I like rocks. I’ve always liked rocks.
When I was little, I played in the driveway of Globe Radio and Television. Every so often my father brought in a truckload of gravel to cover the dirt to keep the mud off of the tires of his customers. I got to scrounge in the rocks. It was there I discovered mica, beautifully layered pieces of rock that sparkled in the sunlight. I spent hours peeling the layers away until there was nothing left to peel. I also found quartz, and lots of it. Most of it was milky white. But occasionally I would find a piece with a crystal clear tip or a transparent vein running through the middle. Maybe a bright yellow sparkle or a little pink gleam would wink at me in the piles. Later I would learn the differences between quartz crystal and rose quartz and citrine. Even later on in the years I would come back to my rocks and learn about attributes given to them eons ago. I somehow knew that rocks were special and others before me knew, too. It was little surprise to learn that there are rocks to help one heal. Rocks to bring good luck. Rocks to give you strength.
As I try to discover what makes me different, I think how I am like my rocks. Sometimes I sparkle with amethyst lights, a purple glow filling a room with happiness. Sometimes I am rose quartz pink from head to toe wanting to help a friend feel better. Other times I burn fire garnet red and want to charge in and give my opinion turning others into ash. There are those days where the hard grey stone refuses to move or talk or give in. Sometimes the chalcedony blue washes over me when I seek the open skies to breathe deeply, sit quietly, and try to still my thoughts. Occasionally, I am hematite sliver, almost black, but shiny and reflective, fading into the background and watching to understand, to find out the truth, the constant.
I think back to my child time in the gravel discovering the gems buried by other stones or dusty from being bumped and jostled in the mounded crowd. They go unnoticed until a small hand reaches down, rubs a bit of the grime away and holds it up to the sun to see its sparkle.
I must remember to do this for myself more often. Reach down and find those parts of me that others see shine, but need just a little spit and polish from me to remind me of my beauty.
December 8 – Beautifully Different. Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different – you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful. (Author: Karen Walrond)