Honey and ice
"Growth requires inner labor. As fire purifies metal, so discipline purifies the soul. A burning spirit is a living spirit. An extinguished spirit is dead while still alive."
Growth requires inner labor—I didn't understand this truth right away, like a seed that lies long in the ground before breaking through to the light. It took years to hear it through the noise of my own justifications, through the childish cries of the world's injustice. Only when life began hammering this truth into me with the patience of a village blacksmith did I feel its weight—heavy as a hammer on the anvil of the soul.
The blows of fate are never random. They fall steadily, persistently, transforming the soft metal of the heart into something strong and resonant. Every blow is a lesson, every bruise a sign that the form has not yet been achieved.
As fire burns rust from iron, so discipline—that inexorable, almost sacred force—burns away weakness and illusions. Purification is rarely gentle: it smells of burning and salty tears, stinging the eyes with the smoke of burning habits. And yet, it is precisely through this suffering that strength is born—not the kind that boasts of muscles, but a secret one, hidden deep within, like a root underground.
A burning spirit is a living spirit. It dances an uncontrollable dance on the embers of existence, stumbling and getting burned, but never knowing how to stop. The flame seeks no rest—it surges upward, resists the wind, greedily gulps in air to burn brighter. Such a spirit may seem ridiculous in its thrashings, but within this absurdity resides beauty—the beauty of defiance.
An extinguished spirit is dead even while it's still alive. It gives off neither a spark nor the scent of smoke—only the empty cold of an abandoned house. People try to conceal this inner frost with external adornments: ringing words, bright clothes, glittering successes. All of this is merely garlands on a grave. The smell of decay still penetrates any mask.
Growth is neither a gift from heaven nor an accident. It is a war where sword and knight merge into one. As long as the storm rages within and the steel rings with blows, there is hope.