Amidst the change and no change,
the waves of geology, finance,
politics and war,
one small stone sits
alone in my inner temple.
A solitary cairn
marking direction,
speaking no sound,
just the quietly assuring
granite of one long ago
and yet to come moment,
held in my heart, unmoving.
this stone landed in the pool of my heart, without a ripple.
As I read your poem, I found myself thinking of Stonehenge and Avebury just sitting there, seemingly forever, not doing anything. Yet, I know better.
Thinking…
A small stone, composed of the same ingredents of the larger one in which we stand. So much history etched & shaped it. Tears were brought to my eyes as I read your beautiful poem. I too collect & cherish stones & feel their energy, sometimes hot & others cold.
I recently disassembled parts of my altar. Among the many stones I held, one spoke to me of a time long ago. Thanks for rekindling the the fire of that memory for me with your words, my Calliope… the ancient muse.
As an avid hiker and backpacker, cairns are an essential part of my orienteering experience. I trust them, rely on them and often hope I will find the next one. Much like my integrity, truthfullness, and joy in my life. Thanks Don.
Nice one Don.
Carl Jung says stones are symbols of the soul. I think there is more of this poem to come, more excavation to be done. How far down does it sink? What are the analogies, similes and metaphors that would open that quiet, mysterious world more fully and evocatively to the reader?
This stone that is attached to a mountain of stillness………………
Thanks Don