Kai unfolds the grey felt slowly, the way you might open a letter you have waited for. Inside lies a vajra, about the length of a palm, heavier than it looks. The metal is cool for a moment, then not.
At its center is a ribbed grip that fits the closed hand. On either side, a lotus cup set with turquoise-colored inlay. Beyond each lotus, five prongs: one straight at the middle, four curving out and then back in, until their tips meet the center one, like fingers closing around something they mean to keep.
In Sanskrit the word is vajra; in Tibetan, dorje. It names both the thunderbolt and the diamond, something that strikes clear and something that cannot be broken. In practice it is traditionally held in the right hand, with a small bell in the left: the vajra for skillful action, the bell for wisdom, never quite one without the other.
The inward curve matters too. In many teachings, prongs that close toward the center belong to the peaceful form; open, splayed prongs to the wrathful one. Some read the five prongs as five kinds of wisdom. Lineages explain them differently, and we would rather leave that to teachers than settle it here.
The second piece on the felt is a double vajra: two crossed, so that four heads face four directions around a round hub. In the tradition it often lies at the foundation of things, beneath a mandala, on the back cover of a gau box. It is traditionally associated with steadiness, the ground that holds when everything else moves.
Neither is old. Both are made to be held, or kept on a shelf or altar, not worn.
Kai lays them side by side and folds the felt back over, one corner at a time.