Touch Stones
A horn tooted twice out front and I looked out to see a jeep with a man delivering our mail. Not your usual mail jeep mind you, this had no USPS insignia or red, white and blue striping. It was just a plain civilian black jeep. I received two packages. One I sent to myself from California before I left containing a Buddha, a ceramic coffee cup, a small hand held transistor radio, a flat grey rock that used to sit on my desk and some clothes.
My other box from a friend had coffee! A book of Pema Chodron, " Start from where You Are" and a strand of pale light aqua sea glass beads.
I held the beads up to the light admiring their color. I set the rock, the Buddha and beads across the dresser, placing them carefully, aligning them, nudging them in small increments to find their perfect home.
It felt good to have touch stones, familiars, pieces of my former and present self with me.
Back home in California my window sill was scattered with shells of abalone, sand dollars, clam shells and spirals. My most coveted were the various sandstone rocks with holes through them like the one that arrived that day. All collected on my walks at nearby beaches, I think of like old friends; Five Mile, Waddell, Scotts Creek and The Landing.
Jagged cliffs, salt air, rising tides and wild winds formed what became remnants of the shells and pieces of colored glass I found on the shore, broken imperfect and so lovely to me.
As humans we attach meaning to the things we have and the longer we have them the stronger our attachment grows. All these things felt alien here in Texas but at the same time necessary.
My windowsill by the sea had chips from the Berlin Wall, rocks from the desert, antique glass marbles found in the bottom of an old trunk and stemmed aperitif glasses that sat empty through three seasons. Cold winter sun cut sharp shadows through the glass. In spring I would pick orange poppies and purple lupine to add to them letting the flowers wilt and become scorched by sun and time.
Each day I would look at those objects on the my sill, sometimes unseeingly, sometimes bright rays of sun catching my eyes. Feathery light shadows dancing across the marbles and rocks holding my attention. Other times I'd simply hold them in my hands.
Remembering.
My coffee cup has become my most cherished object. I lived with it every morning over a dozen years, it's steam rising to greet me. It has the perfect circumference for my small hand and the handle is curved so I can either grip it or wrap my fingers through it.
I open my gift of coffee and take in the scent of the ground beans and the memories it brings me.
~kao
My other box from a friend had coffee! A book of Pema Chodron, " Start from where You Are" and a strand of pale light aqua sea glass beads.
I held the beads up to the light admiring their color. I set the rock, the Buddha and beads across the dresser, placing them carefully, aligning them, nudging them in small increments to find their perfect home.
It felt good to have touch stones, familiars, pieces of my former and present self with me.
Back home in California my window sill was scattered with shells of abalone, sand dollars, clam shells and spirals. My most coveted were the various sandstone rocks with holes through them like the one that arrived that day. All collected on my walks at nearby beaches, I think of like old friends; Five Mile, Waddell, Scotts Creek and The Landing.
Jagged cliffs, salt air, rising tides and wild winds formed what became remnants of the shells and pieces of colored glass I found on the shore, broken imperfect and so lovely to me.
As humans we attach meaning to the things we have and the longer we have them the stronger our attachment grows. All these things felt alien here in Texas but at the same time necessary.
My windowsill by the sea had chips from the Berlin Wall, rocks from the desert, antique glass marbles found in the bottom of an old trunk and stemmed aperitif glasses that sat empty through three seasons. Cold winter sun cut sharp shadows through the glass. In spring I would pick orange poppies and purple lupine to add to them letting the flowers wilt and become scorched by sun and time.
Each day I would look at those objects on the my sill, sometimes unseeingly, sometimes bright rays of sun catching my eyes. Feathery light shadows dancing across the marbles and rocks holding my attention. Other times I'd simply hold them in my hands.
Remembering.
My coffee cup has become my most cherished object. I lived with it every morning over a dozen years, it's steam rising to greet me. It has the perfect circumference for my small hand and the handle is curved so I can either grip it or wrap my fingers through it.
I open my gift of coffee and take in the scent of the ground beans and the memories it brings me.
~kao
Comments
Post a Comment