The Sacred Sword

The tongue, a weapon of creation, as all our organs. Able to create illness or piecing love. This blade, a weaver from heart. Polarity bliss of songbird. Every crossroad of how to wield this sword matters. Each step of its lash matters. Laying perfectly on the lay line of hearts path, ready to sit calm or slice through another's heart, flesh and bone. You choose?

Words once thrown, unable to take back. Leaving or gifting their mark of wound or message until realisation flows in. No one’s words actually hold power over you. Just a witness of frequency of where you are at on your journey and them on there's, and which you choose to engage upon or witness. Cut deep with menace and pain, or plant seeds to blossom connection. Precision of whom you are.

The sharpest of blades are mindful, knowledgeable, aware, and know when to honour ‘clean cut medicine’ or rest. The awakening truth. Echo's singing gift of lineage dolphin and merlin codes. The healing waters. From one’s own path of reflection and learning. Every single word holds creation.

How do you create?

Weaving from heavenly heart and ownership? Or lack of awareness and ones internal codes of pain?

Do you cut others to feel? Or avoid inwardly the ownership of what rose within that moment?

The Tongue, The Sacred Sword.