Important Little Things: The Compactness of Rock
[What I Feel| 
solid ]
[What I Hear| Part of a song I KNOW I know, but I can't place it--it's on one of the latest Cingular commercials; the ones with the jets forming the logo with their jettrails ]
[What I Smell| BPAL The Living Flame ]
One of my greatest loves...is rocks.
Music is important, of course--VERY important to me! But I'm referring to the mineral and crystal versions of stones, pebbles, rocks. I have been picking up rocks from the ground ever since I can remember.
My grandmother Bunchie (I don't know why she wanted to be called 'Bunchie', as her name was Elizabeth, but that was her nickname) was the first person I knew who had a rock garden. Not only did she have these big boulders of granite, iron pyrite, etc., but they sat in the middle of her three acre yard in a GIANT stone bowl carved of limestone. At least, I think it was limestone. Oddly enough, the bowl had a hole bored in the centre as if to serve as drainage for a normal garden, and I think it had been professionally produced for such a purpose, but it held small boulders. Odder still, the stone bowl was about six inches ABOVE the ground, being upheld by several other boulders that had been partially submerged in the ground to form the odd dolmen platform for the stone bowl with the huge rocks. Each of the boulders ranged in size from about three feet across to almost ten. I never asked about these rocks, but I got the impression Bunchie had hauled them from Arizona (her spiritual homeland), much like Lucille Ball in "The Long Long Trailer".
I have never seen anything like it since. I wish I'd bought her house when she moved to Florida, because then I would own the stone bowl and the rocks that I loved.
However, from as far back as I can remember, I would look at the ground and pick up rocks. I love rocks. I love to hold them, or to carry them with me. Some rocks, I put in my mouth. In fact, if you upended my purse right now, you'd find five or six white stones in the bottom of it. When I was five I found a white quartz cluster shaped like a heart, so I painted one side with gold model car paint and gave it to my Mom. I got it back after she died. When I was into magick, I found a perfectly round stone, just like a marble, with a perfect natural hole in the middle that I wore on a chain for a decade.
My Dad hated my obsession, particularly when he decided the little limestone chip driveway was not good enough and he went to a stoneyard and ordered mixed stone to be poured in the drive. NOW I had my own, personal 'field' full of granite, quartz (rose and white), marble, etc. There were green stones and blue stones and stones the colour of baked ham and strange stones that resembled anything BUT stones. Once we had all those stones to choose from, I dragged a lot of them into the house. The poor man couldn't figure out why I was always "...dragging those damned rocks into the house!"
I lived across the street from Round Hill Cemetery, so I played there. I didn't care that they were dressed, I just loved the STONES. I would stroke my hands over their faces and feel the bas relief designs or the deep cuts of words into the surface of the stone. I also had two boulders of my own--one huge, diamond-shaped one that was perfect for lying out in the sun on, the other became my pets' tombstone. Neither boulder is still there, because the city put in some kind of deep drain along the bank of the road and either buried or hauled away both of them, but they were a part of my childhood and most of my teens.
When I discovered there were ROCK SHOWS--gemstones and fossils and rocks and minerals and OMG!!!--well, I was in pig heaven. I couldn't believe there were people out there who collected stones as I did, and soon I was hauling these home, too. After I purchased my house, I threw most of them in the backyard garden...but about five years ago I relented and brought them all in. I had a small fortune in amethysts, clear rock crystals, chrysoprase, lapis lazuli, hematite, azurite, obsidian (black and mahogany), garnet, and malachite out there in the dirt. (Most of these are considered "evolving" stones and are often linked to Aquarians.) I have barite roses in my potpourri pots and any number of rock and fossil specimens all over the house.
When someone asks what I want and I tell them that if they find a stone and send it to me, I'll be so very happy, I mean it. The stone doesn't have to be valuable, just...you need to be drawn to pick it up. That's what's important to me. I love stones from special places, but I love stones you just see and pick up because you just 'have to' pick it up.
I have glorious rocks. I have wonderful rocks. I have mystical rocks. I have a piece of the facade of the London Temple of the Knights Templar that I want to put into a reliquary. I'm looking forward to a stone from the Isle of Skye. I want rocks from Scotland.
When I had the chance, I learned how to carve limestone. I only ever made one carving in stone--a large horse's head--but I have never felt so much at home as when I held a chisel and hammer in my hands. I once dreamed an extremely vivid dream that I was carving the face on the Sphinx; I remember moving my hands over the face of it, feeling the rough surface scrape my skin. I awoke and checked my hands, but there were no marks.
I still carve stone, but not STONE. I carve soapstone into sumi-e/calligraphy chops. I bought myself a special chop-carving set for Christmas one year and it's one of the treasures of my many, many treasures within the Chinese and Japanese boxes full of calligraphy items. I bought a huge hunk of raw soapstone from a place near where I now work: Jox Rox. It was "Jock" himself that taught me one of the most indispensible tools one can own is a dental tool, but that's a post/rant for another time. (However, once you own one, you'll find HUNDREDS of uses for it.)
Perhaps this is why I'm so fascinated with pigments...because mineral pigments are really just relatively soft stone. Grinding them up to make paint is amazing. The reason hematite is called that is because it "bleeds" a red, bloody-looking liquid when being ground on a wheel or cut with a blade. The 'blood' is a combination of the water used to lubricate the wheel and the metals in the hematite. When I wear hematite against my skin, I smell the coppery blood smell where my skin reacts to the stone.
I come from a culture that marks things in stone. They build up piles, or erect a marker, or shield something important with stone.
I love the weight, the coolness, the smell, the taste, the feel, the power of rock. It's of Earth; it's like us. Basic and full of potential. Strong, with flaws. Plain and fancy, grey or colourful, every bit as different and individual as people.
I love rocks. They're my favourite thing. And luckily, most of the time, they're totally free.
Nechtan :)
"I bind myself today:
God's power to guide me,
God's might to uphold me,
God's power to teach me,
God's eye to watch over me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's Word to give me speech.
God in the heart of the one who thinks of me.
God in the eyes of the one who sees me.
God in the ear of the one who hears me.
I bind myself today to the strong virtue of love."
Part of St. Patrick's Lorica (Breastplate)
solid ]
[What I Hear| Part of a song I KNOW I know, but I can't place it--it's on one of the latest Cingular commercials; the ones with the jets forming the logo with their jettrails ]
[What I Smell| BPAL The Living Flame ]
One of my greatest loves...is rocks.
Music is important, of course--VERY important to me! But I'm referring to the mineral and crystal versions of stones, pebbles, rocks. I have been picking up rocks from the ground ever since I can remember.
My grandmother Bunchie (I don't know why she wanted to be called 'Bunchie', as her name was Elizabeth, but that was her nickname) was the first person I knew who had a rock garden. Not only did she have these big boulders of granite, iron pyrite, etc., but they sat in the middle of her three acre yard in a GIANT stone bowl carved of limestone. At least, I think it was limestone. Oddly enough, the bowl had a hole bored in the centre as if to serve as drainage for a normal garden, and I think it had been professionally produced for such a purpose, but it held small boulders. Odder still, the stone bowl was about six inches ABOVE the ground, being upheld by several other boulders that had been partially submerged in the ground to form the odd dolmen platform for the stone bowl with the huge rocks. Each of the boulders ranged in size from about three feet across to almost ten. I never asked about these rocks, but I got the impression Bunchie had hauled them from Arizona (her spiritual homeland), much like Lucille Ball in "The Long Long Trailer".
I have never seen anything like it since. I wish I'd bought her house when she moved to Florida, because then I would own the stone bowl and the rocks that I loved.
However, from as far back as I can remember, I would look at the ground and pick up rocks. I love rocks. I love to hold them, or to carry them with me. Some rocks, I put in my mouth. In fact, if you upended my purse right now, you'd find five or six white stones in the bottom of it. When I was five I found a white quartz cluster shaped like a heart, so I painted one side with gold model car paint and gave it to my Mom. I got it back after she died. When I was into magick, I found a perfectly round stone, just like a marble, with a perfect natural hole in the middle that I wore on a chain for a decade.
My Dad hated my obsession, particularly when he decided the little limestone chip driveway was not good enough and he went to a stoneyard and ordered mixed stone to be poured in the drive. NOW I had my own, personal 'field' full of granite, quartz (rose and white), marble, etc. There were green stones and blue stones and stones the colour of baked ham and strange stones that resembled anything BUT stones. Once we had all those stones to choose from, I dragged a lot of them into the house. The poor man couldn't figure out why I was always "...dragging those damned rocks into the house!"
I lived across the street from Round Hill Cemetery, so I played there. I didn't care that they were dressed, I just loved the STONES. I would stroke my hands over their faces and feel the bas relief designs or the deep cuts of words into the surface of the stone. I also had two boulders of my own--one huge, diamond-shaped one that was perfect for lying out in the sun on, the other became my pets' tombstone. Neither boulder is still there, because the city put in some kind of deep drain along the bank of the road and either buried or hauled away both of them, but they were a part of my childhood and most of my teens.
When I discovered there were ROCK SHOWS--gemstones and fossils and rocks and minerals and OMG!!!--well, I was in pig heaven. I couldn't believe there were people out there who collected stones as I did, and soon I was hauling these home, too. After I purchased my house, I threw most of them in the backyard garden...but about five years ago I relented and brought them all in. I had a small fortune in amethysts, clear rock crystals, chrysoprase, lapis lazuli, hematite, azurite, obsidian (black and mahogany), garnet, and malachite out there in the dirt. (Most of these are considered "evolving" stones and are often linked to Aquarians.) I have barite roses in my potpourri pots and any number of rock and fossil specimens all over the house.
When someone asks what I want and I tell them that if they find a stone and send it to me, I'll be so very happy, I mean it. The stone doesn't have to be valuable, just...you need to be drawn to pick it up. That's what's important to me. I love stones from special places, but I love stones you just see and pick up because you just 'have to' pick it up.
I have glorious rocks. I have wonderful rocks. I have mystical rocks. I have a piece of the facade of the London Temple of the Knights Templar that I want to put into a reliquary. I'm looking forward to a stone from the Isle of Skye. I want rocks from Scotland.
When I had the chance, I learned how to carve limestone. I only ever made one carving in stone--a large horse's head--but I have never felt so much at home as when I held a chisel and hammer in my hands. I once dreamed an extremely vivid dream that I was carving the face on the Sphinx; I remember moving my hands over the face of it, feeling the rough surface scrape my skin. I awoke and checked my hands, but there were no marks.
I still carve stone, but not STONE. I carve soapstone into sumi-e/calligraphy chops. I bought myself a special chop-carving set for Christmas one year and it's one of the treasures of my many, many treasures within the Chinese and Japanese boxes full of calligraphy items. I bought a huge hunk of raw soapstone from a place near where I now work: Jox Rox. It was "Jock" himself that taught me one of the most indispensible tools one can own is a dental tool, but that's a post/rant for another time. (However, once you own one, you'll find HUNDREDS of uses for it.)
Perhaps this is why I'm so fascinated with pigments...because mineral pigments are really just relatively soft stone. Grinding them up to make paint is amazing. The reason hematite is called that is because it "bleeds" a red, bloody-looking liquid when being ground on a wheel or cut with a blade. The 'blood' is a combination of the water used to lubricate the wheel and the metals in the hematite. When I wear hematite against my skin, I smell the coppery blood smell where my skin reacts to the stone.
I come from a culture that marks things in stone. They build up piles, or erect a marker, or shield something important with stone.
I love the weight, the coolness, the smell, the taste, the feel, the power of rock. It's of Earth; it's like us. Basic and full of potential. Strong, with flaws. Plain and fancy, grey or colourful, every bit as different and individual as people.
I love rocks. They're my favourite thing. And luckily, most of the time, they're totally free.
Nechtan :)
"I bind myself today:
God's power to guide me,
God's might to uphold me,
God's power to teach me,
God's eye to watch over me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's Word to give me speech.
God in the heart of the one who thinks of me.
God in the eyes of the one who sees me.
God in the ear of the one who hears me.
I bind myself today to the strong virtue of love."
Part of St. Patrick's Lorica (Breastplate)