On that fateful day in August of last year, I traveled to my local theater and promptly offered $7.50 in exchange for a ticket to, "Braveheart." I then strolled over to the concession stand and proceeded to spend a small fortune on a bucket of popcorn and a huge cup filled with a rather flat soft drink. Entering the darkened auditorium, I quickly found an empty seat in the middle of the fourth row and having placed my overflowing cup in a holder, prepared to be entertained for a few hours.

Once the myriad previews of soon to be released films had been presented, the opening credits to, "Braveheart," began to roll, backed by the haunting sounds of extraordinarily mournful bagpipes. As the opening, mist engorged, scene came into view, a somber voice announced, "I shall tell you of William Wallace" From that moment on, my impressions of Scotland, its history, people and destiny would be altered forever.

As the magnificent story of Sir William and the other patriots of the time began to unfold, I realized that this would not be a rather common historically based film. In its stead, this would be an example of cinematic excellence and, indeed, an emotional journey of legendary proportions.

Minute by minute, I was presented with scenes which could only be described as heart rendering to the maximum. My body and soul shuddered when Wallace’s father and brother entered the revolting chamber of death, festooned with the bodies of Scottish patriots. I felt an overpowering rush of despair when Wallace’s uncle told him that his father’s comrades are,"playing outlawed tunes on outlawed pipes." My skin crawled off of my body as the magistrate slit Murron’s throat. As Wallace entered the English fort, my prayer was that he would strike down every dastardly criminal in sight.

While I had viewed hundreds of films over the years, none had so caused me to be repulsed as did the horrific scenes being played out in, "Braveheart." I was dwelling in a world of stunningly graphic pain and repugnant brutality.

Thankfully, my soul was also raised to mythical levels of splendor when being privileged to view the remarkable beauty of Wallace and Murron’s courtship and subsequent wedding. Murron’s graceful and gentle passing of a seemingly insignificant piece of cloth to her beloved caused my heart to soar only to be crushed as her delicate body was terrorized by the King’s goon. However, watching the magnificence of Wallace’s revenge on her killers served to cheer my devastated spirits.

As the epic continued to unfurl and the battle scenes were presented in a completely realistic and heroic manner, my very soul was infused with a spirit such as had not been encountered in the past. While my stomach churned as countless episodes of murderous activities committed by the English warlords were presented, my awe at the courage, beauty and dignity of the Scots was overpowering. I instantly surmised that Wallace and his followers were indeed, "warrior poets," such as the world had never seen.

It was impossible to judge the reaction of the audience as to what was transpiring on the screen. The extraordinary talents of Mel Gibson and virtually every other cast member had succeeded in convincing my brain that I was indeed living in the thirteenth century. I was no longer sitting in a 1996 era theater. I was in fact standing on the battlefield of Stirling Bridge, gratefully allowing my heart to be inspired by the dynamic words and deeds of William Wallace. The realm of Scotland surrounded me and I too was screaming out the name of this most remarkable of heroes.

I didn’t stop to ponder if what was being told to me was based on fact. There was no time to waste on such a trivial matter. Instead, I raised my sword and marched alongside of hundreds of warrior poets.

As the majestic spectacle continued, numerous messages were being driven into my soul, but perhaps none more brilliantly simplistic and yet extraordinarily powerful than the realization that it is a God given right to pursue freedom! Wallace was glorious in his mission to achieve what was rightfully Scotland’s. Furthermore, he was remarkably successful in awakening, spurring and sustaining the drive for freedom in the souls of his followers as well as a handful of nobles.

I’d discover, over the ensuing days and weeks, that history proves, during these times, Wallace was not alone as a champion of freedom and destiny for all Scots, but he certainly was one of the most accomplished. In the years and centuries to follow, Wallace’s gauntlet of freedom would be picked up by Robert The Bruce, Bonnie Prince Charles and other outstanding heroes. Perhaps as they took to their respective battlefields in attempts to rid Scotland of the English scourge, Sir William of Elerslie served as their inspiration and the rallying cry for freedom.

From the battle of Stirling Bridge to Falkirk and on to his unconscionable treatment at the hands of the satanic English executioners, Wallace proved over and over again that freedom is everything. To live without it is to never have lived at all. It is not, therefore a word. It is in fact the truth of our very existence and to only dream of achieving it is to barely scratch the surface of what must be obtained and held on to without ever lessening our grips. This was Wallace’s motivation for casting his life on the table of torture. An act of supreme and miraculous glory.

As the final scene of, "Braveheart," drew to a close, that afternoon, I knew nothing of the historical accuracy of what I had been introduced to. Freedom, freedom, freedom and by God, freedom is all that I thought of.

Following the conclusion of the film, I remained in my seat for quite sometime. Quite simply, I was too overcome by the power of what had just been presented to even consider asking my legs to move, let alone beg my wildly beating heart to slow its pace. As I sat in stunned silence, it finally became obvious that I was alone in the theater. The crowds had departed and I was left to revel in the glory of my memories and the unimaginable beauty of what I’d been exposed to.

Never again would I consider the country of Scotland to be simply the land of my long ago deceased kin. Once upon a time, I had regarded this now most majestic of palaces to be a satellite of England, filled with Scots reveling in the joys of living in fairly close proximity to their neighbors in the south.

While I still luxuriated in the magnificent sound of the pipes, it was now understood that they were not simply rather expressive instruments, but did and still do symbolize the soul and spirit of all Scots and indeed the very essence of Scotland.

Following my first viewing of, "Braveheart," I felt more humble than at any time in the past. How could I have been unaware of such a magnificent story as that of Sir William Wallace? How was it that I’d never bothered to learn more about the history and glory of Scotland, save for a reading of, "Mary, Queen of Scots," by Antonia Fraser? How could I have possibly stated over and over again my love for all things Scottish, yet barely learned even a dram of the traditions, history and splendor of this magnificent land and its people?

True, I had attended numerous presentations of the Highland Games and had enjoyed myself immensely during the exhibitions, but what had I really learned from them? I had discovered a taste for bridies and other delights. I’d thrilled to the sound of the pipes and reveled in the talents of the various dancers who were attired in the most colorful of kilts. I had also experienced the enjoyment of attending a number of ceilidhs, but had all of these outings and sights contributed to my understanding of Scotland and its history? As my first viewing of, "Braveheart" proved, I’d obviously learned very little. It was now time to correct this huge oversight.

I don’t recall having driven home that day. My mind was awash over what had been presented and I’d not calm down for hours, if not days and, I began to suspect, the memories of the epic would never dissipate from my heart. No matter where I went, what I did or tried to think of, "Braveheart," ruled my senses. The beyond heroic acts of William Wallace and his followers had shaken my soul in the most profound of manners. In addition, thoughts of the disgusting deeds of their tormentors chilled my mind and infuriated me that atrocities of this nature had ever been committed against such valiant seekers of freedom. I couldn’t rid my soul of what I’d been privileged to view.

A few days later, I revisited the theater and began to experience, "Braveheart," once more.

My main motivation for watching the film again was that a sneaking suspicion had entered my brain. "Perhaps, I thought, "Braveheart," wasn’t truly as majestic and emotionally invigorating as I’d realized during the first showing. Had I been so absorbed by the acting abilities of Gibson and others that I’d been tricked into thinking that, "Braveheart," was more than just a well acted flick? Perhaps I’d simply been in the mood to be carried away. An escape from the drudgery of everyday life, as it were. This time," I thought, "I’ll not allow myself to become so engrossed in the film. In fact, I’ll approach it from the position of a cynical critic." I settled in and began to watch the opening credits, keeping an eye open for flaws of any sort. It would turn out to be a ludicrous mission.

Within a moment or two, I was once again transported to the thirteenth century. I listened to the stirring words of Robert The Bruce, felt the overpowering friendship of Hamish and William and realized the terrible loneliness of young Wallace as his father’s body was borne into the village.

Once again, I felt my blood boiling to a thousand degrees as the attempted rape of Murron was enacted. I closed my tear drenched eyes and, even knowing what was to follow, hoped that Wallace would arrive in time to save his beloved from the horrific acts of the magistrate. I cheered as Wallace destroyed the miserable existence of so many English devils and thanked God that so many patriots decided to unite behind the extraordinary courage of William Wallace.

I felt supreme hatred in my soul as the repugnant King Edward plotted against a power, love and spirit that he’d never understand. My only joy came when this tyrant kicked his asinine son in the proverbial pants and confirmed that the sorry excuse for a person was indeed a joke, albeit a dangerous one.

My spirits soared to new levels as the nobles and their vassals fell into line and supported Wallace on the battlefield as he spearheaded the mission to drive the English army into total submission. My heart fell into a bottomless pit as Wallace and his followers were betrayed by The Bruce and lesser would-be leaders of the Scottish people. It rose once again as the future King cast aside the evil of his father and began walking on the road to his own destiny and glory while recognizing the miracle of freedom as pursued by Wallace.

My respect for Princess Isabella was cemented upon viewing her efforts to not only save Wallace and his followers from certain doom, but to realize that she recognized the nature of Sir William’s mission. She finally began to understand that Wallace’s motivation for his deeds of stunning courage was his unquenchable desire for the righteous freedom of his people.

As the magnificent final scene of, "Braveheart," was played out, I sensed an even greater rush of emotions than during my first experience with the film. In fact, I began to wonder if, "Braveheart," could even be considered a movie? A movie is, by and large, a few hours of entertainment. This epic of majesty wasn’t an entertaining romp. Instead, it had impressed me as a statement of love, dignity and devotion to one’s country and people. "Braveheart" was and is, phenomenally inspiring and offers passion in its most precious of forms. It is, as I began to realize, quite possibly:

"The very essence of Scotland, complete with its beauty, stunningly brilliant history and overpowering pain suffered at the hands of the criminal English invaders."

If you would like to disuss this email Gary.

Part One

Part Three

Part Four