THE SWORD

He knew who it was going to be.

He was positively sure.

The boy watched as THE SWORD was slipped into a perfectly carved slot in the sacred rock that sat in the middle of the circle of men. The fire next to it illuminated the glimmer and shimmer of the steel with magnificence. This was no ordinary sword; it was THE SWORD that would be wielded by the next chief of the tribe. It was a sword that had been passed down from one chief to the next…

And the next was about to be chosen.

The boy was frozen to the spot. He sat cross-legged on the cool but comfortable earth, anxious but grounded in nature’s essence. He was excited to be in the presence of the most powerful men in the tribe for the first time in his young life. Now that he was thirteen years old, he had come of age. Now that he was thirteen years old he was allowed to engage in the ceremonies, traditions and practices of his tribe. The men had invited him into their community, which for him was a big deal; his father had died in battle when he was just a baby, so he needed the guidance of masculinity more than most.

That was the job of his mentor…

Who was sat on the floor next to him.

“The ceremony is about to begin,” his mentor whispered in his ear.

The boy could barely contain his excitement. He was certain that his mentor would be the next chief chosen. He was sure that his mentor was going to be the one to lead their tribe until death did him part. His mentor was the biggest, strongest, fiercest fighter in the tribe. He was the most skilful in battle with sword, shield and bow. There was no man in the tribe who could compete with the physicality his mentor possessed, so the boy was confident in his selection. His mentor would be the man chosen…

Wouldn’t he?

Suddenly, from within the solemn sound of silence, the shaman of the tribe rose to his feet and walked from his spot in the circle to the fire. He was holding a small, leather bag of something; a resin that he started sprinkling over the flames as he chanted in a language the boy couldn’t understand. Every man in the circle then began to stand as the flames smoked with the sweet smell of frankincense. The boy could feel his spiritual awareness heightening as he inhaled the sacred scent. He gained clarity and clairvoyance as he stood shoulder to shoulder with the men of his community.

“Close your eyes and breathe with me,” the shaman instructed.

The boy watched as the shaman started to breathe through his nose only, using his diaphragm to push air out from the very bottom of his lungs on the outward breath, and drawing it back in with his inward breath. The boy had used this technique before. His mentor had walked him up the mountain many times to practice this ancient, kundalini breathing technique, so he closed his eyes with confidence and began to intuitively follow the rhythm; a rhythm that began to form a synchronised pattern with the other men.

As the energy grew, as the boy connected to the other men in the circle through an aligned pattern of outward and inward breathing, he started seeing a face as clear as day in his mind’s eye. As the boy became high from the increased intake of oxygen in his BODY, enhanced by the smell of frankincense, he saw the face of a man who he had seen before in his tribe…

But had never spoken to.

It was then that the boy felt overwhelmed with the rhythm, unable to keep up with the breathing pattern set by grown men with bigger lungs than him, intoxicated by the sweet smell of frankincense and confused by the crystal-clear face that he was seeing in his mind’s eye. He opened his eyes…

Momentarily swayed…

And fainted.

When he woke, the shaman was stood over him with a look of curiosity. The boy was resting on his back with his head in the cross-legged lap of his mentor. He felt comforted by the presence of his mentor’s strong BODY, so he knew not to panic; this was all part of the plan.

“Who did you see?”, the shaman asked with urgency.

Before the boy could speak…

The shaman asked again.

“Quickly boy, while the veil is thin and your clarity remains. You have been selected by the spirit world as pure enough to communicate the message of our next chief because you will do so from a place of innocence and not corruption. You fainted when that connection was terminated…

So point to the man you saw before you forget.”

The boy hastily looked around the circle of men. Despite being dimly lit by fire, there was no mistaking the face he was looking for. The boy pointed to the man he saw in his vision with absolute conviction. The shaman asked him if he was sure, to which he replied, “yes.” Then, the boy asked the shaman:

“I don’t understand why it is him though. That man is not as big, strong and powerful as my mentor. He has not proven himself in battle like my mentor has. I know every man here has been brave and courageous in war…

But surely the strongest should be chief?”

The shaman momentarily ignored the boy’s question to bring forward the man who had been chosen by the spirit world to lead the tribe. The man had indeed fought alongside his brothers in war, so was battle-hardened, but he was also a storyteller; he was a warrior of words and a sword. As he stepped forward into the light of the flames, the boy finally realised where he had seen him before; he had enjoyed his stories around the fire many times. He had laughed and even cried to his words; this man had a power for creating a picture.

“You are the next chief of our tribe. Please pull THE SWORD from the stone,” said the shaman to the storyteller.

The storyteller bowed with respect. Then, he clasped the handle of the sword with both hands and slowly pulled it from the stone, raising it above his head to reveal the might and magnificence of its steel to the stares of thirty pairs of eyes, including the boys.

“Now that I am chief, which is an honour that I pledge my life to, I would like my first words to be an answer to the boy’s question, if you don’t mind shaman?”, said the storyteller.

The shaman – who hadn’t forgotten about the boy – nodded his head. Then, the newly appointed chief said:

“There is no doubt that your mentor has the strongest BODY amongst all of us. I have fought with him in battle many times and would choose him to fight by my side over any other man here – with respect. I am sure every other man would say the same thing…

But we all have different strengths.

It is true that what we see in the physical is easy to measure, and displays of physical strength are prioritised as the ultimate measure of masculinity in society, but generally, the man most suited to an alpha role like chief or king, he is not actually the strongest. A leader’s strength does not lie in the physical, rather, it lies in a power you cannot see. A power that has the ability to start a war, end one or abolish it altogether. A power that can raise a man to his highest heights or cut him down to size. A power that can make a man’s dreams come true…

Or shatter them to pieces.

We cannot see this power, but it is the reason we witness all physical progression or regression in the world you know. It is the euphoria of a ‘yes’…

Or the heartbreak of a ‘no’.

It is of course…

The power of words!

The man who has the ability to wield words with mastery has the ability to function as the true alpha, the chief, the king, the president, the prime minister – whatever position of power you can think of. Men with weak words make for poor alphas, chiefs, kings, presidents and prime ministers. It is the sound of a word that can unleash the greatest potential of creation…

Or bring the world to its knees in destruction.

I have been chosen because I know the power of words, and I will never betray that power. I urge you, young man, to take the power of words as seriously as you do the strength of your BODY.

Read.

Write.

Speak.

Converse.

Debate.

Play with words regularly…

And you will feel a power that I have not ignored.

That is why I hold THE SWORD!”

Tane