Today’s story is a question. How many times you will fold in order to become a sword that has strength? If you know you need to be folded then you will also know your strength, is deeply tied to flexibility. Further that, know the strongest swords are historically known to be comprised of impure steel. Impurity makes it stronger. Purity causes it’s role to be decorative.
Today I write steadfast that the pen is mightier than the sword. My ink is impure with life’s choices. The tempering of the heat in my mind has now forged a new sense of authenticity. Today my sword is the pen. Ironically that pen is found in the striking of keys on the computer. The ink in the well was previously compromised from an injury imposed, during an arrest…. many years ago. My hand may now go numb, but today the focus is not the injury, nor the grief, but the knowledge that I am strong enough to write.
This post is intended to provide hope to a woman terribly depressed. Resolve to a man brave enough to change to who she really is. And a tenuous peace to all that choose to brave the turmoil relationships bring, regardless of preferred pronoun. It is meant for you.
Folding, heating, quenching, and a mix of materials are need in order to be strong. All actions are to be executed in moderation in order to attain strength. Where are your folds? What do you choose to quench and … do you allow yourself that necessity? Where is your heat, your forge? Do you allow yourself to feel your heat? Most importantly, do you remain steadfast as you temper what is transpiring in your body?
Today’s post is in honour of that which makes you strong enough to read on, choose again, and be authentic. It is about movement from the decorative into the fire forged on the impurity of our own humanity. It is in this place that we forge acceptance. It here where we are human, prone to err, and forever able to try again.
Julianna T. Murphy
Stand still for a moment as you are being forged, folded and quenched. Look into the sky and see the birds ride the very thermals rising from your fire. The magic is there, punctuated by a self-deprecating pigeon poking fun at the decorative image of a bird. Laugh a belly laugh and observe how it kindles your soul to live…again.