And the Land Lay Still
“The stones had no purpose, they were just a story. You kept the story going. That was what you had to do. You picked the stones up where you found them and you took them on, and every so often you laid them down again. You were making a pattern but you didn’t know what the pattern was. You didn’t know where you were in the pattern or where or how or if it would end. Sometimes you took a pebble from a beach, sea-washed and smooth as a pearl, and left it under a tree miles up a glen; sometimes yo...u took a rough, ragged stone from an inland field and weeks later you threw it into the sea. And sometimes you handed the stones on, to small, unknowing hands, and let the pattern take care of itself. It was not your concern. Your only concern was to keep the pocket filled with stones and never let them run out, to gather and to give, to take and to release. You yourself were released. You’d escaped and you weren’t going back. That was the sum total of everything you were and did.
You heard another story about stones once, or did you read it?MoreLess
You heard another story about stones once, or did you read it?MoreLess
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