I run my fingertips along the edges of each stone, I appreciate. Her curves, rough and tender. I feel her. My mother so carefully crafted each brilliant work of art. Lichen crawling, growing, expressing itself. Reds, yellows, greens, and blacks. Bulbous, flat, flaking. Ants crawling along her sides, this rock. Supporting me. Holding me above this mountain. Homing ants and plants and life that continually exists, without explanation. Growing without expectation. Living without acknowledgement. More beautiful than any painting ever seen before I smile. I smile so deeply. I smile internally. I cry.
I place both palms on her and breathe deeply. Complete. Entranced by connection. Magic. Dirt and pine and cool granite fill my senses, I smell her everywhere. I feel her, rough and cold. Exquisitely unique. Abundantly present, yet infinitely rare. A collage of thousands of years beneath my fingertips. Sculpted perfection unachievable by man. Only created by earth, by erosion, by rain, by spontaneous combustion. Lines in all directions leading to itself. A rock.
I feel my own presence. So incredibly small, whole and ever expanding. I stretch my palms out in front of me, dangling. Seated and bowing to the expanse of forest and sky and sunset before me. I exist. I exist with it all and it all exists with me. Within me. Without me. Love flows. I am cradled by the universe and here on this rock she holds me dearly. Effortless. I give in and let her take me. Take me back to where I am supposed to be. Where I am.
Each lichen, each pine cone, each ant. Every hummingbird and rotting log, in perfect synchronicity with itself. Unified in chaos. A moving silence. A loud stillness. I find a feeling so unfamiliar. In my own body a flower blossoms. She smiles. I cry. Finally understanding her message. Home. Stable and solid I feel this, peace. Home inside my own heart. And I, a beating heart inside this universe. Existing. Effortlessly.
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