The rain beats upon the ground in a staccato rhythm. Wind whistles, breaking the silence of the night. Furtive motions can be seen by a discerning eye as rats and other nocturnal beings move about swiftly. Some are seeking shelter, others are seeking prey.

He is one such. He seeks prey that is ever-elusive. Unlike the prey of the vermin that scuttle beneath him, those which are defeated by speed and strength, his prey is the opposite. His prey is defeated by stillness and patience.

Thus he stands like a monolith in the night. Watching, waiting. His prey is comfortable in its citadel before him. They frolic and play like pigs amongst their own excrement. Heedless of his cold gaze, they go to and fro in a mindless frenzy of impatience. Such is the way that they have lived their lives. Quick to love, quick to anger, quick to tears, quick to die.

He waits. Yea he waits even as the rain subsides and the night gives way to day. He is safe in his place of concealment. To the casual observer he does not exist. To the experienced observer he appears as a normal part of the landscape. So good is his camouflage that he has no need of motion. So wise was his choice of positioning that he has no chance of encounter.

Until he is ready.

He watches for the moment of weakness in his enemy. He waits for the moment when their hedonism is at its peak. When they are so drunk upon their own power and prestige that he may end them silently. He visualizes the scenario.

As quietly as the night he will move.

No. Not move. Movement is for the beasts. For the vermin.

As quietly as the night he will flow upon them. Like the river which appears calm and silent on the surface, yet with deadly undercurrents, he will flow between them and over them and his blade, too long sheathed, will dance.

Their blood will spray in a glorious array, peppering the earth and themselves.

But not him. He is an expert. In his long life he has fought many battles. He has been the fool and the novice, but now his time is upon him and his victory will be flawless. His white robes, symbolic of purity and of death, will remain clean.

The blood will not touch him.

What a beautiful sound, richer than the voice of his own dear wife, will they make as their throats are cut? A sound like the whistling of winter winds will be heard, though they will not have the ears for it. The performance will be for him and his master alone. And his master will reward him well, for his master is the Trustworthy, and the Majestic.

His cold gaze drifts across their fat bellies and he muses what manner of waste will spill upon the earth when their bellies are cut open. Will he find the corpses of his brethren among the offal? Will the nations devoured by the enemy be regained? Plucked from among the blood and entrails, the waste and the bile.

Perhaps. But more likely, perhaps not.

Still he waits. His mind is calm. Anticipation is a dim memory. Excitement is for lesser men. Some men begin to tremble before a battle; others lose control of their bowels. Some yet must indulge themselves in carnal desire to vent the excitement.

Not such as he. His wife awaits him, yet coolly. For she too has suffered as he has. She too has held her passions in check for so long that they have turned to stone. He has been away a long time.

Not in body, but in mind. Nay. Not even mind, but in Heart.

Though he has shared her home and her bed, he has not shared her life. How could he? For if he partook of her soul, she would have partaken of his. Doubtless she would have gagged at the rot. His travails have unmanned him. He has walked through his life in a grim parody of manhood. Yet the essence of what makes a man a man has eluded him. Only now, having immersed himself in The Book has he regained some measure of his birthright. Only by ending the lives of his oppressors can he regain himself.

And think not that he contemplates murder. No. Murder is for cretin. Criminals too afraid of their enemies to let them live.

His actions shall be utter destruction. It shall be judgment.

His Master has ordained it to be so.

He loosens his blade in its scabbard.

And he waits.

The rain beats upon the ground in a staccato rhythm. Wind whistles, breaking the silence of the night. Furtive motions can be seen by a discerning eye as rats and other nocturnal beings move about swiftly. Some are seeking shelter, others are seeking prey.

He is one such. He seeks prey that is ever-elusive. Unlike the prey of the vermin that scuttle beneath him, those which are defeated by speed and strength, his prey is the opposite. His prey is defeated by stillness and patience.

Thus he stands like a monolith in the night. Watching, waiting. His prey is comfortable in its citadel before him. They frolic and play like pigs amongst their own excrement. Heedless of his cold gaze, they go to and fro in a mindless frenzy of impatience. Such is the way that they have lived their lives. Quick to love, quick to anger, quick to tears, quick to die.

He waits. Yea he waits even as the rain subsides and the night gives way to day. He is safe in his place of concealment. To the casual observer he does not exist. To the experienced observer he appears as a normal part of the landscape. So good is his camouflage that he has no need of motion. So wise was his choice of positioning that he has no chance of encounter.

Until he is ready.

He watches for the moment of weakness in his enemy. He waits for the moment when their hedonism is at its peak. When they are so drunk upon their own power and prestige that he may end them silently. He visualizes the scenario.

As quietly as the night he will move.

No. Not move. Movement is for the beasts. For the vermin.

As quietly as the night he will flow upon them. Like the river which appears calm and silent on the surface, yet with deadly undercurrents, he will flow between them and over them and his blade, too long sheathed, will dance.

Their blood will spray in a glorious array, peppering the earth and themselves.

But not him. He is an expert. In his long life he has fought many battles. He has been the fool and the novice, but now his time is upon him and his victory will be flawless. His white robes, symbolic of purity and of death, will remain clean.

The blood will not touch him.

What a beautiful sound, richer than the voice of his own dear wife, will they make as their throats are cut? A sound like the whistling of winter winds will be heard, though they will not have the ears for it. The performance will be for him and his master alone. And his master will reward him well, for his master is the Trustworthy, and the Majestic.

His cold gaze drifts across their fat bellies and he muses what manner of waste will spill upon the earth when their bellies are cut open. Will he find the corpses of his brethren among the offal? Will the nations devoured by the enemy be regained? Plucked from among the blood and entrails, the waste and the bile.

Perhaps. But more likely, perhaps not.

Still he waits. His mind is calm. Anticipation is a dim memory. Excitement is for lesser men. Some men begin to tremble before a battle; others lose control of their bowels. Some yet must indulge themselves in carnal desire to vent the excitement.

Not such as he. His wife awaits him, yet coolly. For she too has suffered as he has. She too has held her passions in check for so long that they have turned to stone. He has been away a long time.

Not in body, but in mind. Nay. Not even mind, but in Heart.

Though he has shared her home and her bed, he has not shared her life. How could he? For if he partook of her soul, she would have partaken of his. Doubtless she would have gagged at the rot. His travails have unmanned him. He has walked through his life in a grim parody of manhood. Yet the essence of what makes a man a man has eluded him. Only now, having immersed himself in The Book has he regained some measure of his birthright. Only by ending the lives of his oppressors can he regain himself.

And think not that he contemplates murder. No. Murder is for cretin. Criminals too afraid of their enemies to let them live.

His actions shall be utter destruction. It shall be judgment.

His Master has ordained it to be so.

He loosens his blade in its scabbard.

And he waits.

There once was a game that children would play on the farm called the Straw Man.

In this game the kids on the farm would build a likeness of a man out of straw and would call him their leader or king. Then they would each pretend to protect their respective kings as they fought with sticks and other makeshift weapons.

This of course was an illusion. In reality they weren’t following orders or protecting the leader, they were merely playing at fighting however they wished. As the game went on the “leader” would usually be ripped to pieces and the melee would continue until they were called in for supper.

I have observed that this occurs in real life too. Often we choose leaders from amongst ourselves that we feel comfortable with. Thus we often choose a leader that we hope will do anything but lead. To be lead is an effort. It requires submission of our own desires and will to that of the leader.

But every once in a while we slip and actually elect leaders who surprise us. Once in a while a leader, who was a friend, has the audacity to issue us an order and expects us to obey. Pity such a fool as he. Such leaders often end up dead at the hands of those who elected him thinking that he would be a willing puppet. John F. Kennedy was such a leader. A young man that most thought would be pliable and have no backbone.

He surprised them.

Then they surprised him. Touché.

This pattern has existed since time immemorial. In fact the notorious Niccolò Machiavelli once mused, “Is it better to be feared or to be loved?” His answer was that being feared was better because (paraphrasing) the one who is feared is obeyed utterly while the one who is loved is obeyed selectively.

Unfortunately we live in a society where the prospects for making your people fear you are limited. In the old days if you were powerful enough you would just take a couple of heads or order flogging as an example. In fact here’s another example from Muslim history:

Imam Shafi’i once told his students a tale about a ruler who was upset that his public audiences (when people were supposed to come and hear his pronouncements and petition for aid) were always empty. So he asked a particular wiseman what he could do. The wiseman whispered to him that he was being ignored because he was not feared. If people feared him then they would come. So the very next day he sent his guards to the mosque and they grabbed the Imam and publicly beat him. The poor imam was yelling “What did I do? What did I do?”. The ruler came and whispered in his ear, “I’m sorry. Please be patient.” in a loving way that belied the physical abuse underway.

The next day and from then on his audience hall was full. The fear had taken root.

Rulers, even minor ones, often have to make hard decisions and make examples in order for everyone else to understand that he is not a Straw Man. After one or two examples, people get the idea that he is not a weak or pliable, but that he intends to lead effectively and that when he issues an order, he expects them to obey.

The long-taught wisdom amongst the ruling classes is that a leader cannot truly have friends among those under his command. The mask must always stay on. The armor must always be maintained. Familiarity does indeed breed contempt.

So then every leader must choose how to make his examples when that time comes. Perhaps a subordinate begins arriving at work late, or perhaps you order him to drive and deliver an item and he says “No”, or perhaps you send him with the troops to defend a territory and he chooses to visit the brothels along the way, thus leaving the citizens undefended. A leader cannot afford such contempt if he is to be effective.

Thus the example must be made. Maybe you fire the employee who shows up late. Maybe you strip the insubordinate of his honors, rank and authority, maybe you post the head of your wayward general in front of his favorite brothel or in front of the palace. In each case an example must be made. Ignore this and the Straw Man will become a reality. He (the leader) will find his orders being increasingly disregarded, his words taken as humor, and his position becomes static. He (the leader) is as one dead.

Worthless.

Thus the heads must be taken.

Unfortunately the heads that decorate the palace gates are all too often those of former friends, and although the ruler knows what must be done, he may cry in the night at the necessity.

The tears flow.

There once was a game that children would play on the farm called the Straw Man.

In this game the kids on the farm would build a likeness of a man out of straw and would call him their leader or king. Then they would each pretend to protect their respective kings as they fought with sticks and other makeshift weapons.

This of course was an illusion. In reality they weren’t following orders or protecting the leader, they were merely playing at fighting however they wished. As the game went on the “leader” would usually be ripped to pieces and the melee would continue until they were called in for supper.

I have observed that this occurs in real life too. Often we choose leaders from amongst ourselves that we feel comfortable with. Thus we often choose a leader that we hope will do anything but lead. To be lead is an effort. It requires submission of our own desires and will to that of the leader.

But every once in a while we slip and actually elect leaders who surprise us. Once in a while a leader, who was a friend, has the audacity to issue us an order and expects us to obey. Pity such a fool as he. Such leaders often end up dead at the hands of those who elected him thinking that he would be a willing puppet. John F. Kennedy was such a leader. A young man that most thought would be pliable and have no backbone.

He surprised them.

Then they surprised him. Touché.

This pattern has existed since time immemorial. In fact the notorious Niccolò Machiavelli once mused, “Is it better to be feared or to be loved?” His answer was that being feared was better because (paraphrasing) the one who is feared is obeyed utterly while the one who is loved is obeyed selectively.

Unfortunately we live in a society where the prospects for making your people fear you are limited. In the old days if you were powerful enough you would just take a couple of heads or order flogging as an example. In fact here’s another example from Muslim history:

Imam Shafi’i once told his students a tale about a ruler who was upset that his public audiences (when people were supposed to come and hear his pronouncements and petition for aid) were always empty. So he asked a particular wiseman what he could do. The wiseman whispered to him that he was being ignored because he was not feared. If people feared him then they would come. So the very next day he sent his guards to the mosque and they grabbed the Imam and publicly beat him. The poor imam was yelling “What did I do? What did I do?”. The ruler came and whispered in his ear, “I’m sorry. Please be patient.” in a loving way that belied the physical abuse underway.

The next day and from then on his audience hall was full. The fear had taken root.

Rulers, even minor ones, often have to make hard decisions and make examples in order for everyone else to understand that he is not a Straw Man. After one or two examples, people get the idea that he is not a weak or pliable, but that he intends to lead effectively and that when he issues an order, he expects them to obey.

The long-taught wisdom amongst the ruling classes is that a leader cannot truly have friends among those under his command. The mask must always stay on. The armor must always be maintained. Familiarity does indeed breed contempt.

So then every leader must choose how to make his examples when that time comes. Perhaps a subordinate begins arriving at work late, or perhaps you order him to drive and deliver an item and he says “No”, or perhaps you send him with the troops to defend a territory and he chooses to visit the brothels along the way, thus leaving the citizens undefended. A leader cannot afford such contempt if he is to be effective.

Thus the example must be made. Maybe you fire the employee who shows up late. Maybe you strip the insubordinate of his honors, rank and authority, maybe you post the head of your wayward general in front of his favorite brothel or in front of the palace. In each case an example must be made. Ignore this and the Straw Man will become a reality. He (the leader) will find his orders being increasingly disregarded, his words taken as humor, and his position becomes static. He (the leader) is as one dead.

Worthless.

Thus the heads must be taken.

Unfortunately the heads that decorate the palace gates are all too often those of former friends, and although the ruler knows what must be done, he may cry in the night at the necessity.

The tears flow.