This post follows the last, Resistance and Awareness.
You can hunt your way down another path in this line of inquiry, the path of grief. To paraphrase author and teacher Martín Prechtel, you must work to keep grief liquid – otherwise it will become a stone within you and make you sick.
You might also call a stone, “armor”, “callous”, and so on. We build homes from stone because they resist the elements, they create an inner protected world in which overnight the developing family may safely rest and nourish itself, hatching out again into every new dawn.
And yet these stones can appear inappropriately, in places not fit for them. In this case they block circulation, they weigh us down, they blind us, and they make us sick. They turn our soft generous hands into weapons made of iron. Our eyes designed to soothe the world, now wound with a glance as easily as the tip of a spear.
Once you realize you can extend your awareness into the paths of your resistance, folding them back and dissolving them, inevitably you must come to the places where long ago your grief has turned to stone. Long ago in your life, in your family lineage, or in your cultural lineage.
What does it mean to become fully aware of grief in your past and in your body? To slowly dissolve it into liquid that begins to move again and rejoin the great flow of life out of you?
What happens if you dissolve too much, too soon, unprotected?
Can you work to dissolve a little every day, warming up those stony deposits little by little so that they can soften and dissolve in a safe and easy way?
If we cannot separate the observer from the observed, what does a stony gaze, a jealous gaze, a greedy gaze, a hungry gaze, an analytical gaze, do to that which you gaze upon? The Evil Eye of old spoke of this very thing.
How can we soften and re-liquid our gaze so that it touches like water or a breeze?
How can every question we ask flow to more questions, rather than weighing down with the millstone of a final answer?