Glass Knives Don’t Cut

Metaphorical Narrative

A dagger gleams in the air, pointed at your chest.
It looks sharp, lethal, convincing.
But when you reach out, it splinters — glass shards scattering at your feet.
The knife never had an edge.
The danger was posture, not reality.

Core Insight

Ego vigilance shows up with menace, as if it could pierce your work and presence.
But its knives are glass — convincing because of stance and memory, not actual force.
Attention animates the illusion, fear sharpens it, and divided focus makes it sting.

Awareness breaks the glass every time.
Naming the script reveals its fragility.
The knife cannot cut; it can only posture.

Saturday Experiment

• When vigilance feels sharp, whisper: “Glass.”
• Visualize the knife shattering as you exhale.
• Commit to one next action immediately after (press key, write word).

Sunday Reflection

Write in third person:

• Which knives appeared this week?
• What happened when they named them glass?
• How did the splintering feel in their body?