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The wall was quiet,
just a pale breath of plaster
holding the afternoon.

Then the sun passed through glass
and broke itself open—
not into fragments,
but into meaning.

A rainbow arrived without announcement,
sliding across the wall
like a benediction
that did not need permission.

And there—
the sword.

Not raised.
Not grasped.
Not hungry.
Simply *there*.

Iron standing still
while light learned how to move around it.

The blade did not interrupt the spectrum.
It did not dominate it.
It allowed itself to be touched.

Color wrapped the edge
without dulling it.
Spirit passed through the steel
without dissolving its truth.

This is how the warrior changes.

Not by losing fire,
but by remembering why fire exists.

Neptune leaned into Aries
and whispered,
*Strength does not require cruelty.*
*Clarity does not require blood.*

The sword stood
as a vow rather than a threat—
a threshold marker,
a guardian that does not seek enemies.

Only alignment.

Only the courage
to hold an edge
without swinging it.

I watched light move
where force once ruled,
and I knew—

This is the age arriving quietly.

Where power answers to soul.
Where the blade is baptized by color.
Where the warrior kneels
not in surrender,
but in devotion.

And the wall,
the sword,
the rainbow—

all of it
remembering itself at once.

May your strength always answer to your soul.
May your edge be guided by compassion.
May you never forget why you carry it.

Until Next Time –

With wonder and devotion,

The Inspired Imaginative| The Devoted Mystic

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