wrinkles that seem to plunge into the depths. He is logical, calculating, predictable. However, he has no intuition, no emotion. He is antisocial and really is as likely to fight as run away.
The other fighter is dressed in loose red garments. The wind rustles the clothes and they seem to pulsate. His cheeks are always flushed. He is angry, or excited, or impassioned–no one really knows. When asked why he is flushed, he rarely has an answer. He is young and impulsive.
The fighters circle. The stare at each other. They remember the alternating times of partnership and adversaries. The smile at each other. They begin the battle. They fight, they push and shove, they bite and claw. They want nothing more than to be independent of each other. The battle wages for days. They collapse into each other, panting. They know they can never be totally separate and have come to realize they are never fully alive and real without each other. The one benefits the other. Together they are a whole.
The fighters were my head and heart. I have repeatedly tried to separate them. I tried to live by rational thought alone. I tried to protect my heart with logical and predictable thought. And while there is safety in knowledge, there is no passion. I also have tried to follow my heart, to feel the wide range of emotions. The risk is a broken heart. The flushing of pain.
I arranged the arena. I went to referee and let my head and heart battle. I want to be whole. I want to live connected with myself, my God, and my life. To do that, I need head and heart. My retreat had a secret agenda. I would let them fight to see the strengths of the other. I would let one explore the others’ being. I would let them grow to appreciate the fellowship of the other.
The fighters left: arm in arm.