Something about my knife

Something about my knife

I bought a knife. It’s very sharp. Part of a Kickstarter that I funded four or five months ago, it finally turned up on my doorstep yesterday. The Knasa, a not-so-breathtaking conjunction of K-nife and NASA, utilises never-seen-before technology that ‘bonds amorphous alloy to steel in a way it never has before’.

The benefits abound, the literature tells me. It’s durability to stand up to daily use in the kitchen and maintain its sharpness and control is unheralded in a chef’s knife.

Last night, I paraded the knife to my daughter before inviting her to cut through some orange with an older, still good, knife that she’s used before. Then I invited her to test drive the Knasa. Half way through cutting, she stopped in awe and shot a look of admiration and fear towards me.

My knife looks good, too. It’s beautifully designed and superbly balanced; it’s aesthetic qualities betraying the incisive carnage of which it’s entirely capable.

I have a tongue. You have one as well. Mine can be very sharp although I’ve seen others whose are blunt and still capable of untold damage.

Mine sometimes uses a not-so-breathtaking conjunction of truth unsubtly fused with nuanced wit. I do my best to keep the thing in its holster, but sometimes it suffers from provocation and wants to demonstrate its power to carve and wound in ways never seen before.

The benefits of my tongue abound, the literature tells me. If I can control my tongue, I can control my whole body. While it’s only small, it can boast great things. It can set a forest ablaze, sneakily stain a whole body, and change the entire course of another’s life.

My tongue uses an often seen before technology that fuses flesh and spirit. Either can tame the other, but the results are only ever positive in one version of that battle for supremacy.

A few days back, a friend paraded their tongue to me. It was impressive. I was in awe of the way in which it cut right through me. Other knives aren’t this effective, but this one was quite advanced and sliced right through. I bled a little and moved on, warily watching on as a semi-detached third-party with a mixture of admiration and fear.

Sometimes, on reflection, it’s difficult to remember what we cut or what cut us. But we remember the sting of the incision long after the antecedent is forgotten.

The brilliance of the tongue – it’s eloquence, perspicaciousness, acerbic tendencies, and propensity to slice and dice – tend to be grounded by fear and intimidation. And the very same tongue, moderated by a ‘stay and journey’ spirit, rather than the ‘flight or fight’ flesh, is capable of affirmation, encouragement, wisdom and discernment.

If there’s one feature of the Knasa that I want to emulate, it’s the ability to maintain sharpness and control. Simultaneously. These two qualities are rarely seen in the same ‘knife’.

No human can tame the tongue; it is a restless evil full of deadly poison. With it, we bless our Lord and Father and with it, we cause those who are made in the likeness of God. My brothers, that ought not to be so.

James 3:10



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