011 — The Chisel and the Stone | Talon Z. Gray

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Becoming skilled—or sharp-minded—isn’t magic.
Let me show you.

You don’t need permission, their credentials, their access, their privileged drop-forged steel.
They are wrong. You cannot purchase this.

Look at this chisel: crooked, bent.
Made with my own wherewithal. Built to last.
It’s broken. It’s jagged. It’s a tool.
Sharp enough to carve the truth into ice.

The first act of creation is realizing all wreckage can become a sword.
These were never perfect new chisels.
This is my salvation, my solution.
Frugal. Resourceful.
Willing and able.
And you couldn’t tell the difference.

They do not need to show me the way.
They do not need to allow me to understand.
Work does not wait. Life is not lived in standstill.
You don’t need the system’s perfection to create.
The wreckage is your system, and it was made to be your own.
So own it.

The most important thing you’ll need to know while visiting here:
The Living Stone.

You might have noticed faint blue lights pulsing on the mountainside at night.
Those aren’t ornaments. They are alive.

These stones aren’t raw material.
They hold trapped memories, dormant spirits, echoes of lost souls.
You don’t need to just look.
You can release them.

At first glance, they seem like granite alone.
Most never realize every stone on the mountain holds a voice.
But the most special glow blue.

A memory of a dog with clipped wings.
A traveler lost off-trail.
Glitching wolf-spirits ebbing and flowing between worlds.

Using these as chew toys will not help.
It’s best to listen:
Place your paw on the stone. Feel its energy.
The signature is already there.
All you need to do is remove what is not true.

This will release the energy.
It’s living—so be careful.
Sometimes what you release is the opposite of what you expect.

You’re not here to impress.
You’re here to uncover what’s already inside the stone.

Next time I see, I have something to show you.

In a quiet clearing, I found hundreds of carved figurines:
wild dogs, hungry wolves, coiled snakes,
each glazed to scatter light.
Arranged in rows and formations.

It appears that no one has looked at these for a long time.

They beg for an audience. Some kind of engagement.
This sacred act is a quiet testimony, an offering in honor of the mountain itself.
They're arranged with such purpose and intention.

Who did they make these for?
A hidden entity?
Themselves?
Metrics? Approval? Love?

Was I the one meant to see them?
Part of me fears they’re a hallucination.
You must see for yourself—
I had to share their location with another.

Before you leave, check your map. I’ve marked it.

You are good enough to begin.
That’s always been true.
Even if you forgot.
Even if they told you otherwise.
I want you to have this.

(Hands over The Chisel)

Begin now.
Create without waiting.
You are ready.