Going to the Maul

I wrote this several years ago, for an online magazine called Yoga Modern. I wanted to give it a share today, as I sit here stiff and sore from yesterday’s splitting, and discovered it is not to be found. I’m republishing it on my blog for now, but if I can find it on Yoga Modern, I’ll add that link too. Autumn — ’tis the season for splitting and stacking.

 

There are far too few opportunities, I believe, for women to go outside and hit things as hard as they can until they break.  It would not be particularly functional behavior in an urban environment, but I would argue that not many country gals have the stars line up in such a way as to offer this type of activity as a viable option on a regular basis.  But when the opportunity does present itself, we should seize upon it and split with gusto.

 

Tipping my hat in acknowledgement as I dodge the how-truly-environmentally-friendly-is wood-heat-anyway discussion, allow me to own that I am only here to sing the praises of swinging a maul.  The rest is secondary.  It is the physical effort by a 5’2”, 116 pound woman pitted against oaken rounds I can’t lift and can barely roll that move me to meditate upon this topic.  How many times in my life have I had the chance to give some physical task my all, to use every ounce of force I have in my body to bust things up?  Not often.  How many times in your life have you heard someone warn you “don’t force it.”  Be careful.  Be gentle.  Use brains, not brawn.  Work smarter, not harder.  In many contexts, I completely agree.  Finesse and gentleness have their place.

 

Most of what women do all day every day requires relatively little brute force.  This isn’t to insinuate that I think we are living cushy lives.  I know how heavy a car seat with an eleven month old infant in it can be, and how emotionally and physically draining many women’s lives are, juggling the multiple demands and multiple roles that are still all too commonly relegated to “women’s work.”  But it just isn’t the same as hitting something as hard you can until it breaks.  The challenge and the triumph of splitting that knotty old elm branch that’s bigger around than both of your thighs put together is just different.

 

I confess: I love to split wood.  I love the intensity of the effort and the immediate gratification of each successful split.  I love the sharp crack of a split just starting, and I love the roar that comes out of the depths of my being with the next swing.  I love pitting myself against the pile of logs and knowing that I will prevail.  I love hitting things as hard as I can (while I’m confessing, I am rather fond of batting cages too).  It feels like animal gratification, pure and primal.  It is a screaming prayer of ability, a thunderous “I CAN!” howled at the world.  It is pure joy in doing, finding a place where doing and being collide, and the simple experience of being a body is both ecstasy and worship.  The only comparison I can come up with is that when I hike I throw myself at the mountains with a comparable spirit of primitive intensity, and laugh raucous laughter at the summit, intoxicated by the sheer “I-can-ness” of it.

 

Is it necessary to empty oneself out like this in order to find the peace and triumphant joy that comes from doing so?  Are there other routes to such bliss – routes that don’t involve hitting and smashing and roaring?  Asana practice, or running a marathon, for example?  Or creative endeavors that don’t involve breaking a sweat, but certainly do involve plumbing the depths or entering the blackness to emerge with the story, the image, the finished piece that tells of what is there?  My opinion, after decades of many such practices is that for me splitting wood is The Way.

 

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