Rock, agate, crystal, stone.
They’re prevalent throughout my home.
Chunks & chips. Some ragged, some smooth.
A geological pageant from room to room.
I could easily discard all save one,
This reticent buff stone with pitted conclave top.
Its single gray stratum easy to miss,
Unlike the connection it brought.
I was meditating deep within a Midwestern ravine,
Soaking in Mother Nature’s stream of primal energy.
Connecting, seeking and sensing, my gaze fell to this ordinary stone.
I pondered its origin, this chip of a greater whole.
What trauma had caused the fissure and fall?
How long had it bolstered against the rising and falling?
The ceaseless rushing while carving its own niche?
What indeed, had caused my own wounds and wanderings?
How long had I labored at living,
Enduring the rising and falling
In a ceaseless search for position and place?
Knee deep in urban life I pause to hold its coolness,
Bask in the sureness of its weight,
Taste its earthy wisdom,
Relive the gentle vibrations of connection.
It rests within my home as a sturdy stand,
Propping up memory’s flimsy reed.
It keeps fresh this lesson of universal truth:
The right to be.