Two Stones

on finding the middle way

For several years now I have carried two stones, one in each pocket. If for some reason my pants do not have pockets, I have a tiny drawstring bag that I can place the stones in and tuck them into my satchel. I first heard of the idea through a friend who was leading a women’s group on welcoming cronehood, and the freedom we can claim in these later years of our lives. The idea is very simple: one stone represents joy and one represents suffering, or any other duality our brains and emotions can construct. The beauty of these stones is the clear and tangible reminder that we are capable of carrying both. Both present. At the same time. All the time.

This small practice was so helpful to me during the covid lockdown era, and a constant reminder that even though the suffering around us can seem overwhelming and immense, there is always beauty and joy waiting for us to pay attention and remind us of that intricate balance. It has also been helpful to me during this long period of suffering in Ukraine as they fight to maintain their sovereignty against a psychopathic madman terrorist who calls himself a leader (I do not pull punches there and will not acknowledge his name). And it continues to be helpful to me for all acknowledgement of great suffering and injustice in the world, in my community, in my own life, and even the minor daily afflictions that, too, can seem overwhelming at times.

I can place my hands in my pockets and feel the cool weight of the stones and remember that wherever there is darkness, there is also light. Wherever there is sadness, there is also happiness. Wherever there is great wrongdoing, there is also truth and goodwill. It helps.

This concept of two stones probably originates from a Jewish tradition attributed to Rabbi Simcha Bunim of Peshischa. He suggested that one should carry two slips of paper, one in each pocket. On one slip, it should be written: "For my sake, the world was created," and on the other: "I am but dust and ashes.” Such messages can remind us of our insignificance, but also of our significance and our deep connection with all of life across the universe. That we are separate is an illusion. What we say and do matters. Each and every one of us. When one suffers, the suffering spreads. When one finds joy, or creates beauty, it can ripple outward to others. And no one, NO ONE, matters more than anyone else. I am no more important than anyone, and no one is more important than I.

It also aligns with the Buddhist understanding of duality that tells us we can experience states of being that are in great contrast, all at the same time, recognising the interconnectedness and interdependence of all things. Studying this has helped to remind me that I can, at anytime, free my mind from attachment to my suffering, or my unrealistic expectations that life should be one way or another, and to accept truth and reality. Accepting truth and reality is like a deep exhale and inhale after being underwater for a few moments too long. It’s like seeing the world in a more all encompassing way, without getting too hooked by one viewpoint or another. Life is a full spectrum of experiences and I like to envision that I am moving along a luminous thread that spans that entire spectrum. I can make the conscious decision to move a bit more toward one end or the other at any time. My two stones have become my tangible reminder. They help me remember there is a middle way, and to stay away from extremes of any kind, something I have seen our society suffer from more and more and more. Extremism always brings suffering. Always.

I have so many instances in my life where this middle way of being could have helped me. I remember once when I was very young, my first experience of being at a memorial service for a classmate who had died tragically. I was fearful of going at all, and didn’t know how I was supposed to act. How would I face his mother? What could I ever say? When I arrived, my heartache palpable, tingling, caught in my throat, I stood back and closely watched the others who were in attendance. Some were crying, some were consoling, and some were even laughing with great joy. The laughing was a shock to me. It felt so wrong to laugh at such a time, but over the years, and many memorial services later, I understand that this is just one example of that luminous thread. One who laughs might have been wrenched with grief only moments before. It is that luminous thread in action, our dance along it the true experience of living a fully human life.

Once I saw a photograph of a deer that was dead in the snow. There was blood staining the snow like a crimson halo, and the pool-dark eyes were open with the most intricate ice crystals emanating along the lashes, creating a corona of sparkles that glittered in the sunlight. It took my breath away, the beauty. The horror. The beauty. I felt it so deeply, the loss of life, and the beauty. I have never forgotten the image; it haunts me still. We can hold, and honour, the entire spectrum, all at once, all of the complexities of the human experience, and not suffer nearly as much by doing so.

We can explore these dualities and how to find our balance among them in our creative practices, too. The interplay of light and shadow when drawing with graphite or pen and ink, or the balance between vibrant colours and deeper, more somber tones can clearly show us that we need the entire spectrum to a balanced whole. One is inextricable from the other. If we have only light, or only dark, our efforts would fail to create a pleasing image. By pushing these illusions of polarity, light and dark, bright and muted, soft and hard edges in one direction or another we can also give our work emotional depth. Writing? Think about the best fictional characters you have encountered.  They are memorable when they embody conflicting traits, have profound hidden feelings that they cannot share with the world and only we are privy to, or they encounter situations where they experience joy and suffering all at the same time. Poetry is rich with duality and in subtle, yet richly layered ways it can use language, image, and the juxtaposition of ideas to help us explore some of the most difficult aspects of being human. The act of creation is a constant exploration of duality, helping us to find our balance and so often freeing us from the confines of our anxiety and despair.

Back to my two stones. One is light, one is dark. Both feel the pull of gravity in my pockets. Both help me remember to not let my expectations, all those what ifs, to cause me to suffer more than I should. The weight of them is a reminder to breathe and smile, even when I feel pain. It is not stoic, it is not brave, but it is a way to find ease when my heart aches and my worries and fears start to narrow in suffocatingly close. Such dense, heavy beings, stones. So fascinating that they can remind me of the lightness of my breath, always there for me, and the gift of equanimity that my conscious breath can bring.

When I write these essays I never end them thinking, “Well, that wraps that up! Done!” No, it’s more a feeling that a heavy door is opening up a little bit more. Especially when I share them with you. When you respond and comment it opens the door even further. I want to continue these threads of thoughts and explore them in all directions. I welcome your insights, your comments and experiences.

What do you think of carrying two stones? Do you have other ways of reminding yourself of being more present, more balanced, less reactive, less attached, less prone to extremes? I am always curious how others experience the things I write about, in their own lives. And thank you, so much, for being here, for reading and commenting, especially to those of you who are supporting my work here with your paid subscriptions. It is so good to able to share these these thoughts and to receive such rich responses. I have such gratitude. Thank you.