One Play

"Just remember Bobby, one play and your life can change forever."

My father spoke those words tonight, not five minutes ago after we hung up the phone. For the uninitiated, he was referencing the outcome of this past weekend's Iron Bowl when my beloved Auburn Tigers made perhaps the most incredible play in the history of collegiate sports to defeat The University of Alabama in one of the wildest games in recent memory. Behold the glory below and I dare you to disagree.

The Play

The Aftermath

Regardless of your affiliation with collegiate sports, everyone can appreciate that it is simply an amazing play and one that has flooded my home state of Alabama with tears of both sorrow and joy (depending on your team loyalties of course). My father referenced this play and the consequences of its outcome for a very specific reason. You see, I planned on calling him this evening with the news that I had been laid off from my job, an unfortunate routine that I have become accustomed to after once again finding myself employed at yet another dismal company. I thought that today would be my last day, I truly did, that the pink slip would arrive and my familiar seat in the unemployment line would still be warm from my last sojourn there. But I didn't get laid off today, not at all. In fact, my employer has instead chosen to fire my boss and promote me to his position, a decision that was not only unexpected but also unwelcomed. I do not want my boss's job, I never have. And what's more, I don't want to spend another second living a life that (despite being the author of its creation) feels so very alien to me. It is a life bound to the demands of corporate America where the soul of man is ripped from his body to leave but an empty husk behind, and the joy of creation is sacrificed to the gods of mediocrity for yet another meaningless dollar. I do not want this...I do not want this at all.

Instead I want to create. I want to use my words to inspire readers with some measure of passion that filled the seats of Jordan-Hare on that November night as the cheers from a hundred thousand soaring voices rose like smoke into the cold air and set the sky aflame. I want it more than anything and, what's more, I am finally prepared to make the sacrifices to attain it. I must become a writer, for all other paths lead only to despair.

One play, one glorious, unbelievable, and perhaps even predestined play changed that young man's life forever and with it launched him into the annals of lore and legend. It was a single moment in his life like so many others, yet its consequences will be far reaching and profound. A single misstep, the decision to cut right instead of left or hesitate just a second longer would have cost him his chance at immortality and with it doomed the hopes of every Auburn fan who watched the impossible unfold. Life is always like that. The choices we make each day cast waves of chance and fortune far into the future, through years that we cannot yet imagine and with people we have not yet met. After years of quiet reflection coupled with moments of sheer exuberance in discovering my one true passion, I finally understand what I must do with my life and why I am called to do it. So I will tell my stories, just as I am doing now, and I will write them only for you, just as I always have....and perhaps in doing so I may finally find the peace that so many of us seek, but which so few ever find.

Colder Weather

Four men sit idle around a campfire, the flames' iridescent glow casting dancing shadows across faces that neither twitch nor stir. Their stares remains fixed, their focus deliberate. A single purpose has drawn them deep into the wilderness to momentarily escape the respective lives that choice and circumstance have hewn from the slab of fortune: the doctor, the lawman, the preacher, and the wanderer...all have abandoned their titles this night to adopt the simple monikers that allow even kings to reclaim their identity.

It is for the camaraderie that they have gathered together, to hearken back to the glories of former days, when the burden of age yielded to the caprice of their tempestuous youth. With gleeful exuberance they recount their childhood tales, aided by the half-empty bottle of "Old No. 7" that both clouds and guides their memory. No matter, for as tales grow larger so too do their smiles, the unmistakable hallmark of time well spent with friends. Long into the night they fill the forest with laughter, merrily singing a ballad of days of old.

In time the unattended flames slowly die and the men retire for the evening. As one fire retreats back into the earth, another crests the morning horizon to welcome the dawn of a new day. The four men rise early and bid their farewells before returning to the lives that for a single evening had been left behind. The doctor will return to his wife and the preacher to his, while the lawman also has a girl that awaits his arrival. But what of the wanderer, the man who lingers long after the others have departed? He stands idle beside the highway, looking south towards Atlanta, then turning north to gaze down winding roads that climb the Appalachian mountains and disappear far into the distance. He wants to follow that latter trail, to tread its steps into an unfamiliar land of ice and snow where all the world is but a stranger, save for that one face...the face his misses dearly, the face that still haunts his memory every day. 

In resignation he begins southward, glancing over his shoulder with every step to imagine a life that might have been.

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I needed to escape last weekend. For two days and nights I camped in the Appalachian mountains with three of my oldest and dearest friends. Each of these men I have known for some twenty years and each is a brother to me. I needed to spend time with them to forget about the reality of my situation, how I am about to lose yet another job to the fickle whims of fate, how I don't have a plan of what to do next. I needed to forget about those things and focus instead on what is actually important in my life and what it is I actually want out of it. Of all the paths that I might take and all the possibilities contained therein, there are only two things that I actually desire. The first is to become an accomplished writer, and to that end I am pouring my soul into completing a project that has been years in the making. My second desire is for a woman I so foolishly cast aside. Somewhere over the mountains she resides, far from my southern home where the snows of winter are just beginning to fall. Of my two desires, one I have complete control over while the other I have none. Instead I have only hope, a misguided, undirected, and undeniably foolish hope that one day the woman I abandoned will return, and with her a love such as I have never known before or since.

The skies over Boston grow cold as winter approaches, yet it is only a soothing warmth that I still remember.

Snow Globe

She dances in a snow globe, her hands twirling the midnight air into a cocoon of icy flakes that surround her body. They settle on her face and disappear in tiny droplets that capture the streetlight's glow and frame her smile in a thousand points of light unrivaled by even the starry night above. Faster and faster she twirls with outstretched arms and a gaze that is cast skywards. She smiles. She laughs. And then she stops.

"Join me," she says as two mittened hands welcome me to the dance.

I take her hands and feel their warmth instantly. She spins within the frigid air, never letting me go as she draws closer and closer, until finally she spins into my arms which wrap tightly around her body and replace the icy cocoon she has now shed.

"Kiss me," she whispers. And I do. I was happy, if only for a moment.

She spins away to continue the dance but as soon as her fingertips slip from my own  the snow globe is shaken and nature's fury overcomes us. A wall of white surrounds me as snowflakes dash unimpeded before my eyes and blind me to the world. I shield my face with one hand while the other blindly gropes through the storm, hoping to touch the familiar face that comforted me with a smile so tender just a moment before.

In the distance I can just make out a figure before me, twirling faster and faster so that her outline becomes a shadowy haze. I run towards her but the shadow is consumed by the storm and surrenders itself to the unforgiving winds. Her familiar face, once the most radiant light in my world, grows fainter still, until finally she disappears into a storm of my own creation, lost forever behind the icy curtain.

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Only once have my words failed me. Only once have I been rendered mute by the realization that there is nothing left to say. No more words of fidelity, no more recollections of intimacies shared, no more pleas for forgiveness will ever bring her back. This had only happened to me once before, until it happened twice.

The happiest moment of my life was a single night in Boston. We waited in the frigid air for a bus that would take us home, a night not unlike countless others that was suddenly made magical by the snows that came at a most unexpected hour. At midnight, countless snowflakes covered everything in a blanket of white and framed a single Boston neighborhood in a mural made only for our eyes. The streets were quiet, the sidewalks empty. We were alone in that moment, the only one I can ever recall where everything was truly right with the world. You kissed me and seared into my heart a memory that will never be forgotten. 

The happiest moment of my life...and I never even told you.

A Decade Spent with You: Part 3 of 3

Age 28: I am finally ready to admit to myself that which has been brewing in my heart for several years. Conflicting thoughts have held my tongue in check for fear of my secret being discovered and the undeserved ridicule I would surely face. Yet no longer can I deny my identity. No longer can I hide who I am. The man who once considered going into ministry, who attended every worship service with earnest enthusiasm and would speak to anyone about his love for Jesus now had to face a stark reality: I am an atheist.

A detailed discussion of my unbelief is given in a series of posts on the very blog. A stranger happened upon a post where I initially professed my disbelief and he challenged me to defend my position. I laid out the reasons why I found Christianity and Theism to be problematic and devoid of explanatory power and systematically pointed out the flaws within oft cited apologetic arguments. The individual who originally challenged me was not satisfied with my response and implied that it must have been through a cursory study of apologetics that I fell away as any serious reflection would certainly lead the rational man to accept Christianity. While I disagree with this statement on numerous points, my staunchest objection is directed towards the egregious claim that my supposed lack of serious desire to discover truth ultimately caused my apostasy. To that claim I can only shake my head. Christianity was my life. Jesus was my life. Every action I took, every word I uttered, every thought I had was in some way weighed against a higher standard that I was trying to match. Everything about who I was as person was viewed through the lens of Christianity, as was everything I understood about the world around me. It was a sad day for me indeed when I learned that this lens was out of focus and everything I believed in had been a lie. Breaking free from Christianity was a giant step for me and helped define my identity not as a faithful follower, but as free thinker. It is an identity I now embrace and a path I shall never stray from.

After three years together I ended my relationship with Ornela, a decision I am as unsure about now as I was then. Ornela is the kindest woman I have ever known, and the most beautiful. She restored my faith in people after my heart had been broken and I will forever love her. My reason for ending our relationship is the one thing that I will not discuss here, but I regrettably confess that my devils won out over my better half. I am at fault for what happened between us and my weaknesses are why we are no longer together. Had it not been for my insecurities she would be my wife today, of that I am sure. I am sorry that I kept you all to myself for three years Ornela and I hope that you forgive me. I miss you terribly.

Age 29: Through a series of resignations at Prudential, the company decided to close the Birmingham office and gave me two choices: Continue to work in my current position and relocate to Atlanta or accept a generous severance package and concede that my employment would be terminated. While my decision to stay with the company should have been an easy one considering my previous stretches of long unemployment, I had already received a written warning earlier in the year about my job performance and suspected that the company had already made the decision to terminate my employment regardless of my decision. For this reason I elected to accept the severance package and was let go. My decision to leave was also made easier by the fact that I intended to use my newfound freedom to finish my novel and move back to DC to reclaim a period of my life I always felt had ended prematurely. In January of 2013 I again packed my world into my car and drove north to begin again in DC. Thoughts of all the new people I would meet, the political scene that I desired to be a part of, and finally finding a fulfilling career flooded my mind and made me grateful for the opportunity to have a second chance at the life I had so long ago left behind. 

Unfortunately, my excitement was short-lived. The high cost of living quickly drained my savings and rather than receiving the numerous job offers that I expected to herald my arrival into our nation's Capital I found that I had no luck even securing an interview. What's more, the magic, that special feeling of hope and opportunity I felt when first I had arrived in DC nearly five years earlier had vanished. Instead the city felt quite pedestrian and any sense of wonderment I expected to find had long sense disappeared. I had made the mistake of trying to relive my past, and in doing so was derailing my future. After four months of frustration I made the difficult decision to return south and settled in Atlanta, GA where I currently reside. My job prospects immediately improved and after only a few weeks of searching I found a job with a startup company in the natural gas industry. After only a month on the job, I feel it is too early to comment on how this most recent foray into the working world will end, but my past has clearly shown me to be a man of shallow roots.

Today...Age 30: So where do I go from here? My small business now has several more properties and is continuing to grow. With proper management I am confident that over the next decade I will be financially free and can devote myself fully to writing. I still have not finished my novel, but am beginning my work again with renewed vigor as it only has a few chapters left to be written. After it is complete, I already have several ideas for my next novel, one in particular that is terribly blasphemous but highly marketable.

I have learned a few things about myself over the past decade as well. Your twenties are perhaps the best time in your life for self-discovery. While the world considers you an adult, it is very easy to feel very much like a child who is still trying to figure out what to do. I learned that the path I am on now is very different from the one I had mapped out for myself only ten years ago. At that time I thought I would be nearly retired at thirty, with a wife, two children, and a home somewhere in the suburbs. The reality is that I have none of those things. But what I do have is a greater understanding of myself and the wisdom that comes with age. I now know that I will likely never settle down, that I am instead made in the mold of rustlers in the Wild West who roam from town to town with no clear destination in mind. In the past ten years I have lived in eight different cities (some multiple times) and twelve different apartments, not counting all the times I have been forced to move back to Dothan. In the past year alone I have lived in four different cities and as many apartments, which frightens me more than anything else. A girl I once dated in Birmingham told me that I am a rolling stone, a rustler of sorts whose gaze is ever set on the horizon, and I suppose she is right. Whether by circumstance or unconscious determination I am bound to pull up roots and search for greener pastures when the patch of ground I am on begins to brown. It is the man I am, and I must accept that.

But still, I do wonder about what path my life might have taken had things turned out differently with the women I once loved. If Martha Jean had not strayed or if my embrace of Ornela had been just a bit tighter, would I be married to either of these women today? Would we have a house in some small town, a family even? I simply do not know, nor do I wish to tarry about such hypotheticals as they are sure to bring only regret. I do know one thing though. These two women were the only ones whom I ever loved, the only ones who could quicken my pulse with only the slightest gaze and finally still my wanderlust. If ever I should meet either again someday I do wonder what I might say, or even if I could say anything at all. Perhaps in another ten years I will have my answer, when I may by then have finally found what I am looking for.

A Decade Spent with You: Part 2 of 3

Age 24: My second year of grad school began much like the first ended: classes began in earnest, football season arrived, and I welcomed Martha Jean back from a study abroad trip she had taken to Europe that summer. While on this trip she posted some pictures on Facebook that showed her with her former boyfriend, who had apparently flown all the way from Seattle, Washington to see her in England. At the time I was unnerved by this turn of events as their relationship was something I thought had ended long ago, yet she assured me that it was nothing to worry about and that she cared only for me. But I felt as if my trust had been betrayed, especially considering that before the summer break she had confessed another visit by this man where the two even became intimate. I started to pull away after the second indiscretion and was confused as to why she would want to spend time with her former boyfriend when she claimed to have feelings only for me. The next few months were rocky until one evening in October when during dinner together she confessed that she was seeing someone else. Strangely enough, it was not even her former boyfriend but a different man altogether. I was very hurt by this revelation, very hurt indeed. In the ensuing months, I spent a good deal of time reflecting on the series of events that led to our break up and realized that she never really cared for me at all. I was merely a placeholder, a trinket to be discarded as soon as someone better came along. My mistake was in loving a girl without finding the words to tell her, while hers was telling a man she loved him without ever truly meaning it. She needed me for companionship as she was still hurting from a previous relationship and I can understand that, even forgive it. But she hurt me very deeply, deeper than anyone before or since and I will carry that scar for the rest of my life.

Age 25: After graduation I was offered a job with a real estate development company in Washington DC and decided to move north. DC was my first experience living in a big city and, despite my initial fears, I quickly fell in love with my new home. I was fortunate enough to have several friends who also moved to DC after graduation and we spent nearly all of our Friday and Saturday nights out on the town. Several women entered my life at this time too. I dated most very briefly, always excited to meet someone new and put my past behind me. While I went on many enjoyable dates, no woman ever captured my heart until I met the most beautiful woman I had ever seen: Ornela. I was instantly smitten with this dark-haired beauty whose olive complexion and welcoming eyes drew me in so effortlessly. She was an immigrant and had moved to America with her family from Albania when she was still a young girl, around the time the war in Kosovo was raging and madmen ruled her country. Without knowing a word of English, she arrived on our shores and quickly began assimilating into American culture as she and her family worked hard for a better life. I was enthralled by her story and could listen to her speak for hours, each word from her lips garnering more respect from me as I found myself quickly drawn to this woman's perseverance and humility. I asked her to teach me a few words in Albanian and did my best to remember the lessons she gave, but truthfully I was a terrible student. Months later in our relationship I would surprise her with words she had never taught me but which I learned to say: "Te dua" which means "I love you"...and I truly did.

My time in DC ended abruptly. The company I was working for was caught up in a scheme that defrauded investors out of $350 million and the owner fled the US to return to his home country of Yemen. Without any income, I was forced to leave DC and returned to Alabama where my parents let me stay with them until I could find another job. So began one of the worst periods of my life, a time where hopelessness abounded and the prospect that my situation could ever get better seemed impossible.

Age 26: Fifteen months....for fifteen months I looked for work without success. Every day consisted of the same routine: Get up, apply for jobs online, eat lunch, apply for more jobs online, go to bed, repeat. The toll that such rejection takes on a man's sense of self-worth after so many months is incalculable, but my trials were made easier by the continual encouragement that my love back in DC offered. For reasons I did not fully understand, my relationship with Ornela continued to flourish as we spoke on the phone nearly every day and made plans to see one another as often as possible. Despite being some 900 miles apart, we decided that the distance between us was simply a minor obstacle to overcome and mutually agreed to see where things developed. Ornela was a rock to me during this time in my life, offering kind words of reassurance and a generous ear, and for that I will be eternally grateful.

Finally, after those long fifteen months had passed, I was offered a job in Houston, TX. The job was with a company I had never heard of, in a field I knew nothing about, and the pay was abysmal. Naturally, I jumped at the opportunity. I packed my world into my car and drove 600 miles west to begin a new life as a genuine Texan, a place I hoped would welcome me with open arms. Yet only three months into that job I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. Desperation for a job, any job, had caused me to accept a position that I was miserable in. With a horribly bruised pride, I resigned from the job and moved back to Alabama, where I pulled what meager funds I had out of my bank account and started my own business. I founded a real estate investment company and bought a small residential property to rent out. After a month of cleaning and repairs I put a "For Rent" sign in the yard and found my first tenant. My career in real estate had finally begun.

Age 27: Despite owning a small business, I found that the meager profit it afforded me was far too small to live on. I needed to return to work. After a few months of searching, I found a job with Prudential in Birmingham, AL. Birmingham was a city that I always thought about relocating to and after living in both DC and Houston I was happy to call Alabama home for a while. The job was easy enough and my two bosses were very kind to me, so much so that in many ways I considered them to be my friends. I used the money I earned in my job to continually buy more investment properties so that every few months it was time for a new purchase. My father and I would ride around Dothan in his old, beat up suburban and look for houses around town to buy, all while talking about future riches and how one day we would both be free of financial worries. These are some of the best memories I have with him as we found something that we are both equally passionate about. I will cherish those simple moments always.

My job was a way to make money and my small business offered the prospect of one day becoming financially independent, but neither of these things was my passion. My true passion is and always has been writing, and I decided that the time had come to try my hand at becoming a professional author. The idea of writing a novel has always appealed to me so I began brainstorming on what sort of world I would like to create within the pages of my book. After several months of jotting plot ideas on scraps of paper and daydreaming about the characters I would give life to, I finally created a full outline of a fantasy novel that I would begin writing. It pulled from many experiences within my own life with some of the people mentioned in this confession taking active roles. I spent several hours after work each day and entire weekends crafting a story that for me has no rival, if only because it is in so many ways my own. But I am a slow writer, and the work drags on far longer than I expected. Yet still I continue writing, finding that my mind is retreating further into a world of its own creation and discovering pearls of wisdom simply waiting to be found.

A Decade Spent with You: Part 1 of 3

Today I bid farewell to my youth. When the first rays of the morning sun shone into my apartment this morning, they revealed not the carefree child of yesteryear that I once was, but a man in his thirties whose reluctance to accept this milestone is now irrelevant. My twenties are over, and with them pass forever into the annals of my life the seminal events that have helped shape who I am today. I feel as if I have passed through a closed door, where the trials and triumphs that have been left on the other side can never be revisited or relived. Only remembered, while the lessons they have taught me will hopefully be of some benefit.


As the events of my twenties now pass forever out of my grasp, I have decided to do something that hitherto seemed unthinkable. I have decided to offer a full confession of the people and places constituting this past decade that every other post I have written has only alluded to. In doing so, I hope to provide myself a comfort in years to come when the burden of old age has caused my memory to falter. Perhaps prudence should bid me to abandon such folly and use more discretion, but I am emboldened by the anonymity that indifference provides, both in myself and others. Now then, let's take a stroll through memory lane...


Age 20: My twentieth birthday found me surrounded by friends, albeit not at some festive party but rather studying together for a Calculus test to be given the following day. I was with my friends from childhood: Simon, Jonathan, David, and of course my brother Scott. These men helped make my teenage years joyous ones and I was happy enough to spend my birthday with them, regardless of the circumstances. Several months later when I returned to school at Auburn, I continued my routine of being actively involved with Auburn Christian Fellowship, a student ministry that essentially defined my collegiate years. I went to Juarez, Mexico that year on a mission trip with ACF and remember it as being one of the most joyous times in my life. My first year into this decade started off well.


Age 21: Unlike most of my peers who inaugurate their arrival into the land of legal imbibing by remembering as little of it as possible, I gave no special importance to turning twenty-one. Drinking never had much appeal to me and I spent most of this year continuing my involvement with Auburn Christian Fellowship and reflecting upon which path I would take after graduation. After switching from a Business major to Psychology/Religious Studies a year earlier, I wondered if a life in ministry was my calling. I loved counseling people and always seemed to have a knack for telling stories so it seemed to be a good fit. For reasons I cannot fully explain, however, I abandoned this pursuit and decided to follow in my father's footsteps of trying my hand at investing in real estate. I would worry about finding a job after graduation, as until this moment career planning was not something I ever considered. This lack of preparation would haunt me for the next nine years.


Age: 22: Graduation from Auburn came shortly after reaching this milestone, as did a quick dose of reality. Despite my best efforts at finding work, the job market was not too welcoming for a twenty-two year old kid with only a Psychology degree and no experience. My father helped me get a job at a J.C. Penney's store in my hometown of Dothan, AL as he was friends with the manager. The job paid $6.00/hr and consisted of arriving at the store warehouse at 6:00 A.M. to begin unloading pallets of merchandise from a tractor trailer. My fellow employees all had very different backgrounds than myself. Most were single mothers or high school drop outs whose only means of securing employment was to trade whatever meager skills they had for an equally meager paycheck. Surprisingly though, they were regularly in good spirits and I found their camaraderie refreshing. However, after four months of working in manual labor I knew that I had to do something to improve my situation. I found an advertisement in my local newspaper for an internship with the Alabama House of Representatives that seemed more desirable than my current position so I decided to apply. Within a few weeks I had gone through the interview process and was selected to begin working at the Alabama State House with legislators throughout the state. I moved from Dothan back to Auburn where I commuted to Montgomery (the Capital city) everyday and considered myself fortunate that my luck seemed to be turning. It was also at this time that I met Jessica, a beautiful college freshman whose brown eyes and flowing sandy-colored hair quickly captured my heart. We dated for just a few months, until she found someone else and ended our relationship on the steps of Samford Hall. This was my first heartbreak, a feeling which seemed both strange in its rapidity and severity, like being stabbed and watching your attacker run away. Despite getting back together a few months later, things eventually fizzled out and we lost touch, a pattern that would repeat itself frequently over the years with many other women.


Age 23: As the conclusion of my internship with the Alabama Legislature was fast approaching, I had to decide what to do afterwards. Since I had always wanted to start my own real estate business, I decided to attain my MBA and was selected into The University of Alabama's program. Graduate School was never something that I had intended to undertake but I was quickly learning that life is about improvising and making the best decision given your current situation. I reasoned that an MBA would give me the best possible career opportunities and was happy to be back in school again. It was during a party in November of my Fall semester that I met a girl who would have a profound impact upon my life. Her name was Martha Jean, a name I have never mentioned throughout my entire journal and have been very careful to avoid. Even writing her name now causes me pain. She was a twenty year old undergrad, very buxom with a mane of wild blonde hair and an infectious smile I can see even now. We became very close over the next few months, spending nearly all of our time outside of class together with many nights of companionship that can be left to your imagination. To be with her was like looking into a mirror, for I could see myself in her in a way that I had never experienced with anyone before. She was so very smart, with a mind that kept me enthralled and the wherewithal to continually challenge me. She challenged me to think deeply and I loved her for it. She was the first girl I ever fell in love with, and I never even told her...

The Gold Coin

In a land far over the horizon there was once a wealthy landowner whose estate stretched far and wide. So great were his lands that it was said a man could begin walking from one end as a boy and not reach the other side until old age and a broken body had consumed him. One day the master of this estate gathered all his slaves around him, telling them that for their years of hard work and diligence tending his fields he had a special surprise for them. He had hidden a collection of treasures throughout his fields that were buried beneath the soil, each awaiting to be discovered and kept as his own by the man who found them. 

"What treasures await us, oh kind and generous master?" the slaves asked in excitement.

"Only what you deserve," he replied. "For I have buried treasures ranging from great to small in my fields, their allotment granted only to the man who is worthy of them. But one treasure stands out among the rest. A single gold coin is buried somewhere beneath the hardened earth. To the slave who finds this coin I will grant him his freedom, that he may come and go as he pleases throughout my lands."  

The master instructed the slaves that they could spend as much time searching the fields for whatever treasure they wished, but once they had found an item that suited them and brought it back to the master's house they could no longer return to the fields for another. When the first rays of the morning sun crested the horizon the slaves scattered like locusts into the field. Very soon the cries of jubilation echoed throughout the lands as slaves began digging simple trinkets and wooden toys that their children might play with from the earth. These treasures were found close to the master's estate, barely a stone's throw from where their journey had begun and were so numerous that to place one's hands into the soil was to find a new trinket. The slaves that found these treasures contented themselves with their discovery and hurried back to their master's house to secure their prize.

"Look what we have found, oh generous master!" they proclaimed, each holding their prizes high above their heads as they vied for their master's attention.

"Are you satisfied with your lot?" he asked. "For you know that once you have claimed a treasure you may not return for another."

"Yes," they shouted in unison, holding their prizes tight against their chests like a recent mother cradling her newborn child.

Their master nodded and pointed his bejeweled fingers towards a nearby patio filled with fountains that flowed violet with gifts of the vine. "Then take your prize to my covered patio that overlooks the fields, where you may delight in the cool breezes and shaded terraces, and enjoy your treasure for the rest of the day in leisure." With excitement the slaves retreated to the patio where the allure of indulgence awaited.

At noon the sun adopted its perennial amber glow as it rose high into the sky while more slaves returned to their master's house with treasures of various sorts. Some held small pouches of copper pennies darkened further by muddied soil. Others found fine raiment of silken and violet design that they twirled about their bodies so that they seemed to be encased by lilacs. The further from their master's house they dared to venture, the more precious their treasures became, such that those who had first returned with their simple trinkets earlier in the day began to grow jealous. Not wanting others' contentment to exceed their own, they taunted those still in the fields, that they might abandon their pursuit of riches to join their fellow slaves in the cool shade of the patio. One man in particular who had wandered furthest away from his master's house soon became the subject of endless taunts at the hands of these jealous slaves. 

"You toil for some better prize out in the hot fields while we relax in splendid luxury!" they proclaimed, their laughter riding the taunting winds that streamed from the patio to fill the ears of the target of their jest. "Come now, abandon your pursuit and accept what meager treasure you have found so that you may join us in the cool shade that our master has offered."

"Your offer is tempting," the man far away in the fields shouted back. "But my heart is set not on meager treasures that will be forgotten tomorrow, but on the gold coin that our master has graciously given me the opportunity to find. With that coin I will cast off my shackles of slavery, for it is my freedom that I intend to find this day."

At his declaration the other slaves erupted in uproarious laughter. "Do you not see how great the fields are, such that they seem to stretch from one end of earth to the other. And you, who are but one man, thinks he can taunt the gods by daring to proclaim his fate undecided. Why not abandon this folly and join us in the cool shade that our master offers as the slave's only consolation. Will you not enjoy your temporary respite? Would you not then be happy, if only for a day?" 

Beads of sweat dripped from the man's brow and fell onto his muddied hands that dug steadily through the dirt. He paused, pulled his hands from the soil and rose from his knees so that his lanky frame cast a long shadow all the way from the horizon back to the master's house far in the distance.

"Perhaps you are right," he conceded, wiping away the sweat that stung his eyes. "Perhaps it is the lot of a slave to accept his life of toil and simply be thankful for a benevolent master's offerings of temporal pleasures. But as I live, I will find that gold coin and declare myself a free man this very day, while tomorrow you will still be slaves." Without further acknowledgement, the man continued his pursuit without cessation, with thoughts of freedom as his only companion.

In the heat of the afternoon sun his fingers began to crack as dried mud and clay clung to them and opened raw fissures within his skin. His back became stiff and sore, the pain increasing with every bend to the ground as his search labored throughout the day. Along the way he happened upon inferior treasures of various sorts, large sacks of copper pennies worth a day's wage or beautifully woven scarves and handkerchiefs that he imagined would adorn his beautiful wife in grace and honor. Yet as soon as these thoughts invaded his mind they would be quickly cast aside as he feared any distraction, no matter how minute, would lead him astray. Neither riches, nor comforts, nor even a woman's devotion were as precious to him as his heart's true desire: Freedom, that most elusive and greatest of treasures.

By twilight the fields had grown quiet. The last of the slaves had retired for the evening into the welcoming delights of the patio where sweetmeats and the offerings of the vine still flowed freely. Laughter and merriment filled the air as each slave brandished his treasure in an effort to both disparage and impress his fellow companions. Their carousing rode the unimpeded winds far out into the fields where it happened upon the ears of one last slave whose day's labor was not yet at an end. No laughter filled his heart, nor even had offerings of the clouds mercifully graced his lips as they grew anxious for a drop of wine that other slaves imbibed so freely. Instead, his steps were slow and his breathing labored as he trudged wearily forward in waning anticipation. Around him lay endless treasures that bore testament to his long hours of struggle and defeat. Pennies were scattered far and wide so that in the setting sun a reflection of the stars above seemed to glisten underfoot. Beautiful statues of ivory and onyx, half-covered with dirt as they had been torn from the countryside, decorated the landscape while lamps of shimmering gold were tossed aside and lay upturned in neglected earthen mounds. All these riches followed a path to the man who, while still on hand and knees, tore apart the ground to the neglect of his bloodied fingers that laid testament to his devotion towards a single purpose. Caught between the crimson skies above and the rivers of bloodied soil below, his eyes glistened with a fiery red hue that men of all ages have been quick to ascribe to the gaze of some ravenous beast.

The man plunged his hand again into the unforgiving soil, expecting to withdraw yet another fistful of worthless sand, when he felt his fingers grace a smooth surface whose corners were without end. His hand clamped tightly around the familiar object before his clenched fist thrust skyward, flinging sand and dirt high into the air in a display that rivaled even the great Vesuvius. In the waning light of that crimson orb retreating beneath the horizon, the man slowly opened his fist to see a familiar golden smile, wider and more excited than ever he had seen throughout his days.   

"Well done my good and faithful servant," a deep voice proclaimed, startling the man so that he quickly turned around to discover its source. From shadows dark as night that began just at the edge of the field his master emerged, dressed in long robes of violet silk that accentuated his splendor. He walked towards the man, seemingly expectant as the outline of his upturned lips was just visible from beneath his bearded face. 

"Here I have waited, from dawn until this very hour," the master began. "that one of my slaves may indeed possess the fortitude to see my challenge through and claim his freedom. Yet in all that time, not one slave has come to search out my coin and take it upon himself to cast off the shackles that confine him. Instead they all wait like dogs before mealtime for me to grant them their freedom, dreaming in idle sloth about the day their toil will be at an end. But when the opportunity arrives to end their struggle, most abandon this pursuit as soon as it has begun, choosing instead a life of temporal pleasures that to the unwise seems easiest of all." From the quiet stillness of his fields he looked upon the lights of his distant manor, watching the dark silhouettes of slaves dithering to and fro in drunken stupors like shadows upon cave walls.

"To those whose fear of falling causes them to lean against their prison bars, a lifetime of self-imposed drudgery awaits, the price of ignorance which exacts its hefty toll." The old master placed his hand upon his servant's shoulder, smiling at him with pride as a father delighting in the achievements of his son. "Yet you alone have chosen a different path. Through careful reflection you have discerned that true joy is found only in freedom, and that to possess that freedom no burden, no matter how great, is too heavy. You have attained your freedom not through reliance on the gods or the capricious whims of those men thought to possess it, but through toil and sweat and your own determination. You have gifted yourself with freedom, and because of that have bestowed a treasure upon yourself that no man can take away."

He extended his open hand as the servant placed the gold coin within it. The two men walked back to the manor not as master and slave or even father and son, but as equals, the privilege all free men enjoy in delighting in that sacred treasure that no man, once relinquished, can ever regain, nor any man, once discovered, can ever lose.

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I will explain my reasons for writing this story on July 16, 2013.