There is a vigilant, grey-haired General draped in red silk robes and covered by Roman plate mail. He stands aloft a tall tower; its torchlight illuminates the pitch-black sky behind. A crimson tent in the same tower houses him and his plans. Nothing goes a miss under his eye.
Always Calm; always Diligent; always Courageous. He sees all misgivings and punishes them in kind and without hesitation.
His henchmen take the form of legionnaires. They are the guilts of the mind----guilts about things you know you should have done: guilts about procrastinations. They capture you and hold you back only to be interrogated by the General. His haranguing is true and there is no justification that can defend you. The General makes you fumble your words; makes you unsure of what you're saying. He makes you feel encumbered, scatter-brained and your external expression reflects this internal incarceration.
This general is not one you want against you but, befriend him and his soldiers will stand at your side. They harken to your words and your actions become motivated with the weight of a higher authority. No God or king: deity or celebrity will hold power any longer. Then----you can attack without reservation; attention becomes focused and flexible.
BUT, going into battle without him is akin to going into battle as scattered and uncollected. The General needs to be at his post to watch against the snakes that may bite your heel. Here is the second god that I need to worship. He calls himself Mars.
