Stone in the Grass
Bracing myself for a blustery autumn walk, I layered up and, on an optimistic whim, shoved my new rose quartz stone into the bra bit of my string-top. I was aware it was risky — the elastic supporting my little apples is worn — but rose quartz has been used for thousands of years to attract love, so what did I have to lose?
It does seem strange that intelligent people will imbue stones with the ability to improve their lives, but then maybe I’ve been watching too much Outlander. I went to a Psychic and Mystic Fair recently and bought myself some cold comfort because the struggle is real. I don’t care if a pink banded agate promising womanliness and a balance of yin/yan energies might simply be abusing the placebo effect — it’s pretty-pretty and makes me happy to admire and imagine.
My little voice said, “Don’t take the quartz, it’ll get lost,” but I was feeling reckless, because love is reckless (trust me, I know), so off I went. Halfway up the road I stopped to remove my jumper, and by the time I got near the shepherd’s hut, I realised I’d lost my quartz. Silly tart.
The protocol in these situations is to immediately let go. Some person, more in need of the stone, is going to find it. They’ll be overcome by a warm fuzzy conviction that the Godiverse has heard their cry for meaning. It’ll inspire a change in demeanor that’ll be noticed by some person they encounter regularly. When they next meet, gazes will be held for that nano-second longer. Later, after deep mugs of cocoa next to a cozy fire, they’ll twig that they’re the love of each other’s lives. Cosmic synergy at work and all because of — or rather through — you!
I’m blessed to live near the Downs Link and am always trying different routes. I segued past some sheep, over a few stiles, and found myself on a familiar stretch, but my determination to selflessly pass the love on had dissipated.
I started plotting a route back past where I’d stopped to remove my jumper. This resulted in, if not a full-blown dilemma, then at least pause to reflect. Love is the only resource that grows the more you give it away! I knew that, and yet, it was MY stone. Was it not reasonable to want it back?
Hmmm. The whole thing had gone from delighting in life’s secret whimsies to potential despair as the tender blister of intention that protects the evolving soul is ripped off, revealing ugly human.
(Don’t tell me I think too much. It won’t help either of us. It is what it is.)
I quickly sorted myself out, but my eyes kept wondering amongst blades of grass crammed breathlessly against the tarred sidewalk. You don’t see how many feathers, acorns, bits of litter and dog-poo have worked their way in until you really look. As your brain transforms each bit of mortal fluff into your lost love, you question your sanity, so I looked up and faced forward.
The past is the past. But if time doesn’t exist (and there’s a lot of serious science looking at that), then the insight can go both ways, can’t it?
Near the pub, an elderly couple crossed the road towards me. The old man stepped off the curb and winced. I could sense the twinge shooting up his spine as he checked the road calling “alright” to his Other. “Alright,” she replied and lifted her trolley down. It’s a British thing, I think, and so tender. You have to admire couples who stick together through thick and thin, even unto the crumbling phase.
They weren’t looking for a stone in the grass. They were looking out for each other. That’s all we want, isn’t it? For the shiny pink stone of our love to be so securely tucked under layers of deceptive normality (which is actually miracle) that it can’t fall out.
As the storm clouds brooded, I sunk my hands deeper into the pockets of downy awareness enveloping me and walked on. Love is everywhere, we just have to be looking.