Earthquakes. as you know, are the results of the movement of stones, great tectonic plates slithering around beneath the surface of the earth, under the pressures of forces we barely begin to understand. Stones that move. Why? We make up reasons about the “how” but somehow don’t even think about the “why”.
Glaciers move. They are famous for it. And one of the things they move beneath their surfaces is stone. They chew great chunks of stone out of mountains, scraping and shattering and scattering, and they move smaller stones the size of a house or a shop or a bus. They even pick up tiny pebbles and grains of sand. They carry them all, sometimes for great distances.
Have you ever picked up a pebble from the beach and carried it around in your pocket? Why? Because it’s pretty? Because it sparkles? Because it has a unique shape or markings that look like… something? Because it might be precious? Because … just because? Consider flowers and how they attract insects to help fertilize them — scents, colors, even honey, the naughty things! And here we are picking up stones and carrying them around… why?
Suppose you carry a stone home and put it in your garden… what makes you want to do that? What is hidden in you, deep beneath the surface of your mind? More importantly, perhaps, what does the stone want? Is your garden its final destination? Or has it further travels simmering in its slow mind?
I have to admit that I do this. There are rocks in my garden that came from Scotland, from Wales and England, from Mount Laguna, from Hurricane Ridge, and from Pillar Bay. Wherever I go, I’m very apt to come home with my pockets full of small stones — and possibly a shopping bag for larger or more grubby rocks.
When we were about to move from Scotland back to the USA, my husband asked if he could throw my box of “random” stones and pebbles away. Galvanized, I leaped up and shouted, “Let me sort them first!”
“Never mind,” he muttered and packed the lot. We brought them all.
There is a stone in my garden, wild jade. According to my son, it weighs something between three and four hundred pounds — closer to four. It is the altar in my garden. We found it in the decomposed granite soil well beneath the surface where the fir and western red cedar trees grow.
The top of the stone was about three feet down, and it was discovered when we were digging a hole to hold a 1000 gallon water tank. My son put it where I wanted my altar to be. When I moved into town for few years it went with me, and when I moved back into the forest it came back again, my son grumbling all the way. It is smooth, dull green, with jade’s soapy feel but not a precious stone, except perhaps to me. In spite of the fact that I’m about 300 feet above sea level, it has white petrified barnacles (or something that looks so like barnacles that I can’t tell the difference) on one side of it. Is it a glacial erratic?
There is a lot of wild jade in this area, but I don’t know how far it traveled to get here. I know one thing though — if I were to move back to Scotland, it would go with me. It’s my altar, after all. A sacred stone, resting on the ground and beneath the surface of my heart and always with me.
Have you ever considered that all things might be alive? And conscious? Have you realized that our Earthmama is only soft in some places on the surface, and that beneath the surface, she is all stone, molten or rigid? And that she is in constant motion? Have you considered that we call her Earthmother, but we might more rightly call her Stonemother?
What if… just what if she creatively evolved all of us soft surface beings only to help shift stones around? In the distant past there have been several “die offs” where large portions of the soft surface life were eliminated from this planet. Was Stonemother simply clearing the way to evolve better movers of stone? From dynamite to bulldozers to denim pockets, are we (in the grand scheme of things) just facilitators for the movement of stone?
It’s something we have done since we began — simple stone tools, barrows and stone circles, stone huts, pyramids, marble temples, cathedrals, banks, grand homes — all of stone. We arranged the stones in beautiful patterns to show off their colors and lovely textures. We polished diamonds and rubies and quartz and all of the other scintillating, sparkling, seductive, glittering stones, and we wear them everywhere. “SHINY!” small girls shriek, and jewelers’ eyes gleam.
And now we build enormous structures: the huge buildings, the freeways and motorways — vast constructions of … cement. Certainly, it contains sand, and sometimes small rocks, but does it count? Have we gone wrong? Have we forgotten our true purpose in life?
We do know that we are facing yet another potential extinction period — is she planning to make room for even better movers of stone? Should we be focusing on this rather than carbon sequestration and changing temperatures?
It’s only a thought — please, don’t let it make you lie awake at night thinking about it. But I wonder, does Stonemother, or do the stones we have carried, know that we are alive and have feelings and thoughts in our own primitive way? Or do they see us as being like mayflies, flickering in and out in a moment, ephemeral? Have they any compassion for us at all?