Pen over sword

It is true that loving trusted true words are far far far more empowered, empowering and powerful than any brandished cowardly sword.

A friend of mine posted this today. I know he won’t mind me sharing it because of the spirit that speaks behind my words. It tells of a home guard that was formed to confront the ravages of a horrific cancer in man, one that is wholly and thoroughly unnecessary.

And yet because of our devotion to insanity that cancer continues now unabated. This papered sheet, here exhibited, is testament to a service that was rendered in the face of horrific madness born of a divorced understanding of what we actually are.

It is a piece of paper from one of many countries that I have been privileged to call my own. But it is one that is fully resonant with the larger moment so I brandish it now, and most appropriately so. Lest we are tempted to forget and tarry one moment longer in stubborn defiance of the full recognition of who we actually are.

I find myself inspired to tell of a different home front emergent in the nature of nature, beyond all the blaring, tired and avoidable sirens of our blind and destitute emergencies.

Here, I write, on a different kind of parchment, the dedication of words brought forth to salute the country I am most at home in and most fully suited to call my own as it is the very lifeblood of my family.

The country that has become me due undeniably to the love and healing my wife’s presence in my life initiated. The full force of that presence is beyond the capacity of my meager words to capture. And yet, I deign to attempt a try.

In the mirror of that challenge, in the mirror of that deepest of deep loves I have come across a beautiful secret that I feel inspired to share. For it might muster a calm and welcome change in the affairs of man. And for the love of my children and my children’s children I am destined to attempt that.

It is this.

Beyond the axes of our bitterness lies the fabric of a weighty and very sensitive and intelligently aware humanity.

There is a wholly resonant voice, faint and distant, we have ignored. To me, every moment now, I hear it, right down to the pores of my most fleshed out and lovingly traced essential being. It is not frightening. Nor can one call it common place, not quite yet, and yet, for me it has become common place.

The voice that I hear is that of a trumpeting elephant. It is the voice of a creature that is not afraid to witness the coming of man.

There is a unique difference between two words that matters hugely here and must be clearly and forcefully inserted for the insistent and independent evolution of the race to have its awesome presence suitably recognized and here and now solidly recorded.

We have taken a beautiful word and we have absolutely butchered it. And we have never, not once, had that right. Never. We have lied to ourselves and touted that lie unceremoniously and disgracefully as our truth. And nothing could be said to be further from the truth of who we actually are. It is a reckless, thankless and destitute task to even establish the basis of any single argument in favor of that horrific deceit. So I skirt it. I leave it behind. Completely and for all of time. And for all of us. I have that straightforward purpose of dignity about me.

How can you argue otherwise of yourself?

Well, you can’t. You cannot. You absolutely cannot.

We should be ashamed. To argue in any measure of a direction forward against this fact is heresy of the highest order. That hustled business of evasion we must stop. And stop right now.

The word I remember to reference and claim anew is: emergency. It is a beautiful word. Yet, we have hoisted a great pretense upon it. For, to come to what is natural and authentic and emergent in oneself demands urgency.

There is no haste in urgency. No fear. Nor any condemnation. No spectacles of dark unwisdom, no impossible feigned death of trust. But I claim what it does support. It gifts unimpeded pace, easy leisure and a spaciousness that can, and does, surmount all fabled obstacles. It alone has that right and all we need do, all we must do, is accommodate the stillness within ourselves and in the auspices of our conduct, to fully and resoundingly embrace it.

There is only trust in it. No more. No less. Yet, you find, you will discern, you are granted the clarity that that is all one needs to claim to measure up to the name of man.

When you discover urgency in yourself there is a state that is not bound by time nor the mad structures of a world that has invested ignorantly and complacently in disorder.

To be he or she who has pulled back the veil on his own lack of trust – to be that and nothing else is to embrace a wholly other state that is now, if we but care to look, fully and most copiously emergent.

It is a state that has totally totally totally put aside the belief in the impossible. It has completely dropped the attachment to any belief in scarcity.

It is in recognition of this inner state in man that the American. poet Carl Sandburg, wisely and widely affirmed the following:


“There is only one horse on all the earth and his name is All Horses.

There is only one bird in the air and his name is All Wings.

There is only one fish in the seas and his name is All Fins.

There is only one man in all the world and his name is All Men.

There is only one woman in all the world and her name is All Women. There is only one child in the world and the child’s name is All Children.”

But Sandburg did not stop there.

He went on:

“There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot’s hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.”

Well, I tell you all those things are true of me. But I can kill no man. Not one. And if I killl a single animal, and the symmetry of nature affirms this, I must do it humanely.

And you?

Now, what do you do? Do you evade? Do you avoid? Do you embrace the wonderful brilliant light of your being? Do you point fingers at it and attest it is the crowing indignity of a mad man, a hoarse leper at the gates of self?

Or do you drop your pretense? Do you awaken to the healthy calm repose of your dignified self? The self the elephant’s very trumpet evolved to celebrate?

Do you attack and claw at the roots of earth or do you have the common courage to say “I am urgent to witness an emergence of an authenticity in man and in myself, that is not the foreign intruder he once proclaimed worthy of being scoffed at.

I ask, then, who, who are you? Plainly and clearly I ask for the time for evading this most cherished question seems deceased now. To argue otherwise is just absurd.

Do you have the mettle of purpose to stand beside the name given to you? To be the man, woman or child the arguments of a faithless wounded victor of an imposter simply cannot supplant?

What will it take to stand tall as yourself rather than attack the very fabric of your sustenance one moment longer?

I ask not because I consider myself important. I am no such thing. I ask because I see the stunning and singular beauty of the bumble bee and it would be a thorough dereliction of compassion, an abdication of the deepest love in me, and a total sidestepping of the faith given unto me, and the ingenuity and enthusiasm that is my very weave, to not witness that shining creature that is the very centerpiece of. the crimson heart of creation. But to see it and treasure it for the creator of the honeyed nectar of nature that it clearly and undeniably is.

No, I ask because, I have no choice, no alternative option before me. I ask because the quiet dedication of the elephant is at my side and she will not, does not and cannot have the rightful admiration of man in his truest proportions evicted from her total conviction. No Way Jose! No Madam! No Siree!

I ask because I am a simple man and I love my wife and I do not want our children to be born into a world that has overlooked that vital inevitably of who we actually are. I ask because a gentle, defiant and loving urgency decrees me to. Most insistently so. Here and now. So i relent and voice it.

Emergent from that singularly real state is a man, woman and child in the mirror of your gaze that can thatch the roof of the world with a different music – with an steadfast adherence and unwavering devotion to a hidden symmetry that can end all massacres, soothe all pain, solve all deception born of distracted misperception and cement all severed ties.

I ask simply and only because I can.

And to not ask, well, I cannot.

I just can’t.

What shall be your answer?

There is a state beyond words, an urgent affirmation of the recognition of the voice in me, that is as true for you, as it is for me, a state that acts, that does no longer defer or argue in the habit of pained defections from what matters.

It is that state, and that state alone that can draw itself close to my heart and resoundingly respond in kind and in most devoted, most thorough and most clearsighted and sublime holistic action, and not an ounce of action, to the very depths of the depths of my question.

In light of that state, that tremendously practical, dynamic and fertile and abidingly humane state, all hollow words fall away, like water off a ducks back, like an extinguished pupa from an emergent butterfly, and like the severed umbilical chord that has been cut and tied most lovingly to affirm the birth of a new man, in light of this I affirm the name of “all men,” as the poet shared, as our viscerally acclaimed name now.

Yes, I see it, I recognize it. I hear the full bullhorn of that stately nobility that the joyous elephant proclaims. For, to not do that, well it is deadly to the very Song of Songs that sings through every man, woman and child in creation.

The era of “defense by force” is done. Now, the quiet assurance of the instruments of rightness provides us with the safety we are, and always have been, the proclaimers of, by the very virtues born of our rightful name.

© Copyright 2021 Nathan Curry

1 thought on “Pen over sword”

  1. The comments in the above Facebook Post were –
    Blaise Lafon commented :
    Ty ” there’s only one horse on this planet and its name is All Horses.”
    And always remember that the father looked Upon This One Creation, you it said the hold is very good. That goodness has a name is your name and my name and that one this one this one that one, and behold it is very good oh man good
    Nathan Curry commented :
    You are that father. Forget the inflation of evasion that we have hoisted upon us. Let it go. Thoroughly and totally and be what you truly are. The man that is the very seat of the preservation of nature.

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