Picking Up The Sword

ceramic sculpture (detail)

Crafting a weapon such as a sword

Is actually a very organic process.

Heat and more heat..

Folding, pounding.

Then do that all over again

A thousand thousand times

And you might (just might)

Get an edge you can be proud of.

I am wary

When I hear myself say that I don’t like something.

These days, it just plain takes too much energy

To have a judgement about ANYthing.

I heard myself say in this blog, recently: “I don’t like metal.”

Why, I wondered?

It is a neutral element

Save for whatever I put on it, meaning-wise.

When I think of metal

I think of swords;

Wielding a sword, in particular.

Every girl should have her own personal gleaming edge

At the ready.

Don’t be afraid..

Or, rather: BE VERY AFRAID!

Surely, we are speaking metaphorically here

But the journey from the tiny spark of God

We were born with

To the embodiment of ‘SAMURAI’

Is an arduous path, indeed.

Picking up the sword

And using it effectively

Asks us first,

To even know WE HAVE ONE.

Asked even last week what my sword looked like

I would have said a pretty flimsy and warped piece of wood;

Slightly waterlogged and bereft of patina.

Today, my answer is different.

I will tell you about it in a minute.

What do we need a sword for, anyway?

How do we hold it?

Where do we keep it?

How do we honor it?

What noise does it make when used well?

I want to survive

And thrive.

In order for me to do that

I MUST separate the wheat from the chaff;

Be ruthlessly

discriminatory in my choices:

People around me, how far I choose to let each in, places I go physically, food, thought and emotional patterns, beliefs, what I hold sacred and how I tend such…

These choices, and many more

Are what will keep me alive.

Saying the kind of “YES”

To these kinds of ‘medications’

Means there must also be an equal and potent


And this is where the sword comes in.

Being this discriminating

Makes my previous tendency toward acquiescence

Shake in it’s boots.

I haven’t the energy to whip around any long piece of metal


Until.. by some miracle

It meets it’s mark.


I am going for the whisper of an almost imperceptable


I will turn and walk away without a smile.

Forfeiting grace, connectedness and my place in the community of fellow humans is not my objective.

Whatever is back there

Will be wondering just what happened

And I will have earned

The right to choose



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