What a wonderful feeling it is when you take your old sword out for a walk! Your step becomes light and measured, your gaze gains precision, and your stomach muscles untangle. Your mind clear of thought, you float through the crowd. The sword props you up, as it were. It fills you with life. Surprisingly enough, it matters not the least that your sword is invisible.

Addendum (October 5, 1995)

Walking through the Kensington Gardens to a business appointment earlier this afternoon, I felt my sword again. Although a bit heavier and a bit less nimble on my feet, I still experienced the same detachment, the same power, as the last time I took my sword out for a walk. That must have been three or four years ago, and maybe even longer. This time, the experience went deeper. It touched something older, something timeless. Like a lone wolf, I felt that I was in mortal danger, and yet I welcomed it. I welcomed it, and yet I did not tempt it. Resigned to my fate for the length of the park, I was the path under my feet. I was the air and I was the sunlight. Like a lone wolf, I had no use for the old sword strapped to my waist. And I let it fade and fall away.