What I love most about life is how it teaches me about life – through metaphors and symmetry.
The slender trees survive strong winds because they bend, flowing with the current. They adapt, and so they endure. But the rigid, unyielding trees? They snap under pressure, unwilling to give way.
Working with stone is the same. A lapidarist must recognize a stone for what it is. A porous rock will never take a high polish. A stone full of fractures will break under stress. Some shapes cannot be altered, only understood. The craft isn’t about forcing transformation—it’s about honoring the nature of the material.
For me, this goes even deeper. Each stone speaks in its own way. As I work, it tells me what it wants to become. I may begin with an idea, but the stone reveals something else. I am not a box turtle—I am a sea turtle. My ears point downward, not up. Details hidden at first become clear only as the process unfolds. It’s not about imposing my will, but about listening—allowing the stone to show me what was always inside.
I think about this when it comes to children. A parent’s role isn’t to shape a child into what they want. You cannot mold a person into something they are not. And if you try—like forcing a stone to be something it was never meant to be—it will crack. Sure, you can glue it back together, but in doing so, you destroy its integrity.
A parent’s job is to nurture, to guide, to love. To provide a space where a child feels safe enough to explore who they already are. To listen. To see them as they unfold—not through the lens of expectation, but with openness.
And maybe that’s what life is, too. Not about forcing our will onto things, but learning to listen. To step back. To let the world reveal what was already there.
(Of course, parenting also means teaching—about consequences, boundaries, self-control, communication. Kids do not learn what they are not taught.)
Sacred Totems 