This story is only partially a metaphor.
I keep piling rocks on my back. Each time I encounter one, big or small, that blocks me, hinders me, or that I find interesting, I pick it up. I could pocket them or put them in my purse, but instead I chose to carry them on my back. At first, it is an enjoyable exercise that lets me push myself. If I forget that the rocks are there, the weight becomes more cumbersome.
Along my way, people come along and help me reposition them or remove some. This is great and needed.
Sometimes, a giant boulder crashes down onto my back and flattens me. I sometimes see it coming, take a deep breath, and prepare to use my incomparable force to hold it up. Sometimes, it rolls down from the cliffs above, unseen by anyone walking the path below, that it crushes me. Totally encumbered. I can climb out, but the experience is unpleasant.
My back has been hurting for awhile. Dull, sore, and irritating. Nothing serious, but it lingers. When I bend over and bend back up, I feel an abstract, invisible weight pushing down upon the flesh of my dorsal side.
Okay, the relationship is that when I have life issues, problems, obstacles, and stress I feel it in my back. My back holds the weight up so I can carry it with me. I have things to do and I gotta just fight through, push through, make it without a doubt.
Then came tonight.
Kids are in bed. Sleeping soundly in their beds. With another adult watching them, I venture out into the darkness to the neon lit world of Walmart. It is open and I need groceries too. Being a mommy with a darling little girl, I venture over to the wee one clothing section. Aww! Kittens! Bows! Pink! (my feminist side revolts even at my desire for the girlish at this and is another tale) I love my kids!
A short ways down the lane I see a woman with two little children in her cart. There is a darling little boy, I'd say a bit over 12 months, riding in the basket. He pulls himself up on the side of the cart. Momma yells at him. He does it again. Momma smacks his hand. He does it again. Momma repeatedly smacks his bottom.
Dude stumbles over. Momma says, "He's being bad!" Dude says, "He is the bad one!"
The worst part was that the child never made a sound.
I think of the little boy now and if Momma acted that way in the Walmart, how is he treated at home? Does he get any love? I should have acted and tried to stop it, but I can't stand on my own apparently.
An action by someone else on another person who was not me has caused me to throw in the towel for now. Isn't it a thing? I have no control of a situation that breaks my heart. I am not able to take the child in. There are so many people out there who have love to give and no one to share it with, yet this child is deserving of love.
I shouldn't judge (as much as seeing a child hurt enrages me), perhaps the mother was having a bad day? Is the mother needing of love in order to love? I can pray and send out good energy, but is that enough? There is only so much I can do... I feel helpless.
... and the crushing boulder fell on my back. You will for now reality, but I will be back soon.