The Unwavering
To live a human life is not always the prettiest or grandest thing. But it can still be great. It boils down to what we take to be the measure. Magnificence does not come from the exercise of our powers to erect skyscrapers or build legacies, but from the will to go at the simplest things. And if that simple task of laying a rock each day ends up with a skyscraper, it is the steadfastness and grit—the human will—that is magnificent.
Emergence of the Obelisk
What happens when the human being itself becomes the very foundation one builds? I instantly feel awe evoked by my question.
A few months ago, I was touched by the image of an obelisk, and since then, it has visited me from time to time. Dissonance. Did it visit me or did I visit it? When I return, when I remember, I sense the obelisk. Elemental. What stands out is its immensity and rootedness. Commanding without being overbearing. Clear, precise. Solid, unshakeable. What coincides with my vision of the obelisk is also the experience of true will—will that emerges from the depths with clarity and objectivity. It moves me into action, to do the hard things I habitually avoid. No negotiation needed. There is no entertaining the drama from old stories. I do not get attached to my history, neither do I detach. I stay with what matters here—holding my feelings with kindness—and I move. With presence, at my own pace.
For me, the hard things are mostly emotional. Lifting the weights is hard, but being with my helplessness is harder. A brief visit to the gym this morning was such an encounter. Since I injured my back earlier this year, these very young feelings of helplessness have awoken. Now and then, they asked to be felt and held. They may have summoned the obelisk.
Presence brings forth the exact inner qualities needed.
Through me, it says, “I am here to stay.”
The obelisk stays anchored in the face of helplessness, neither walking nor turning away. It does not try to comfort helplessness either. It knows what helplessness needs, and steps in to do the work. It was never the infant’s, nor the toddler’s, nor the child’s responsibility to take care of herself.
I’m here. I will do it. I will do that which you dislike, that which you were not ready to do, that which was not yours to do.
Will showed up to stay and support what’s needed. Kindness showed up to be with my frozen feelings as they flow again. Guidance showed up to know the type of help I’d need—additional support from Daryl to check my form as my body reacquainted itself with the bulky machines. Joy showed up as I pulled the bar close to my chest to activate my lateral muscles.
It isn’t that bad at all. I can do it.
Helplessness was held and guided with presence.
Let the frozen feelings of helplessness and lostness continue to thaw and flow. Bringing direction or clarity to lostness was a temporary measure. When I brought presence and solidity to it, things shifted. I was safe to feel lost. Now, I am practicing being safe to feel helpless.
A seemingly uneventful morning—just a couple at a gym, the man guiding the woman with the weights. Yet, I was feeling every grain of sand that touches my soul. It was not any other morning because I was in it. I was not anywhere else trying to attend to another person or thing—I was right here with me, attending to me, giving what this existence truly needed.
Here to stay.
🍯 The Dandelion Notes ~ Writer’s Fund
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Hello. I am Rosslyn Chay (謝雲), poet × soulworker. I write from the terrain of grief and fracture, breathing life into what is carried in silence. The Dandelion Notes are field notes from this practice.