Good morning!
This is the sword by my front door. It is technically a Tai Chi Sword, one wielded in practice without a true blade, a fascimile of a sword. It would be hard to hurt someone too terribly with this sword. Yet its presence by my door feels very powerful to me. It says “put down your weapons” each time I enter the house. I don’t know if it says that to anyone else but to me it is clear; enter the space without a weapon.
You might think I shouldn’t need to be reminded of that. Or you might think I should indeed bring my weapon into the house. Either way, what it means to me to enter the house without a weapon is to forego judgement. Even more to forgive any judgements already made, to let the whole project of deciding how to judge myself or others go.
Just like the sword by my door, it is easy to for me to see where others judge me. What is not so easy is to see where I judge others. Putting down the sword means to see where I am judging; judging myself or judging others. And then to let the weight of the sword bring me deep into my own body, deep into my connection with myself in that moment, a moment alive and bright without any need for judgement.
I love to practice with the sword. I love to feel the way it makes my body feel strong, even complete, as if it was meant to be a part of me. I like the rhythmic quality of the movement and the slight drag on my shoulders as I move it through the air, cutting, blocking and stabbing in a ritual drama of engagement. I don’t ever really want to “fight” with someone physically. Strangely though, with a sword in hand I feel much more sure that I will be peaceful. I know the power and pain of my own judgement. The reason I practice with the sword is not in order to be a “winner” in a fight, but to be truly and wholly confident in my own knowing, to be capable of presence when things that are occurring provoke the unknown or are undesired.
I want to know my own capacity, to have the knowing of my own limits, but also to know my own power. To do that, I must heft the sword, I must come to feel and know what it means to hold it and to use it. Even more importantly, I must be quiet inside while I am doing it. Quiet inside means I am willing to let the reasons, the ideas, the concepts and the stories go their own way. It means I yield to the body, to the feeling of being. The internal experience of hefting a sword is for me, one of quiet clarity, strong knowing. I can bring to presence this feeling just by looking at the sword. This is why I leave it by my front door.
Most of the time, as I speculate might be true for many of us, I am not quiet inside. I am full inside. But each time I see the sword, I remember to empty out, to become quiet and capable, to become strong and available to this very moment, to put down the weapon. Psychologically speaking, judgement is a sword, a double-edged sword at that, one that cuts both the person it is directed at and the person wielding the sword. If I can put down the weapon of judgement, compassion is the result. But, in order to put such a weapon down, I must first pick it up, I must first find the place where my judgement lives.
Every weapon is innocent, capable of transmitting power and pain, but without judgement or agenda, doing as I wield. But am I innocent? Am I quiet? When I practice, when I pick up the sword I get to ask myself; Am I here, am I ready, am I clear, am I available, looking, seeing, feeling and ready to give and receive, ready to be in dialogue with the world? I often feel afraid, afraid both to know and to look, to see my own fear, confusion, pain or judgement. But I remember to be brave, to listen to my heart. I do not have to be brave to pick up the sword. I must be brave to put it down.
Thank you Josephine for this provocative essay.
I especially resonate with your thoughts about judgement and how it is a double edged sword that hurts both the judged and the judge. Also that it doesnt take courage to pick up the sword but it does to put it down. Thank you again.