Well, there are all kinds of spirit, and more kinds of spirits. I myself favour whiskey.
The spirit of the age.
A lad of spirit.
A spirited horse.
Spirits and han'ts.
The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.
God-breathed, they once said. The taking in of the Spirit from the very air. The aether, perhaps. I breathe carefully, consciously, so I do think of it. And my dear cousin writes of it, encourages me to think of it. She is good - an angel, and it helps me too, to think of her. Does the spirit with which she is surely filled affect me, make me better, make me the only way I can be? What is it but that spirit that makes me... quarrelsome? Come what may, I will not stand down, and I think of my cousin, and all that one ought to be, that one ought to do, and I can do naught else. Loyalty and courage and standing by what is Right. And if I have gotten into trouble in various places for various shades of that principle, if I have been scorned and questioned, if I have been judged as a cause of violence and chaos, for going too far, for lack of prudence, why that is the reason why. It is for that Spirit, the thought of my cousin's faith in me, her voice in my ear, speaking of all the old high principles. I would make the world as she deserves it, fight against affront, and I myself have nothing, so I can stand for that. And that is what Spirit is to me, the instinct of the Holy Spirit - a source of strength and pride, a justification, and a true one. They say 'justification' now, as if it were an excuse. But sometimes, it is reason. They can ask, "So, you think that justifies it?" As if it does not, but I can hold my head up and take another drink and answer, "Why, yes. Yes I do."
I think often of Spirit too, of the Soul. I will see Wyatt again. I will see Mattie, and my mama, and all those I have cared for. I believe in Heaven, that after we are gone, we will somehow remain. My own spirit, in the sense of essence, of being, is strong. It will not dissipate, waft with my last torn breath into oblivion. We will meet again, and we will remain. Thannie, grown so old, so much older than I ever was, wept for the lost voices of our childhood, the things forgotten, but I hold them tight clenched, and they will not pass, their remnants will linger on. Not as the 'boogers and han'ts' that terrified us as children, but as the best parts of us, the stars we cast into the future, and as what, I do believe, we watch and hold from Heaven.Name: John H. Holliday, DDS.
Word Count: 492.
Please comment if you wish.
Nulli Virtute Secundus
æther radio: Shane