Survival 101
Firmly pressed between thumb and forefinger,
she carried her weapon of choice; the unassuming
rose thorn, tenaciously torn from its stoic stem, like
Arthur's sword from it's stone.
There was no need for her to carry a gun, when
bullets could not penetrate the heart which couldn't
be found, or to wield a knife which could not cut
through transparent thoughts of deception. No -- it
was the rose thorn she chose; a perfect specimen,
neatly honed to it's finest point -- compliments of
mother nature, in her all knowing wisdom when it
came to instilling survival skills amongst all her living
children, including the rose.
Arm outstretched, she held her thorn between thumb
and forefinger like a torch in the night. For as
confounding successions of painful events unfolded,
brought about by the inescapable commonplace
lessons of life, she'd squeeze her thorn till it
penetrated sharply into her thumb pad's tender
flesh. To this she did not wince nor holler; but bravely
accepted this constant reminder that without pain,
growth could never rise -- like smoke off ash, in the
battlefield of life. And thus she never needed to
remind herself that, though it may had been her
weapon of choice, a thorn, like a faithful guide, could
be a beautiful thing too.
she carried her weapon of choice; the unassuming
rose thorn, tenaciously torn from its stoic stem, like
Arthur's sword from it's stone.
There was no need for her to carry a gun, when
bullets could not penetrate the heart which couldn't
be found, or to wield a knife which could not cut
through transparent thoughts of deception. No -- it
was the rose thorn she chose; a perfect specimen,
neatly honed to it's finest point -- compliments of
mother nature, in her all knowing wisdom when it
came to instilling survival skills amongst all her living
children, including the rose.
Arm outstretched, she held her thorn between thumb
and forefinger like a torch in the night. For as
confounding successions of painful events unfolded,
brought about by the inescapable commonplace
lessons of life, she'd squeeze her thorn till it
penetrated sharply into her thumb pad's tender
flesh. To this she did not wince nor holler; but bravely
accepted this constant reminder that without pain,
growth could never rise -- like smoke off ash, in the
battlefield of life. And thus she never needed to
remind herself that, though it may had been her
weapon of choice, a thorn, like a faithful guide, could
be a beautiful thing too.
posted by Elena Horowitz-Brookes at 1:18 AM
7 Comments:
Such tender pain so splendidly expressed.
the unassuming
rose thorn, tenaciously torn from its stoic stem, like
Arthur's sword from it's stone.
Brilliant.
beautifully done
i love the whole concept of the rose thorn (with all its echoes of love and pain) as a weapon - and as a defence against ones own fears and weaknesses perhaps
i shall have to read this several times - once my thumb stops hurting :)
many thanks
Of course, without the thorn the rose could never be seen as beautiful; without the reminder of pain , joy could never be as sweet, or sweet at all. If I put sugar in my coffee it'd be your words. Absolutely wonderful!!
oh, this is wonderful... i love the idea and of course, without knowing pain joy can not be acknowledged
Sis Neetee,
Thank you so much! I'm so glad this touched you. Tender pain...wonderful way to express this!
Your comments are always special.
Floots,
Hope your thumb has recovered :)
Thank you for your very kind words and observations. They mean a lot to me.
Pat,
I love coffee, so you can stir my words into your coffee anytime. Make it strong!
Thank your for your wonderful compliment. I'm always so glad when you arrive here.
Polona,
I'm so glad you related to this. Thank you so much!
what a fantastic thought this. the thorn as a weapon but not just a weapon, a reminder also. a reminder of love and loss and pain and suffering. what a delicate device to motivate one self. a prickly thorn pressed against the flesh.
CJ,
Thank your for your kind compliment. So glad you related to it.
xx
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