Teracotia is what we will call the act of building clay armies to guard your halls.
Pawns in position to protect royalty, their loyalty a construct of anxiety.
To what clay faces do I hold dear as I tour the many armies I have created over the years. A false front embattled from my earliest tears, when did I create this nest of dolls, this army of fear?
And as the faces pass safe behind protective glass the exhibit reflects what clay faces reject.
A life of building armies, one solder abreast another, legion upon each other, my nesting dolls guard my halls and cluttered has my castle become.
And so what clutter has claimed I must tour again these quarters of clay men.
Terracotta oblongata becomes the regatta we have entered into and now the race to deconstruct these faces of clay men begins.
And I do it with regard and purpose as I gently pack my guardians away. Row after row, the guards are retired from their loyal service of rank and pay.
The faces crack, the paint peels away and the servants of tomorrow are built from yesterday’s clay.
And after some time I noticed my clay warriors began to simplify, legion after legion loosing their luster, their presence just clumps of clay clusters guarding a young boys decay. The guarded prince left in his tower, built within a clay castle, Terracotta Oblongata.
Such a busy little builder I’ve been, industrious, intolerant just on the whim that my fears would always win.
Clay faces fighting a war from within,
Teracotia is what we’ll call building clay armies to guard your halls.
Terracotta lobotta is what we’ll need to do to take away and deconstruct this mistaken clay institute.
Uncluttered castles will remain with Kings who gave away the princes clay.
It wasn’t until I searched my own armies did I realize what purpose they served. After I lined them up for inspection, I realized my protection was just part of the background, the guards that castles come with.
I asked myself “Who hired these guards?”
I looked at each soldier, every Captain and studied their detail, their purpose.
It soon occurred to me that each servant served its master, each clay creation an iteration of a fear that needed a specialized guard, troop or army.
This revelation really opened me up to the immense amount of fear we create from the unknown as we cope with trauma as a child and trauma in general.
My traumatic childhood created such a vast expanse. So much, that creating armies became the thing to do. The Art of War painted onto the clay faces crafted to protect me.
And with strokes of the brush so swings the sword.
And painting with a sword brings its legacy.
Legacies are not destined to become and as such are written by you.
Paint happy clay faces upon your soldiers, scholars and scribes.
Let peace of mind be your bribe.