I should begin by first explaining that "The Land" is both a physical, tangible place that is, and a creative invention of my imagination through which I hope to work out the cherished events of life. Here, on the island of Blogspot, I will address the reality of both enemies and friends coexisting and interacting as they do. If you know me, and you find hints of yourself hidden or not so hidden here among my wanderings then please do not hesitate to ask. It's not my wish to snub anyone. I'll leave that to Hollywood's Oops! program. Just a side note, if you ever make it onto a television series that has long-lasting potential...don't quit. Richard Dean Anderson, aka Angus MacGyver and Jack O'Neill, you're the exception. The Land is a creation I am in the process of completing. And in the world that you and I live, it is a destination, an inheritance, and perhaps a little coastline cottage overlooking the bay of Innisfree. In the world that you and I live, I have yet to fully see that place. As my Faja says, the key is living in the now. Still, it's almost impossible to forget the future and to wonder if it will be anything like you imagine it to be. So, as I said previously, my postings are a means to understanding the greater scheme of things. Or at least an attempt to make sense of the seemingly meaningless, despairing, quirky occasions of the everyday. I invite you to come along with me.

Part of the draw of Sci-Fi for me is the exploration of new worlds. I am an avid follower of SG-1's advetures through the stargate. The intial anticipation of what will be discovered as they collect themselves from an intense molecular redepositing is at its most basic level like a child waking up on Christmas morning. The presents are there, just waiting to be found, examined, torn into. Pardon the cliche. If for you Santa is more of a childhood phantom than a warm distributor of joy then forgive me, once again. Personally, he was sort of hung before he ever made it to trial. I never found the myth of the Clause very appealing. Maybe if he was given a sword and had to battle with angry, flying, Christmas penguins. Do penguins have large tallons? Now that might be interesting. Besides, in my family everyone is accutely aware of where the wealth flows freely. Grandma. And I don't think she minds occupying that status.

Continuing on, there is a quality of the warrior in Samantha Carter, leader of the off-world explorations for SG-1, that I indentify with. She assesses situations quickly and wisely and takes action. Her will to survive and persevere through times of isolation from her team, broken legs and trailing bounty hunters is inspiring. Fighting can get messy, and she fails to realize that with her military skill there is an equal, if not greater, beauty that she possesses. I have come to realize that having the heart of a warrior takes only courage and passion. As long as you operate in those your enemy will eventually weaken and retreat. There is a scene in "The Silmarillion" which depicts the High Elven King Fingolfin and his bold confrontation with Morgoth, Sauron's lord:

But he (Morgoth) could not deny the challenge before the face of his captains; for the rocks rang with the shrill music of Fingolfin's horn, and his voice came keen and clear down into the depths of Angband; and Fingolfin named Morgoth craven and lord of slaves. Therefore Morgoth came, climbing slowly from his subterranean throne, and the rumour of his feet was like thunder underground. And he issued forth clad in black armour; and he stood before the King like a tower, iron-crowned, and his vast shield, sable unblazoned, cast a shadow over him like a stormcloud. But Fingolfin gleamed beneath it as a star; for his mail was overlaid with silver, and his blue shield was set with crystals; and he drew his sword Ringil, that glittered like ice. Then Morgoth hurled aloft Grond, the Hammer of the Underworld, and swung it down like a bolt of thunder. But Fingolfin sprang aside, and Grond rent a mighty pit in the earth, whence smoke and fire darted. Many times Morgoth essayed to smite him, and each time Fingolfin leaped away, as a lightening shoots from under a dark cloud; and he wounded Morgoth with seven wounds, and seven times Morgoth gave a cry of anguish, whereat the hosts of Angband fell upon their faces in dismay, and the cries echoed in the Northlands.