The tale of a sympathetic stone.

The tale of a sympathetic stone.

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One day a stone said to his maker, “I’ve changed my mind. I admit… things aren’t quite as rigid as I once thought. I’ve observed flow. Can I be a river now?”

The fact was that he was placed next to a river for a reason. He fell there after his stoic nature began to push aggressively outwards. He had had a disagreement with a feather one day, her flightiness annoyed him. The wind had blown her to a soft pleasurable landing atop his stern self. She didn’t mind for she was in a constant state of bliss. But the pressure of the feather landing caused a deep uproar within the mountain rocks, they were simply sick of these feathers fluttering about. Her delicate touch, a gentle kiss of freedom, created an internal grumble - a stiff opinioned response from these dense beings.

The automatic vibration of disgust turned into an avalanche. The feather through her subtle example had set them all free. Rolling, falling, crashing, banging, blasting, cracking, breaking, crumbling, pounding heavily downwards, the hard hearts fell and cracked open. They began to experience the raw reality of stiffness against stiffness. Knocking against one another they suddenly objected to the consequences of such hardness of being.

They had always lived together in the harmony of their mutual strong-mindedness. But as they broke against one another, brothers killing brothers, hearts in pieces, mixed up and mutilated; they learnt a lot about themselves. About the nature of rigidity. How it feels in all its force when the same rigid opinion is moving at the same cynical rate in the same grumpy direction, toward each other. The physics of the collision, the stress they brought upon themselves, left their ruptured physical statures with a trace of empathy. Adding a softness to their stiffness, the grieving caused to them by their own destructive thoughts.

Some were transformed entirely into powder form. Being no longer abrasive and rockish but more fine, delicate and dusty. A few of them embraced this new illusive identity as dust. But for most it was a humiliating fate for such proud thinkers, rooted in structure and stability, to be reduced to powder and pebbles!

But the journey was symbolic. Through it they started to understand how each heart of stone was merely a reflection of their own heart of stone. Rocks reflecting rocks; minds mirroring minds. Then the rocks began to feel. To think through their feeling, to associate thought with feeling and being with thinking. They became conscious of their mind-making-matter and started observing the minds of trees, rivers, birds and breeze. They humbly turned like a child to its mother, to the more gentle harmonies within nature. Searching soulfully for the wisdom they needed on how to be a little more free in their thinking.  For freedom they observed, is the highest form of wisdom indeed!

And that is the story of how the stone came to desire the river.

(Note: This is an isolated story about how one group of stones came to think about freedom. Other rocks do glorious jobs at creating foundations, adding structure, resilience and protection to the lives of many men. They teach man through their good example, about strength and duty, hard work and steadfast, whole mindedness. They are masculine and usually very reliable. These types of rocks, through the ‘luck’ of their selection to aid man are also on the evolutionary road to Self Realisation. They are good and useful energy as it manifests itself in the qualities of stone. )