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.