Stones, Symbols, and Flow States: Recognizing the Divine Within
How nature, art, and motion reveal the quiet truths of the human psyche.
Well, this will likely be my last post for at least a week—potentially a month. I’ve been writing relentlessly these past weeks, and there is still so much more to come: ongoing analyses of the news cycle, video and material evidence of local corruption, and further work on transitional justice and cultural transformation.
But for now, my health is pulling me back. I also have another beach trip this week, which I’m genuinely excited for. I want to take the time to rest, recharge, and read The Confessions of Saint Augustine—a book I’ve been eager to sit with.
The other day, as I sat in discomfort with nerve pain, I thought to myself: why not just go out? Sometimes the best regulation for a body in distress is not retreat but motion. Flow states are powerful regulators of the nervous system, and for me, cycling often brings that balance. So I decided: what the hell—let’s go. I spent nearly five hours riding one of Beijing’s blue bikes, weaving through the city until I felt my body return to itself.
Along the way, I stopped at an art gallery that a friend had recommended. Inside, I discovered a collection of stones curated by Li Ying Jie. What struck me wasn’t just their raw beauty but how perfectly they resembled landscapes, paintings, and visions. Sometimes nature imitates art, and sometimes art imitates nature. What I saw confirmed something I’ve often said here before: the maxim of alchemy, “As within, so without.”
One stone looked like a barren tree in winter.
Another resembled a snowy valley with scattered forests beneath a mountain range.
One mirrored the red deserts of Utah or Arizona from above.
Another echoed the brushstrokes of a classical Chinese mountain painting—the kind that symbolizes spiritual enlightenment.
One was so uncanny it could have been a modern abstract painting of a forest.
Another, finally, looked exactly like the view of Los Angeles at night from an airplane window.
When nature reflects art back to us, it’s not just a coincidence. It is a mirror of our psyche, of our divine connection to the world around us. It speaks to our innate faculty to seek, shape, and create meaning. And if we are able to see beauty—truly see it—it tells us something simple yet profound: there must be something beautiful within us as well.
That is the thought I want to leave you with before I step back for a short while. There is beauty in the world, in art, in nature—and within ourselves. Sometimes, we only need to step outside, look closely, and remember.