I received a comment on it a few days ago for a blog entry I made back in 2011. My words and experiences inspired him to crawl out of his depression, spend time under the iron, and build himself back up. I knew I needed the blow the dust off this piece and re-submit it to a larger audience. I hope it inspires many more people.
-Kevin Wikse 2022
I have been through some life-altering adjustments in the last couple of weeks. Lord Mars laid waste to my old life. With a mighty stroke of his spear, he sent me to crawl off and assess my wounds. In hindsight, I intuitively knew it was coming. I knew I required more room to grow than my current situation could afford me. My progress had become stifled. Sons of Mars must always march on. There is only ever forward for us. Without progress, we enter stagnation, and that is death.
A single painful act of compassion, and I was freed. Freedom has a sweetness the weak will never know. The power of Mars has done its work. I am faced again with the lesson of how to carefully select the pieces worth picking up and soldier on. There is nothing left to do but repair.
There is no difference between the physical, mental, spiritual, or emotional bodies. None. Damage to one is damage to all. Healing for one is healing for all. Survival is no longer good enough. My mission is to thrive. To heal back, bigger, stronger, and faster. I am a tiger who broke free from his cage. Years of captivity took their toll. I am a tiger who never forgot what it was like to bleed, fight, fuck and hunt. These are impulses stronger than any bindings. I would either come crash through those bars or die trying. The bondage was guaranteed death. I’ve seen Tigers in cages. Endlessly pacing back and forth. Looking out with dead eyes hoping their body soon follows.
I plead my case to the mighty spirits of the forge To the ancient intelligence of Fire and Iron. Repair me! Weyland the Smith! Vulcan! Take up my broken parts. Mend them. Temper them. Sharpen them. I am a chain whose weakest link was found. It is time to collect myself, re-examine, and re-fortify. I seek the links of my chain. A chain that is also ancestral and starts far beyond what I can see. Begining in such a place of subtly, neither hand nor eye may lay themselves upon it. Only the heart can sense it. As that chain grows denser, snaking through all my mental, emotional and spiritual bodies, it manifests as the kinetic chain of movement in my physical body.
I lay the chain of my life over the anvils of souls. Weyland the Smith. Vulcan, maybe even Gran Ogun, will take up my cause. I say to them, Fathers of the forge, you with the spirit of both fire and iron. Repair me. Strike me your hammer and remake me your image. Make me stronger than before. I will work as you work. I will toil as you toil. I will suffer as you suffer. Nothing for nothing.
Grace is mercy. Grace is the blessing of Father Jupiter, but Jupiter does not favor the lazy. Through work, we gain strength. Grace that affords us the opportunity but not the guarantee. I will do my part. I will strengthen the physical chain of my body and return to wholeness. Show the mighty Fathers of the Forge my gratitude and appreciation for their work. I will pay my dues in sweat and blood. I will then pay it forward.
From tarnished to polished.
From wounds to weapons.
From tragedies to tools.
Such is how the Shed of Rebellion was built.