At the bottom of a cerulean shore off the island of St. Thomas, there sat a rock named Eon. Visitors of all sorts passed above him and he was content to watch them from the soft bed of sand beneath him.
In the time of the big sun, a beautiful young walker made her way out to the very spot where Eon rested. She swam slowly and Eon could tell by her vibration that she was terribly afraid, although, he could not imagine of what. She would swim to the edge of the dark coral reef, where the end could not be seen, and then frantically swim backwards to the first patch of sand her toe could reach.
He watched her try and try to overcome her fear of the dark reef and each time fail. For the first time in a long distant memory, Eon felt something. It was a sort of tingling that reached to the center of his light brown body.
Eon was a proud rock, bigger than two coconuts and more round that most other rocks around him. His height was shallow, his width consistent and his color was the exact shade of the sunset in winter when the hues of the shore absorbed the malty browns and yellows of the bottom places.
He lingered in the moment of feeling, and all at once remembered its source. He had been carried away from the sea for while, and sat in the colorful garden of a sweet brown walker who laid him there. She would pick him up now and then and, pulling him snug against her tiny body, she would gently sway with the tree song, trying to imagine all that he had seen. She loved him. In all his time with the walkers he deduced that Love was the only thing they did well and with respect of the future.
The last time he felt his sweet brown walker was the last day of her visit here. Her steps had grown slow since their meeting, and her vibration, hardly heard. One afternoon, in the time of the little sun, she ambled out to her colorful patch of sun sand. She said goodbye to the bright root-tops of the ground growers she planted there and smiled at their size. She began to bend and in her bending Eon felt a drop of rain as it tumbled down her cracking face and onto him. Her nimble fingers struggled to find their way beneath him and with one great rush of life she scooped him up and pulled him close against her, as she had done so many times before her body began failing. Strange these walkers are. Eon supposed they broke because there were too many moving parts. “Why can’t they just be still,” he thought to himself. Her vibration seemed to wane as they ambled together down the familiar path that brought him there. As her feet reached the water, Eon sensed her heartbeat as it pounded out a cadence to her life. She thanked him for his company and all the insight that he had shared over the course of their friendship. When the cadence was finished, Eon drifted to the bottom place where she had found him. As he watched her empty shell become a part of the sea, he felt her awaken, as she became a part of the Great Thought.
The walker with him now felt like his sweet brown walker, though her skin was pale and not at all pleasing to a rock’s eye. He recognized the sensation she brought to him and was quite pleased to beckon it from his memory. However, what he felt now was something different, a different sort of tingling. He supposed it was curiosity.
As he watched this pallid walker pound the water with her hands and surrender to the tears she had been fighting back, he made witness to her defeat. Without hesitation, Eon summoned her feet and drew them down upon him. With her head still exposed to the dryness above, he held her safely against his smooth surface. In a moment, her tears subsided and in set a most surprising calm. But, what happened next was as extraordinary as it was unexpected. The walker thanked him with her speaking voice. He was in such a state to think she understood his deliberate act; he said nothing for a long time. The walker waited. He finally spoke his rocky thoughts and welcomed her to his soft bed of sand. He told her all was well and that he would keep her safe until she was ready to swim back to the sun sands. She cried happy tears and thanked him again, this time with her thinking voice.
The walker’s defeat was replaced by an overwhelming sense of belonging. She clung to Eon with her toes and smiled with her thoughts. After a while, she spoke again. Her questions were clear and concise and were asked with genuine interest. Eon delivered purposeful answers. He explained the life of a rock and she began to understand.
In the span of a rock’s life, he may see the birth and passing of a species. He may see the sun come near the Mother, or he may not see it at all. He may live where the vibrations are muted by the gentle rhythms of water, or he may live above where life is at once and immediate and the vibrations are loud. In the course of a rock’s life, life is still and thoughts are deliberate. It just so happened that in his life, Eon saw all of these. As a jagged rock, he felt the thunder of massive walkers who went away with the sun, and he watched the curious bottom crawlers walk out of the sea and stand upright. He tried to explain to her about the waning life around him; how the colors that move and swim in the shallows and in the deeps, have begun to disappear. He showed her empty seas and touched her with the fear now filling the ocean; that they all may soon be gone. He even tried to tell her that all their speculation lead them to believe the walkers bore the burden of the changes and the Great Dying, but the idea was too big and her tiny coconut head could not contain it. He did manage to make her understand that he would feel no loss in the passing of the walkers. For that was inevitable. The Mother cannot abide such rampant disregard for the life she sustains.
As she began to understand, she envied his purity. His life was a memory, a vibration, a depository for all that he had seen and for all that had passed over him. She was swallowed up by his silent wisdom and the curious walker began to see with the eyes of his rich form. She knew at once that each rock’s vibration is an expression of its individuality and its energy, its essence. As distinctly different as the walkers appear to each other, so too, each rock is sensed by the next. A rock’s wisdom is the culmination of its life experience and its vibration is the endowment that shapes it. Every rock comes into existence with a gift to life, or several. They can heal, heat, cleanse or project. They can guide, ground, repel or protect. For each imbalance that chaos brings to life, a rock will bring a gift to lend it balance. When a rock is broken, its energy remains and, from this more base form, the new rocks begin to engender a new wisdom. A rock may live out its life with the life of a planet, or it may choose to release its essence into the universe. When this happens, there are neither grand celebrations nor sad gatherings of fellow rocks. There, consequently, sits an empty rock. They seldom stay that way though. Just as this strange walker was curious to understand the thoughts of a rock, there are equally as curious energies that pass in and out of these empty rocks like a pausing place, a schoolroom, an observatory of living things. As rocks are governed by the most formidable rules in the natural order, these passing visitors are allowed only to observe. For a rock’s purpose is far too significant to be taken lightly.
The discourse continued until the walker grew silent. She turned her body to the horizon and stared at the sun as it went from yellow to orange to pink to night, and still she lingered. Eon found it curious that he had no questions for her. Her thoughts were primitive and her vibration undeveloped. He theorized that there must be little to learn from the places where the walkers gather. Still, he found her frail and blameless and wished her a tranquil passage.
When the sun had been well away, the walker fell out of her thoughts and became aware of the blackness of the sky. The time had passed in the time of a rock and in the time of a walker, it was time to leave. There were no words in her parting, just a smile with her thoughts and a gentle caress with her toe. Eon felt no sadness in her parting. For Eon is a proud rock, bigger than two coconuts and more round than most other rocks around him. With his shallow height, his width consistent and his color the exact shade of the sunset in winter when the hues of the shore absorbed the malty browns and yellows of the bottom places, he remained to be a memory.