The Berserker

A friend of mine, who I think finds my equanimity and (relatively) even temper equal parts admirable and frustrating, sometimes calls me Switzerland.

He calls me Switzerland because in most conflicts, I am "neutral." I tend to be the "voice of reason" when tempers flare, and even when I'm heated I tend to maintain my composure and apply reason to the situation. I consider and honor every side and argue on the basis of good sense and empathy.

Those perhaps-admirable qualities are not unalloyed blessings. Some see me as lacking conviction. Others find my even-keeled ways boring. Still others think me a coward, always avoiding confrontation.

I do tend to avoid confrontation, and I recently remembered (again) why.

I am of Norwegian descent, and among my ancestors are berserkers. Berserkers are reported to have fought in a nearly-uncontrollable, trance-like fury. Fury...

There is in me a berserker spirit. Deep inside me, carefully chained and muzzled, a raging fury resides. It is a dark, violent, powerful thing, uncivilized and dangerous. There is no place in the here and now for such a Juggernaut. That part of me does not work or play well with others; it has no more place in public than a rabid dog.

So I avoid confrontation. I am afraid; afraid that confrontation will loosen the bonds that restrain the berserker inside. I don't want that to happen. I fear what it would mean if that part of me got free.

I remember vividly a time when the berserker almost got loose. I was in the Navy, aboard the U.S.S. England, in my berthing compartment, when a fellow crewman (who'd been taking advantage of my easygoing nature to put me down) said one slur too many when my guard was down.

I turned to this ordinary crewmate, who unknowing had conjured the demon, and I took him by the throat, and I pushed him up against a locker until his feet were off the ground, and I growled.

It scared him. It scared me. I was like a spectator; a passenger in my own body. The berserker that was suddenly in charge of my body wanted nothing more than to squeeze.

Somehow, I will never understand how, I wrested control away from the demon, and returned it to its restraints. I was shaking. My almost-victim was shaking. I think I threw up. And never since then have I allowed my guard to drop; I never want to commit an act of violence motivated by nothing other than rage.

Call me Switzerland.