Grinding Frankincense to fine powder in an old brass mortar

When the Frankincense powder is so fine it starts acting like a liquid, swooshing in waves around the pestle and up the sides of the mortar, that’s when you know it’s ready to blend with the solvent. As if it really really wants to become a liquid, to evolve, and you are just helping out. Nothing is forced. There is a rhythm and poetry to it. Harmony.

The symbolism of mortar and pestle is rather obvious on different levels. They “make music” together. I find it meditative, grinding, pounding, stirring connecting grinding just rhythm being and pounding stirring rhythm unfolding here and pounding now and rhythm nothing grinding else stirring matters. The whole of the universe, time and space in my lap. grinding and pounding stirring connecting.

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