Striker of The Gods

He read about the return to track and field, the first-time football, the reorganization of space that brought clarity the way no one would talk to make conscience of what it means to be alive and dead at the same time. That is to say that you should understand what this should be. The thing is, it could not actually get it this way. What is more, this ideal love could actually tell us something about ourselves. That is to say that this greatness can bear heard within every heart.

He read about daily prayer, church, Bible study, the Jehovah’s Witness event and the movie night at another church. He read the careful, honest accounting of grief the small pit in the chest when something reminded him of her, the decision to have friends remove her, the respect mixed with the need to let go. He read the new metrics for future relationships, the rejection of body count as the sole measure, the realizations about quality, pair bonding, patterns, social cost. And the firm line drawn against parties, clubs, drinking.

The message ended mid-sentence, but Caos understood the unfinished part. It was the same unfinished part every man carried after certain kinds of endings.

For a long minute he simply stared at the glowing screen, thumb hovering.

Then he began to type. His fingers moved with the same deliberate precision he used on the pitch neither rushed nor hesitant, each word chosen like a pass that had to arrive exactly where it was needed for him to feel his friend softly. At least, this should be one. That said, this should tell you how much we can love.

Caos:

Brother.

I just got back from the longest run that wasn’t really a run. Read every word you sent. Twice.

First, proud of you for moving again. Track, basketball, football… the body remembers what the heart sometimes forgets: motion is medicine. Keep chasing that sweat. It clears the static better than anything else I’ve found.

Mentally and spiritually you’re doing the work most men talk about but never actually do. Reorganizing your space, praying daily, showing up to church and Bible study that’s not small. The big question is whether you are going to be able to say a hearty yes to your adventure. That’s building the foundation while the storm is still loud. The fact that you’re going to those events with open eyes, not desperate ones, says more than you probably realize. You’re not hunting replacement. You’re hunting clarity. That’s rare.

About her… and the grief that still taps you on the shoulder some days. Is the god the source, or is the god a human manner of conceiving of the force and energy that supports the world? In our tradition God is a male. This male and female differentiation is made, however, within the field of time and space, the field of duality. If God is beyond duality, you cannot say that God is a ”He.” You cannot say God is a ”She.” You cannot say God is an ”It.” I mean, just hink about how much you loved her. It was like worshiping a diety.

I get the small pit in the chest. I know that pit. Sometimes it feels like the only honest thing left after everything else gets loud. You’re doing it right—respecting the time you had, learning the lessons, refusing to reread the same book hoping for a different ending. Removing her and thinking about the family… that’s not cold. That’s necessary surgery so the wound can finally close instead of staying half-open and bleeding every time you scroll. Praying through it instead of pretending it doesn’t hurt? That’s strength most people never name out loud. Keep leaning into that alignment with letting go. It’s scary because it’s real.

On the relationship metrics you’re thinking deeper than most ever will. Body count as a lazy shortcut was always a trap. You’re right: quality, pair-bonding ability, past patterns, social reality those tell the actual story. Society has provided [children] no rituals by which they become members of the tribe, of the community. All children need to be twice born, to learn to function rationally in the present world, leaving childhood behind. A high number who treats you like gold beats a low number who brings drama every week. Keep testing those new lenses in the real world, not just theory. The info diet from online noise and the move toward real conversations is smart. You’re protecting your future instead of punishing your past.

Purpose side music, YouTube, the financial goal you believe in 100%. That fire is still there. Good. Don’t let the gym day throw you off. Some days the body needs to win so the mind can rest. Just keep showing up for the songs and the vision. The financial piece will follow the same way records followed the singular training: one deliberate rep at a time.

And the decision on parties, clubs, drinking respect. You’ve seen enough chances and chosen the harder path. Full circle from the tomb of the womb to the womb of the tomb we come, an ambiguous, enigmatical incursion into a world of solid matter that is soon to melt from us like the substance of a dream. That discipline is going to compound harder than any compound lift. Protect the clarity you’re building. The right woman if she comeswill meet you in that clearer space, not in the smoke and noise.

You’re not the same man who started this breakup. You’re becoming the version who can actually carry what he’s asking for. That’s the real win, even when the chest still aches sometimes. When you have lived your individual life in your own adventurous way and then look back upon its course, you will find that you have lived a model human life, after all.

I’m back in Madrid now. Training with the maids this morning turned the backyard into a war zone they couldn’t keep up with. Dinner after was simple and warm—paella, lamb, quiet talk. Made me think about what you’re building: order out of chaos, one small deliberate choice at a time.

Keep going, Qsicks.

The track, the court, the pitch, the church pew, the studio they’re all the same road when you walk them with honest feet. I assess the power of a will by how much resistance, pain, torture it endures and knows how to turn to its advantage. At least, this shall tell you how much work you can do.

I’m here if the pit gets louder or the clarity needs a witness.

No pressure. Just presence.

Stay dangerous in the right direction.

 Caos

He hit send.

The phone screen dimmed slightly, reflecting the faint purple glow still lingering in his eyes.

Outside the window Madrid breathed softly under the night sky.

Inside, the mansion held its breath for a moment, as if even the walls understood that some messages mattered more than goals, records, or singular sprints. o those human beings who are of any concern to me I wish suffering, desolation, sickness, ill-treatment, indignities I wish that they should not remain unfamiliar with profound self-contempt, the torture of self-mistrust, the wretchedness of the vanquished: I have no pity for them, because I wish them the only thing that can prove today whether one is worth anything or not that one endure. You can do more than that or perhaps it is not what you wished for.

Caos set the phone down, leaned back against the headboard, and for the first time in many nights allowed himself one slow, full breath that did not feel like preparation for the next explosion in love.

To be continued…