by Deborah Globus
In my post last week I mentioned a concern that the pebble of fear I was feeling might “turn into a full blown worry rock.”
What’s a worry rock, you ask? Here’s a little story to explain:
What’s a worry rock, you ask? Here’s a little story to explain:
Once upon a time I was on retreat at Caumsett State Park and my intention revolved around what I needed to do to move forward in life. Pondering got me to the topic of worry and how much time and energy I was losing to it. It felt like I was constantly carrying around a big, heavy stone.
But what does a heavy stone REALLY feel like? How much energy does it REALLY drain and waste to be carrying it for long periods of time?
I was on a beach; there were lots of rocks. Best way to find out the answers to my questions was to pick up a rock that felt about as big as my worry and carry it around.
(I know it sounds weird but once upon another time I learned a lot about myself by crawling under my desk. I had been feeling small, and wanted to crawl under my desk and hide from the world, so I did…
It was really uncomfortable and not at all something I wanted to keep doing. Important lesson learned.)
With that in mind I chose a nice sized rock – an attractive one, because, let’s face it, there are aspects to worry that are attractive. And I carried that rock for two miles back to my car.
It was heavy. It was awkward. It was a waste of precious energy.
And it was an important lesson.
The heart of any ritual is the symbolic act during the body of it. The symbolic act (a fancy way of saying “what you’re doing during your ritual”) fulfills your intention.
Picking up that rock in the physical world – while within the intentional space of my retreat, with the intention of exploring and releasing this concept of worry that was holding me back - I was able to use the symbol of the worry rock to demonstrate to myself, what worry was costing me.
Rather than being stuck in my head where I conceptualize these ideas – like “worry is a drain on me and I shouldn’t do it” – I now have a very real, very physical experience to symbolize my relationship to worry.
But what does a heavy stone REALLY feel like? How much energy does it REALLY drain and waste to be carrying it for long periods of time?
I was on a beach; there were lots of rocks. Best way to find out the answers to my questions was to pick up a rock that felt about as big as my worry and carry it around.
(I know it sounds weird but once upon another time I learned a lot about myself by crawling under my desk. I had been feeling small, and wanted to crawl under my desk and hide from the world, so I did…
It was really uncomfortable and not at all something I wanted to keep doing. Important lesson learned.)
With that in mind I chose a nice sized rock – an attractive one, because, let’s face it, there are aspects to worry that are attractive. And I carried that rock for two miles back to my car.
It was heavy. It was awkward. It was a waste of precious energy.
And it was an important lesson.
The heart of any ritual is the symbolic act during the body of it. The symbolic act (a fancy way of saying “what you’re doing during your ritual”) fulfills your intention.
Picking up that rock in the physical world – while within the intentional space of my retreat, with the intention of exploring and releasing this concept of worry that was holding me back - I was able to use the symbol of the worry rock to demonstrate to myself, what worry was costing me.
Rather than being stuck in my head where I conceptualize these ideas – like “worry is a drain on me and I shouldn’t do it” – I now have a very real, very physical experience to symbolize my relationship to worry.
Now when I think of worry I think of the ache I felt after that long walk back. I choose to worry much less now.
And so my worry stone rests under my desk, a reminder of what worry costs. If I should catch myself falling back into the habit I can lug around my rock again.
It’s pretty good incentive to make better choices.
And so my worry stone rests under my desk, a reminder of what worry costs. If I should catch myself falling back into the habit I can lug around my rock again.
It’s pretty good incentive to make better choices.
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