Weeks later I took the ax and swung again. The impact on my hands stung like iron. I attacked the piece from another angle, swung the weapon into stone. Even with the maul and wedge, I could not diminish the wood nor ease frustration building up within.
Of course! I’d been standing right in front of me. I’d been blocking clear perception of the moment. The damned wood block needed nothing more! No splitting, whittling, or sawing, no cursing, yelling, or dynamiting.
The ax and maul and wedge were friends. They had shaped my senses, finally. They had built a gentler day.
The wood block was complete, an entity free from scheming mind. I hauled it feather-light to the stove and shoved it in. It might have taken a minute or an hour or a day, but the wood block started burning.
Energy was released, and there was heat.