Post by cortwilliams on Aug 14, 2012 10:17:49 GMT -6
The Spear
Student: What can you tell me about the Spear, master?
Master Blacksmith: A shaft of hardened wood, a point of blackened steel. Vertical and narrow, it reaches towards the heavens and has its roots far beneath the earth from whence the head's ore was mined.
Student: And what advice for those who might wield it, master?
Master Blacksmith: Wary words for those who might wield it, the point of a spear is but a single star-speck in the vast cosmos of the battleground, and to thrust through to victory beyond will require a piercing consciousness, lit with with luminous infernal fires of an intensity that make this forge look tepid and lukewarm in compare.
Student: Might not such an intensity of fire carry the risk of burning the user whole?
Master Blacksmith: Aye, so the user had best gird hirself with inward steel and find the hardness needed to endure, but know that if one insulates themselves from the fire entirely, then surely it burns not sufficiently hot.
Student: Can one hope to find such hardness and passion one scarcely amongst the throngs of men which one finds in the village square?
Master Blacksmith: It is hard to say where such hardness and such brightness lurks, for a sweet smile and submissive posture is no guarantee that a pool of boiling steel does not lurk somewhere beneath, be it in the piercing strange eyes or the ribbed stormclouds that gather about the brow. Be it in a resolve
that seems but trivial or foolish, be it in a fervent devotion that remains unbowed in the face of woes uncounted and dissipating ecstasies alike, be it in scowling pride or in a raging torrent of festering grief, be it in lust insatiable, be it in charged remembrances of that which has past or trembling intimations of future volumes of experience left unwritten.
Hail Satanis!
Cort Williams
Student: What can you tell me about the Spear, master?
Master Blacksmith: A shaft of hardened wood, a point of blackened steel. Vertical and narrow, it reaches towards the heavens and has its roots far beneath the earth from whence the head's ore was mined.
Student: And what advice for those who might wield it, master?
Master Blacksmith: Wary words for those who might wield it, the point of a spear is but a single star-speck in the vast cosmos of the battleground, and to thrust through to victory beyond will require a piercing consciousness, lit with with luminous infernal fires of an intensity that make this forge look tepid and lukewarm in compare.
Student: Might not such an intensity of fire carry the risk of burning the user whole?
Master Blacksmith: Aye, so the user had best gird hirself with inward steel and find the hardness needed to endure, but know that if one insulates themselves from the fire entirely, then surely it burns not sufficiently hot.
Student: Can one hope to find such hardness and passion one scarcely amongst the throngs of men which one finds in the village square?
Master Blacksmith: It is hard to say where such hardness and such brightness lurks, for a sweet smile and submissive posture is no guarantee that a pool of boiling steel does not lurk somewhere beneath, be it in the piercing strange eyes or the ribbed stormclouds that gather about the brow. Be it in a resolve
that seems but trivial or foolish, be it in a fervent devotion that remains unbowed in the face of woes uncounted and dissipating ecstasies alike, be it in scowling pride or in a raging torrent of festering grief, be it in lust insatiable, be it in charged remembrances of that which has past or trembling intimations of future volumes of experience left unwritten.
Hail Satanis!
Cort Williams