The Stone

Somedays, you’re the sword. Most days, you’re the stone. The hope and the obstacle. The resistance and the reward. Elegance and refinement up to the hilt in a fucked-up predicament. The forge of human hubris against the igneous fire and pressure of the world. And the world always seems to win. Mother Nature gives you both middle fingers from every living creature. Whether the creatures even have middle fingers to give. It's quite the sight to see, I know.

You try to get up, try to get going, you try to get loose, but for all your efforts nothing moves, nothing stirs. You’re stuck. I get it. One might call it bullshit and somedays it might be true. But lets be honest, bullshit is a softer substance. One easier to pull from. The only real problem is the smell. But, wade in it long enough and you start to appreciate the earthy perfume. You get used to it. Trust me. I know.

Somedays, my mind is a weapon. A double-edged instrument of discipline and precision. A well-balanced blade. But, most days, you'll find me running with scissors. Most days I'm a brick. A whole stack of them, mortared together in a staggered, one-over-two pattern. Most days, I'm the wall I beat my own head against, swearing that any moment it'll fall. It'll move. Most days, you'll see me struggle to get out of my own way. They say you're your own worst enemy, your own biggest critic, your own hinderance. I get it. I know.

Somedays we push, and pull, and pry. Most days we blister and ache. We feel the weight of every failed attempt like sediment. Like coarse conglomerate. Immovable granite and bouldering clay. It's heavy. It's hard to carry. I know.

Somedays it's our duty to stand our ground. To go toe to toe with gods and demons, monsters and creeping things. Everything that holds us back. That keeps us down. That traps us in place. But, most days our time is better suited to looking close, to seeing what others fail to see, to finding a better way. A loop hole, a short-cut, a secret passage, a space between, the bigness of small things.

You can be a martyr or you can be a trickster. You can tighten your grip. Pick a hill to die on. You can double down. Or, you can learn to let it go, to have an angle, to game the system, to cross lines and boundaries, to make a deal, to break the rules.

You can stare into the peat and pitch. The darkness and the obstinacy. The desolation and the void. You can cower, you can curse, you can pray. Or, you can make a joke. You can trick it. You can make friends with it. Even on the butcher block, the gallows, the altar, the guillotine.

You can roll a rock up hill only to watch it roll back down. You can accept it as punishment. You can be penitent. Or, you can smile to yourself all the way.

You can be rigid, or you can be water. You can be constricted, cemented. Or, you can be malleable. You can be seditious. You can learn to change shapes, to erode away the stone, until everything comes loose. It takes a while to figure it out, to get it sorted, to finally get it right. And, most days you'll still get it wrong. It isn't always easy. I get it. Trust me. I know.

---

Thanks for reading! I don’t keep anything behind a paywall, but I do offer a paid option if you’d like to support the newsletter. Or, you can throw something in my digital tip jar and Buy Me a Coffee. No matter what, I appreciate you being here!

---