So, when did this start? When was the first time he appeared to you?

My leg shook nervously as I sat on her couch. I had been in therapy since I was a child, and honestly, it has never worked. I didn’t buy into it, how is talking about my feelings supposed to change anything? Words are just words; you speak them and they float out and disappear. Actions though, actions change the world, and I wanted to be someone who changed the world.

Sky, when did he first speak to you?

I didn’t want to answer her. Honestly, I was embarrassed and ashamed to be here, but I had promised my father on his deathbed I’d give it one more go. He was always my biggest supporter, my biggest fan, and my biggest critic. He was a kind and intelligent man, but also was determined and driven and has instilled that in me. Most importantly, he was my best friend. He knew his death would unlock “him” from the dark prison I had been able to secure him in. My father, Thomas Edwards, even on his death bed he was thinking of me.

Skylar, this isn’t going to work if you don’t talk to me.

“I can’t remember,” I say, knowing it is a lie, and she knows it too. My Body English clearly gives it away as my eyes avoid hers, my fingers dig into the arm of the chair, and my knee continues to shake.

Are you sure?

She knows I’m lying, but I stick with the story. She shakes her head and jots something down on her notepad. I feel him growing with my anger inside of me, but I hold it down, I can control him, but there was a time when I thought I wouldn’t be able to. That’s right brought me here in the first place.

Skylar, if we are just going to sit here in silence for the rest of the hour I can think of a better use for both of our times.

She was bluffing, so I called her bluff. “Ok”, I said as I stood up from the couch. The look of shock on her face made a smile grow across mine. Normally I wouldn’t be so crass, but I had to make a statement. I smile at her, adjust my tie and head for the door. Just as my hand touches the doorknob I stop.

I’m frozen with my hand on the knob. I look over my shoulder at her, and I see the genuine concern in her eyes. I may pay her one fifty an hour, but she is still the closest thing I have to a friend and seems to be the only person that cares about anymore. She smiles as I look at her, she has called my bluff to her bluff.

I let go of the knob and turn back to her and am met with a warm smile. I respond with a sigh as I sit down on the couch again.

I can’t talk about him right now, he… he won’t let me.

Well, what would you like to talk about Sky?

Honesty, I don’t know. I just know that I need some help, but I can’t even think of what it is I need help with.

Why don’t we talk about what he did at March Madness?

Those were his orders, but… but he took it farther than he was ordered.

She leans back in her chair and crosses her legs, her face clearly shows she is interested to hear more.

Ordered by who?

Baphomet

My mind sends me traveling back to years ago. I had buried my father, and he had buried someone else. I sat on the steps of the church I had been raised in. I was too ashamed to go inside, and even if I wanted to, he wouldn’t let me. He would never set foot into a church or anywhere considered holy ground. I had tried before and he nearly broke my leg dragging me out of there, so the steps are the best I could do.

I sat in the rain, the lights on the outside of the church shined bright in the darkness, but even if the sun had been out, I would have still been consumed by my own darkness. I suddenly felt an evil presence near me, and it wasn’t just the one that dwells inside of me. As lightning crashes through the night sky, I see a man standing across the street staring at me. Something about him drew me in as if his voice was inside of my head beckoning me.

“Mr. Edwards… Or should I say… Predator.”

Before I realized it, I was standing next to the man. The man was more than a man, he is Baphomet. His voice was welcoming and soothing, while at the same time being commanding. He didn’t want to speak to me though, he wanted to speak to The Predator. I tried to keep him locked away, but something about Baphomet pulled him out of me, unlocking the door.

“How difficult it must be to not see your true self in the mirror, but another man who keeps you trapped inside like a prisoner...” The Baphomet circles him, “How you must yearn for emancipation.”.

I was speechless but I felt him clawing away inside of me as if climbing from the pit of my stomach, through my spine, and into my brain. It felt as if Baphomet was calling him out as if he was a man dying of thirst and Baphomet was an oasis. I took a step back and shook my head “no” as I was still unable to speak, but Baphomet only smirked, as if he knew my resistance was futile.

“You’re afraid.” Baphomet says, “It’s normal to be afraid in the face of self-actualization. I have come here to tell you that I, too, once was afraid. You aren’t alone, Mr. Edwards… but this struggle inside of you will forever wage unless you allow yourself to be whole. I can help you.”

Ha… how?

He smiled at me, it was both warming and unnerving at the same time. He moved closer and put his arm around my shoulder. At first, the fight part of flight or fight kicked in, but then a comforting warmth came over. It was the same comforting warmth that one feels when a parent embraces you during a moment of heartache. He spoke to him, not to me, but to him.

“That other voice you hear, son…” Baphomet speaks directly to Predator, “Is the voice from the part of your brain called the amygdala. It is your response to fear… and it often misleads you. You see, my friend… the world has spent considerable time and energy learning how to pacify people for who they truly are… societal structures were built for people with a gift like yours and the ability to snuff it from ever threatening their shallow systems. They’re afraid of you, Predator... Afraid of me, and what I can offer people like yourself… the freedom to be you. Unshackled. Uncaged. Unrelenting.”

But, every time he comes out, someone gets hurt. He’s done unspeakable things, things that haunt me in my dreams, he isn’t a man, he’s an animal.

To this Baphomet responded with a smile and I felt him give me a squeezing hug. But what seemed like a loving hug suddenly turned into a tight grip, causing discomfort.

“Then show me!” Baphomet shouts as his demeanor changes into an unfriendly growl before lifting me up in the air and throwing me to the floor with such force that I find myself tasting blood in my mouth. I look up to Baphomet who has turned into an animal himself, his eyes seeming to glow with a red haze, he breathes appearing to be smoke.

“Pain is part of life!” Baphomet shouts down at me, “Do you know who I am, little boy! I am The Baphomet! Eater of realms! Unspeakable acts of violence? You know NOTHING of the atrocity living behind my eyes. Now stand and show me!”

I pushed myself to my feet, I wasn’t afraid to fight, I was a trained fighter and had fought my whole life. But, I was emotional, and one cannot fight and win on emotion. I had always been taught by my Sensis that anger is a wind that blows out the lamp of the mind. For every minute you remain angry, you give up sixty seconds of peace of mind. But I let the anger consume me, as I felt him kicking the door open.

I swung a hard and wild strike at Baphomet, but it was not a proper strike, and Baphomet simply sidestepped and I fell to my face on the cobbles. I began to push myself up and I heard Baphomet chuckle and say to me, “I must have made a mistake! You aren’t the predator that I’ve expected.”.

That is when I felt the door break open. He didn’t just open it, he kicked it open and charged out. I tried to hold him back, and I tried to put him back in, but I couldn’t contain him, I couldn’t even hold him back, he was unleashed and would not be locked up again.

And then… everything went black.

I open my eyes and I’m back in Dr. Jones’s office. I can see the look of concern on her face as she shakes her head and makes some notes. I can tell she wants to ask me something but is also trying to approach the subject with caution and ease. She adjusts her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose and these seem to muster confidence as she asks, “Sky, do you think your association with Baphomet to this day is affecting your relationship with him?”.

I bite my bottom lip, I know the answer already, but I’m afraid to admit it, not to her, but to myself. As my lip slowly slides against my teeth, I feel him clawing at the door, each time he comes back he is stronger and I’m afraid that one day I won’t be able to lock that door. As my lip escapes my teeth, my answer slides out.

It most certainly is.

To be continued.


“It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog.” ~ Mark Twain

I’m the smallest man in this fight, but only when measured by physical stature. It won’t be the first time, and I’m sure it won’t b the last. I’m also out of my element. I’m a pure style fighter, not used to weapons and/or a lack of rules, but again this will not be the first time for this scenario. The fact is, I have faced uphill battles my entire life, but at the end of those battles, I have always stood at the top of the hill and looked back down at the path I took to get there and smiled.

Life isn’t about the destination; it is about the journey. I know that my climb up the XWF mountain, will be the hardest climb of my life, and right out the gate, I must scale two large peaks. But once I stand at the top I will look back at these first large hurdles and smile knowing that I overcame them to get to the top.

Let’s look at these massive peaks, and no word describes Sil Frigida better than massive. The sheer size of you is simply unnatural. To be quite honest, you are the most musclebound person I’ve ever seen in my life. But all those muscles come with a price. Sil, you are what they would call, all show and no go. Those giant muscles require a lot of oxygen to function, like an oversized, gas-guzzling SUV. Simply put, you are like a Tahoe, and me… well I’m a Ferrari.

I will evade you until you are left on your hands and knees gasping for air, and in your darkest hour it won’t be an oxygen mask you find, oh no, it will be humiliation. For all those hours spent lying on your back on a bench press, have merely been practice for lying on your back in the middle of the ring.

You’ve heard the old saying about dragging someone into the deep water and letting them drowned, and that is exactly what I am going to do to you Sil. I will expend all of your oxygen and take you to a territory that is both unfamiliar and scary for you. Your arms maybe the size of my body, but your lungs and heart are weaker than the Detroit Lions defense. Your mind is clearly weak and damaged as well.

Sil, you clearly suffer from muscle dysmorphia. Muscle dysmorphia is a body dysmorphic disorder wherein the person suffering from this, which is you Sil, is constantly displeased with their body and constantly feels a need to improve something on their body. Clearly, you suffer from this and think there is something wrong with your body. Let me be honest with you Sil, and tell you’re the truth that others won’t. There is something wrong with your body, you are not built to fight someone like me.

You are not built to last. You are not built to go the distance. You are not built to win…but I am. And that is exactly what I will do, I will win.

Now, I know another man is trying to stand in the way of that win, another peak that must be climbed at the beginning of this mountain, and that is Slash Hopkins.

Slash, is another bigger, stronger, and more hardcore fighter than I, just like Sil. But, like Sil, Slash also suffers from a mental disorder. Slash, you clearly suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder, so commonly known as PTSD. Wherein an individual is having issues recovering after experiencing or witnessing a terrifying event.

However, if my layman diagnosis is incorrect, it will be correct after our battle, because you will be experiencing a terrifying event when you enter into combat with me. You like to make people bleed to teach them a lesson, but it is you who will learn a lesson Slash. You will learn that just because you are bigger, stronger, and nastier than someone doesn’t guarantee you a victory. The size of the dog doesn’t matter, it’s the size of the fight within that dog.

Many people think it is your size, your strength, or your speed that wins you a battler, but in all honestly, it’s your brain and your heart. When you combine the knowledge of what you are capable of and how to combat your opponent, coupled with a never-say-die attitude, you have a winning formality. That is what I have, a winning formula with all the right combinations of each crucial asset of a champion.

I know that on paper I am the underdog in this match, but in reality, I am built for battle. Call me the David to their Goliath, a Greek Revolutionary against the Ottoman Empire, or even more accurately an Indian fighter to the Pakistani soldiers. Just like in the Battle of Longewala where four thousand Pakistani soldiers geared up with forty tanks attacked one hundred and fifty Indian troops, with only ten camels and a single jeep. The Indian soldiers used intelligence to win the battle, as they strung barbwire and put up minefield markers, in areas where there were in fact no mines. The Pakistani soldier was fooled and forced through inferior terrain and funneled into kill zones.

My brains and ingenuity will help me much more in this battle than my opponents’ size and charging bull fighting styles will help them. They can charge head-on, and get as violent as they want, but they will be charging headfirst right into the kill zone I have set for them.

I will not be grounded before I take off, because for me…the sky’s the limit.