Poetry, Grief, Life

The Dreams of Rocks

Stones and bones hide memories: Prompt response

Do rocks dream? Rhythms of a slower nature, stories of endurance dancing through their finely woven striations? Can they feel the pulse of our lives, even though they inhabit the realm of eons, rather than of breaths?

Perhaps they do breathe though — slow exhales of minerality, and inhales of the mortality passing before them in what must seem like the blink of an eye, moments which meld into an eternity of change fluttering all around, and underneath, and over them, while they retain an enviable stillness.

I search for stillness too, in the face of grief —

a stillness I can stand in, and breathe, while the pain spills away like the dust from a quarry in a sudden desert storm,

or the lulled pool of crystalline blue at the base of a canyon wall, a wall which once touched the sky, but has now been eaten away by time, and whose toe has eroded into the ravenous river,

or the void beneath the red sandstone arch, through which you might pass from sun-warmed stone beneath your feet into gathering shadows on the other side.

I stood there once, under that arch, a moment of precarious balance frozen, and I thought I might have seen a flash of the future. But it was so long ago now. And everything has changed.

And there have been moments of happiness. And now there is pain.

And I imagine myself a rock.

A rock standing in stillness, observing. Gathering memories. Time erodes all todays. And yesterdays and tomorrows too. Until they all swirl together in a storm of what was, what is and what will be. The vastness of potentiality.

I choose now to step into that pool of serenity at the base of that sandstone canyon wall — to simply observe the passage of time, to swim in the memories, to remember the warmth of the sun, and to place my hand on that beating pulse of the thread of life that only a rock can see —

without letting the pain swallow me whole.

We have lived through a month now of intense grief at the loss of our beloved cat, Emerson. And I am in search of stillness in the face of death and of a life cut short too soon. I search for him, grasp onto the memories of him, while life swirls on around me, always changing, and yet somehow, unchanged. The constancy is the change. And there is stillness to be found in that. I am trying to remind myself of that and to step into each moment without grieving for the moments which have passed and which will never come again.

Thank you Melissa Coffey for the “Stone and Bones Hide Memories” prompt.

Erika Burkhalter is a yogi, neurophilosopher, cat-mom, photographer, and lover of travel and nature, spreading her love and amazement for Mother Earth’s glories, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MS Neuropsychology, MA Yoga Studies).

You might also enjoy:

If you enjoyed this piece, you might consider subscribing to my stories. You’ll get an alert whenever a story gets published. While I do normally post my stories with free “friends” links on social media, if you enjoy reading on medium, you can help the many talented writers here by joining. It helps to support the arts and to keep us writing!

Photos and story ©Erika Burkhalter. All rights reserved.