Somewhere I remember..."dancing on a blade's edge will end with bloodied feet" or some such...sort of like "skating on thin ice" but more dire, since the portended death is slower and likely more painful.
It might appear, then, that my comment to Ver here might be blade dancing of a sort, my integrity bleeding slowly away...
Or perhaps I'm simply feeling /dramatic/ today.
I'd rather think, then, that it's more a matter of unveiling. Layers. Layers of spirituality. The cloak and measure appear to be of one thing, but if one looks closely, it is a patchwork. Each square a doorway into a series of experiences usually unseen in the perceived shape.
We are each built of stories, never ending linkages, many our own making, but all inextricably entwined by the heritage of the body, the mind, the spirit, the emotion to where we are now and where we hope to go.
To look in a mirror darkly could be acknowledgement that we perceive ourselves only as shadows. Or it could be a hint of scrying for inner knowledge of layered experiences and existences.
We may look to the roots for nourishment, but we also reach to the skies with leaves which transform light and air into growth. Let's not uproot in favor of the leaves, nor diminish the leaves in favor of the rootedness. Let us be whole, vibrating, and dancing beyond the binaries of the axeblade.