Getting Rid of the Monsters

Nancy Jane Moore

The founder of Aikido, Morihei Ueshiba O Sensei, is reported to have said, ”True budo [warriorship] is a work of love.“ That’s what this story is about.

Once upon a time, when the people believed they were the chosen, if not of God, then of good fortune and their own personal virtue …

Once upon a time, when the people built the highest walls and the strongest weapons so they would be safe for ever and ever …

Once upon a time, in a time and place long ago and far away, or off in the future and far away, or sometime next week and not far away at all …

Once upon a time, the monsters came.

They leaned on the walls to the city, and the walls buckled. They amassed the energy of stars and destroyed entire planets. They dropped bombs on crowds of people and flew airplanes into buildings.

Children cried out for their parents. Men cursed and women wept. Women cursed and men wept.

The warriors climbed into their chain mail and buckled on their swords …

The warriors climbed into their body armor and checked their lasers …

The warriors buckled on their kevlars and loaded their semi-automatics …

Then they walked out to fight the monsters.

Fear walked with them. Fear never passes up such an opportunity.

Hope did not. Hope knows better.

Courage went as well. The warriors would not have walked out to fight the monsters with Fear and without Hope, had they not had Courage.

They went because someone had to protect the children.

They went because someone had to protect the people.

They went—though they didn’t think about this too much—because someone had to protect the gold and the commerce and the myriad little luxuries that convinced the people they were the chosen of fortune.

They went because if you are a warrior, and the monsters are at the gates, that’s what you do: You buckle on your sword and go fight the monsters.

And they fought.

He fought until the monster crushed the breath out of him, slashing until he breathed his last.

She fought until the laser sliced her from shoulder to hip, taking out one more enemy with a blast even as she fell.

They fought until the improvised explosive device made huge holes in their hearts and lungs and bellies.

Sometimes their deaths gave their people the victory. Sometimes their deaths meant nothing. Sometimes the war was lost but the warriors lived on in human imagination.

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We make many fine things, we human beings. We make statues that inspire us, paintings that haunt us, poems that make us cry. We build towering skyscrapers and houses for our children and factories to make cars and hammers and blouses. We make laws to rule us, to bind us together, to stop us from endless quarrels. We conceive children, raise them, teach them, watch them join us.

We create civilization.

But when the monsters are at the gates, we still send the warriors out to fight.

They go willingly, for the most part, because warriors are people who feel a call to protect others, who do the hard things so that others may have a joyful life, who live for the intensity of those moments where life and death are in the balance.

But in this place and time, when we have become, if not yet wise, at least more knowing, we have learned that good and evil are rarely so easy to distinguish, to separate, to define.

Sometimes the warriors go out to fight the monsters. Sometimes the warriors are fighting for the monsters. And sometimes the monsters turn out to not be quite so monstrous.

Some say that civilized people do not need warriors. But even if we one day become so civilized that we truly love our neighbors as ourselves, we will still face risks and need warriors to protect us. Death balances life.

And in any case, we are in no danger of becoming civilized anytime soon.

We need warriors, but we need warriors who can offer a hand instead of a sword, who will travel out to explore the universe, who can walk into the enemy’s place unarmed instead of bombing it into oblivion.

We need warriors who can look the enemy in the eye and see something more than a monster.

Because, in the end, that’s how you get rid of monsters.

Copyright © 2009 Nancy Jane Moore