The
Memory of Rocks
We piled out of a dusty station
wagon in the middle of the desert. The sun was hot. The scent of sagebrush
filled the air. We had arrived at Graveyard Point in Idaho.
We were rock hunting.
I was the first grandson
of two families and the favorite of an atheist inventor — my grandfather.
As everyone else ran through the paths, my grandfather called me to him
and said "Skipper (that was my nickname), don't run and follow the paths
of others — walk slowly and look where they don't. Otherwise
you will only find what they have discarded." My Grandfather Abides.
Graveyard Point had two attractions
— great hills of agate and a large strange limestone mound.
Fiery agate captures a violent
moment in a volcanic eruption. This instant is frozen in time, in agate.
The limestone was composed
of thin sheets; almost like paper, chalky, thick paper. With care, it could
be separated into thinner sheets. Most sheets were just blank. Then, every
once in a while, there might be the impression of some moss, a common housefly,
or even a dragonfly imbedded in the pages of limestone.
I read the earth's memory
of history in the rocks of Idaho.
Later we moved to Las Vegas,
Nevada.
I found clay, which with
water, could be malleable. Clay memory can change.
Deep in the Mojave Desert,
I found rocks that were black on the top and looked like regular rocks
on the bottom. The sun had baked them black, altering their faces and recording
the hot desert days of time.
Even inanimate things record
the movement of Wonderful Law of Cause and Effect.
The Mystic Law is always
revealing itself to us in flowers, moons and rivers. In total darkness
the Mystic Law is fully brilliant.
This is recorded in the memory
of rocks.
Terry
|