Suppose there were a farmer who lived in a farmer's house with a beautiful and smart wife. One morning he woke and went to stand by the bedroom window, which overlooked his back garden. Beyond his back garden a vast vale stretched as far as the eye can see, complete with meadows, rabbits and rolling hills. The thought occured to him, 'I'd like to blend my garden into the vale. In that way, I might enjoy the vastness and peace emanating from the vale'. He stared at the vale longingly; he imagined how this might look; he took to living in the idea in his mind, and in doing so became lost in a make-believe sensual psudo-reality.
When his wife woke, she noticed him in a trance-like state by the window, and asked what he was doing. He explained, to which she simply replied 'knock the fence down then, my dear'. In that moment his psudo-reality burst. After much sawing and hammering, in no long time, he got to enjoy the fruits of having no border between himself and the vale.
This is what it is like holding onto to views; you cannot see the bigger picture, you cannot see the obstacles and thus any plausible solution to moving forwards. One is stuck in their own psudo-reality churning around in the same mundane milk. After much churning, the milk turns to butter. In the same way, the thoughts that orbit those views coagulate until it becomes a calcified belief. In its state of solidity, it is carried around as if they are truths and entertained with such regularity that one no longer questions it. Whilst wading through this glutinous mess, you spread those views like butter upon your fellow neighbours. They have their own butter, which doesn't mix well with your butter, and conflict ensues. Unfortunately, nobody has any jam to sweeten the dialogue, so the transaction is reduced to neanderthal-like blows: blocks of butter bounce of heads and cause black eyes, ear ache and messy hair styles.
What do you know... holding to views is indeed stressful. The farmer's sensuality view paralysed him such that he couldn't see clearly. He was clinging to his own internal ideas. His wife brought him back to the conventional 'factual' world, the world of the sense organs. She was the smart one of the two, but then she was a lover of jam...
...sweet is this liberation.