The Stone Heart

Written on Writing Retreat, May 24th 2024

Walking through the wet grass, with a notebook and pencil in my pocket, towards the river bank. The Rowan blossom is swaying in the slight wind offering plates of bunched, white, pearl buds. A few have opened into five white petals, crowned and softened with feathery stamens. Pausing to gaze, a moment of delicate awe arises. 

With loppers in hand I continue upstream along the path by the river. Something always changes by the river. Its life rushes by. Sometimes roaring, sometimes chuckling. Today, just the fast flow, gushing around the rocks. Orangey brown, imbued with its peaty moorland source. Curlews and skylarks open their throats to the sky. 

There is a large, heart-shaped rock on the side of the path, now buried beneath brambles. It needs to be seen and sat upon again, its chambers curving and set. A stone heart defended by thorny, tenacious, far-reaching bramble roots, firmly anchored beneath the rock. 

Once a young Buddhist man from Bristol chose to meditate upon this rock. His patient imprint remains. Sitting so still and so silent, he bore witness to the river song, bringing warmth to the rock, unmoved by the biting midges. 

My need to reclaim the rock becomes urgent. It needs space and sunlight. The heart of stone needs to be breathed back into life. 

Following the barbed bramble stems from leaf to root, the tangled mass of it all, the thorns pierce my gloves. I cut and pull. Gradually the space is cleared, bringing the moss in its wake. It is hard work. 

I think of farmers clearing the land of brambles, rocks, stone and bracken. Somehow men heaved some of the rocks to build our house three and a quarter centuries ago. The midges begin to bite but I can’t stop. The rock that may once have been a boulder in the river is emerging like the heart of a dinosaur. 

It becomes a surface upon which to make a mark. There is already a letter O formed by the sinuous tendril of a long root pulled from the earth. A snaky circle. Its bulbous end was jammed under the edge of the rock. This becomes the short stroke that hangs like a tail from the O, forming the letter Q. 

Question 

And I will give them one heart and a new spirit I will put within them. I will remove the heart of stone from their flesh and give them a heart of flesh. ezekiel 11:19 

What makes a heart of stone? 

Brambles are adept at defending themselves and spreading with impunity. Their roots lurk, embedded under rocks and stones. They are fast growing and rapacious for land. Their thorns tear and puncture cloth and flesh. Baring their barbs, they are unapproachable. 

This is a place of impenetrable pride, self-centredness and a deluded feeling of defended safety. The fort of a stony heart has withdrawn its bridges and become isolated from attack and connection. It is cut off from being seen to be vulnerable, exposed and fragile. Yet it is fragile, requiring self justification, an entrenched superiority. It is in fierce opposition to all that threatens to enter. 

This is the ground of trauma, polarised, unyielding and vengeful. A deep wound staunched by denial, fear, confusion and lack of connection. 

Hardened by the pain of betrayal, injustice and resentment, it is a heart that has turned away from life. It has become brutalised in its brutalising. 

It is starved of love. 

The heart of stone has become a story: frozen, paralysed. The brambles need to be stripped away, the mind cleared, trained and purified by vigilant investigation and prayers. 

There is a crack, beginning to allow love to be received and given. Light and dark are not separate. There is no separation. This is beyond concepts, beyond right and wrong. Something gushes through.